LIES OF THE HEART: Sequel to Fragile ties of love

Liam The world thought I had it all. Multi-million-dollar companies. A sprawling empire across three continents. A fleet of cars, an estate tucked away in the hills. And behind it all, a carefully constructed underworld, one that moved products with silent efficiency, feared me without knowing me, and left no room for softness. But none of it mattered. Because every night, when the world fell quiet, I still stared at the old phone I’d refused to replace. Cracked screen. Dusty memory card. Battery barely holding a charge. But it held her voice. Her smile. Our story. And I couldn’t let go. Tonight was no different. I sat in my office, the one hidden beneath the surface of my flagship building, where men like me did things we could never confess. The lights were dim, the city glowing like distant fire through the tall windows. And in my hand, that ancient phone rested, open to the last photo I had taken of her. Zara. In her motorbike jacket, smirking at me from across t

Zara (Lauren) By the time the sun rose, I was already dressed and waiting outside his door. Black boots. Tactical jacket. Hair tied in a sleek braid. And, of course, the mask. It had become more than a disguise. It was armor now. A barrier between Zara and the man I was forced to protect. The door creaked open at 8:43 sharp. Liam stepped out in a charcoal suit with his sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, cufflinks clinking as he fastened his watch. His tie hung loose around his neck like a carelessly tied promise. He paused when he saw me leaning against the hallway wall. “You’re here ,” he said, voice gruff . I said nothing. His gaze flicked to my mask. “Still not talking, huh?” I tilted my head. Not a nod. Not a shake. Just enough to remind him: I wasn’t here to entertain him. He huffed a breath and walked past. I followed, two steps behind. Silent. Calculated. His mornings were methodical. Gym first,an underground facility with reinforced glass and equipment that cou

LIAM: Sleep was out of the question.The estate was quiet, too quiet. Security doubled, guards patrolled the grounds like shadows, but none of it mattered. The threat wasn't the bikes or the bullets anymore. It was her. The ghost sitting on my mind, her face hidden, her voice a blade I thought I'd forgotten.I poured a drink I didn't touch, just let the glass sweat against my palm as I stared at the silver chain on my desk.Julian had sent a preliminary report: chain belonged to a man identified as Rafael Ortega, mid-level hitter for a biker syndicate working the southern docks. Dead now, because that was the pattern. Either my bodyguard dies or his hitman does. Rafael had a record of smuggling, extortion, and three prior murder charges. Dangerous, yes. Disposable, also yes. It was part of my daily now since Zara died and Nick swore vengeance. My life has been in danger ever since and my father wasn't having it. He even hired a hitman to take Nick down but I paid the hitman double

The second I heard that voice, my stomach turned.Beatrice.I didn't even have to see her face to feel the old anger crawling up my spine. That sing-song tone, sweet on the surface but poisoned underneath—it dragged me straight back to Zara. To her tears. To her brokenness.To her death.I clenched my fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I could still remember the night I found out. The guilt. The grief. The way I swore I'd never forgive the people who drove her there. And Beatrice—she was at the center of it all.And now here she was, smiling in my father's house as if she belonged."Beatrice," my father said smoothly, as though she were an honored guest and not the venom she really was. "Just in time."I shot him a sharp look. "What the hell is she doing here?"His gaze cut to me, cold, impatient. "Watch your tone. She's here because it's time you learned to think beyond yourself, Liam. We're building alliances,her father's influence will stabilize what we're trying to sec

LIAM: The first thing that hit me was the pounding in my skull.The second was the dry taste of whiskey still coating my mouth.I groaned, dragging a hand over my face, half-buried in the sheets. Morning light bled through the curtains, too sharp, too unforgiving. My body felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish, but something kept gnawing at the edges of my memory.I pushed myself upright, wincing. My shirt was wrinkled, tie discarded on the floor, and my shoes,when the hell had I even taken them off?And then I looked up.The photo on the wall stared back at me.Her.Zara. The younger version of her, smiling, alive, before everything went to hell.My stomach twisted, the fragments of last night flashing in broken pieces. The hall. Stumbling. A face,her face,clearer than any drunken haze should've allowed.And then-her lips.My breath caught, my hand tightening on the sheet. I remembered leaning forward, desperate, reckless. The warmth of her mouth against mine, even if just for a second, b