CHRISTIAN
She was gone when I got back.
The penthouse was quiet. It wasn’t the good kind of quiet—the kind that settled deep in your chest like a warning. Like something had been ripped out of the room and replaced with stillness.
Liam was seated in the living room when I had gotten back, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the blank TV screen. The kind of stare that meant he didn’t need it on to be replaying something worse.
“She left?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
He didn’t look at me. “What do you think?”
I looked toward the hallway. The bedroom door was open, the bed made, and her things—gone.
“She didn’t even—”
“She tried,” Liam cut in. His voice was rough. “You were too busy telling her she didn’t belong here.”
I clenched my jaw. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“But you said it like that.” He roared.
“She knew what this was—”
“Yeah,” Liam snapped, standing. “She knew it was hard. And dangerous. And bloody. And she still came anyway when I called, Christian. B
