Page 1 of Liam (The Valeur Billionaires #4)

Chapter One

LIAM

I fumble with my tie for the third time, my trembling fingers refusing to cooperate. The car mirror reflects dark circles under my eyes, a testament to a night spent pacing my penthouse, Mom's hospital report playing on an endless loop in my mind.

Coffee isn't enough to chase away the bone-deep exhaustion, but I've survived board meetings on less sleep.

I step out of my car, the September sun a stark contrast to the chill in my bones. LumiVera Labs looms before me, an unremarkable building.

“I shouldn’t be long, Marcus,” I tell my bodyguard, forcing my voice to remain steady. “You can wait in the lobby.”

The lobby of LumiVera is modest but well-maintained. A young receptionist greets me with a practiced smile, directing me to the elevator. As I ascend to the top floor, my phone buzzes.

Logan

We need to talk about Dad.

I clench my jaw, shoving the device back into my pocket. Not now. Not here.

But the memories keep flooding in, unbidden. I clutch my fists as Ryder’s words echo in my mind, unwelcome and relentless. The ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner seems loud, marking each excruciating second of this nightmare.

“The robbery of your parents wasn’t just a robbery...” Ryder’s voice cracks, his face etched with tension. “It’s much worse.”

In all the time since he transitioned from Cora's bodyguard to her partner, I've never seen him lose his composure like this. It terrifies me.

My younger sister Cora's face drains of color, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. She sinks into the leather armchair behind her, looking small and vulnerable.

Time seems to slow, each second stretching into an eternity. I want to reach out to her, to offer some comfort, but I’m frozen in place, my body refusing to obey.

Logan, my oldest brother and, until recently, the CEO of Valeur Tech, stands by the window, his back to us, but I catch his reflection in the glass. His face is a mask of ice, an expression I’d almost forgotten since he met Sloane.

His voice, when he speaks, is eerily calm, but I know he’s anything but. “What do you mean?”

Lucas paces near the bookshelves, his fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against his thigh. Ava sits perched on the arm of the sofa, her usual sardonic expression replaced by one of genuine concern. Sloane hovers near Logan, her hand resting on his arm in silent support.

All eyes are on Ryder as he reads from the document on his phone. The former bodyguard who became family looks like he'd rather face an army than deliver this news. He meets each of our gazes as he reads, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination.

“The report confirms the victim's injuries were...severe,” he says, carefully choosing his words. “There's no doubt about the nature of the assault.”

Cora chokes back a sob, curling in on herself. Ryder pauses, crossing the room to place a comforting hand on her shoulder before continuing. I remember how Mom used to comfort her the same way before that fatal car crash that tore our family apart.

His next words hammer into me, each one a physical blow.

“The victim refuses to provide details about the incident, only stating that she was robbed on the street.”

“No. You’re wrong. It wasn’t her. It’s just a mistake. Someone made a mistake,” I say, shaking my head. “It can’t be true.”

“Liam.” Lucas strides to me and puts his arm on my shoulder, the gesture grounding me. “It’s not a mistake. ”

Logan turns from the window, his calm facade cracking slightly.

Ryder pauses, his eyes locking with Logan’s.

The tension in the room is suffocating. I can’t breathe, can’t think.

My tie feels too tight, and I loosen it with shaking hands.

Part of me wants to cover my ears, to run from this unbearable truth, but I force myself to stay, to listen.

“This is part of a hospital report that was buried and erased. Zane recovered it.” Ryder’s voice is barely above a whisper now, but in the deathly silence of the room, it might as well be a shout.

“Your mother wasn’t just robbed. She was sexually assaulted.”

The crystal tumbler in Lucas’s hand slips, shattering on the hardwood floor next to me.

The elevator ding jolts me back to the present, and I step out, the sterile hallway of LumiVera materializing around me. I blink, disoriented, my heart racing. The weight of last night’s revelation settles over me again, heavy and suffocating.

I shake my head, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Anna Kim’s office is a testament to practical efficiency. The CEO of LumiVera rises to greet me, her handshake firm and businesslike. “Mr. Valeur, thank you for coming. I hope you found us without difficulty?”

“Thank you, Dr. Kim,” I reply, taking the offered seat. “Your facility is quite...focused.”

A flicker of something—pride mixed with defensiveness—crosses her face. “We believe in putting our resources where they matter most. Our research.”

I nod, getting down to business. “Speaking of which, I understand you’ve made significant breakthroughs in spectroscopy technology. The ASTRA project, specifically.”

“Indeed.” Kim leans forward, her eyes lighting up.

“We’ve adapted astronomical spectroscopy techniques for medical applications.

The device can detect cellular abnormalities before they’re visible through conventional methods.

Early disease detection without invasive procedures.

” She pauses. “If we could integrate it with Valeur Tech’s existing medical imaging devices. ..”

“The possibilities are intriguing,” I agree.

Our medical division has been searching for exactly this kind of breakthrough.

Early cancer detection could save countless lives—and establish Valeur Tech as a pioneer in preventive medicine.

“But why approach us for partnership? Surely, there are other companies that would jump at this opportunity.”

Kim’s smile tightens almost imperceptibly. “We value quality over quantity, Mr. Valeur. Your company’s reputation for innovation aligns well with our goals. And frankly, the resources you could bring to the table would accelerate our research significantly.”

I lean back, studying her. The unspoken truth hangs between us. LumiVera needs this deal more than they’re letting on.

“I see. And what are you proposing?”

For the next half hour, we dive into the details of a potential deal. Kim is sharp, countering my every point with well-reasoned arguments. But beneath her polished exterior, I sense an undercurrent of urgency.

As we tour the labs, Dr. Kim’s enthusiastic explanations fade into background noise. My eyes dart from one cluttered workstation to another, taking in the controlled chaos of research constrained by budget limitations.

“And here we have our spectroscopy division,” Dr. Kim announces with pride, sweeping an arm toward the lab.

I take in the scene—cluttered workbenches crowded with equipment, wires snaking across the floor, and, bizarrely, a half-eaten sandwich perched dangerously close to what I assume is a very expensive spectrometer.

The words “organized anarchy” flicker through my mind, but I keep my expression neutral.

“Impressive,” I say, nodding. “It’s clear you’ve maximized the space.”

Dr. Kim beams, clearly unfazed by the chaos. “We pride ourselves on creative resource allocation, Mr. Valeur.”

“Right.” I sidestep a bundle of cables and glance at a leaning tower of research papers that looks one breath away from collapse.

I study the cluttered workstations with new eyes.

LumiVera's financial struggles are evident, but their potential is undeniable.

This collaboration could be their lifeline—and exactly what Valeur Tech needs to revolutionize medical diagnostics.

I'll have to oversee the project personally.

With stakes this high, we can't afford any mistakes.

Last night’s conversation with my brothers floods back unbidden.

The revelation about our mother, the cover-up.

My stomach churns. My fingers fumble with my tie, loosening it as if that could ease the suffocating weight in my chest. The world tilts, edges blurring, and for a moment, I’m that scared little boy again.

For the first time, there’s no clear path forward, no problem I can solve with money or influence. I’m lost in the dark, fumbling for a light switch that isn’t there.

I’m jolted back to the present as we enter another lab. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a harsh glow on the cluttered workstations. Whiteboards covered in incomprehensible equations line the walls, and the soft beeping of various machines creates a symphony of scientific progress.

A woman stands before a complex apparatus, her back to us.

Wild chestnut curls spill down her lab coat, defying the haphazard ponytail that attempts to tame them.

Her shoulders are hunched in concentration, fingers dancing over controls with practiced precision, her movements suggesting an intimate familiarity with the equipment that speaks of countless hours spent in this lab.

Dr. Kim clears her throat. “Dr. James?”

The woman turns, her gaze fixed on a tablet in her hands, reviewing what appears to be a complex array of spectral data. She glances up, and I freeze.

Recognition hits me like a physical blow. “It’s you.”

Aleria James stands there, staring back at me, her hazel eyes a touch darker than I remember but still sharp and piercing. There’s a flicker of emotion—too quick to read—before her face smooths into a mask of professional calm.