Chapter 4

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 could survive a war. He boxed like a man possessed. Each punch landed with fury. Controlled. Relentless.

I watched through the mirrored wall. Memorized the patterns. The footwork. The weak shoulder. The way he favored his right even when the left had more power.

He wasn’t reckless. He was precise. Dangerous.

But even the most dangerous men had blind spots. I used to be his.

After his workout, he showered and changed. A driver brought the matte black SUV to the front. I slipped into the passenger seat without a word. His assistant, Julian, sat in the back, reading off Liam’s schedule.

“Boardroom meeting with Tokyo at nine. Charity brunch at noon. Site visit at the Marlowe property after three. Then……”

“Cancel dinner,” Liam said, cutting him off.

Julian blinked. “Sir?”

“I’m not in the mood to play nice with vultures.”

I didn’t need a translator to know something was bothering him. I could feel it in the tightness of his voice. The way he stared out the window like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

By ten a.m., we were in a glass-walled conference room at the top of his tower. Executives filtered in, plastic smiles in tailored suits. I stood behind Liam, hands clasped, ears open. Watching every twitch. Every glance. Every subtle power play.

He didn’t look at me once.

But I caught him.

The flickers. The moments between negotiations and spreadsheets. His eyes would slide to the glass, catching my reflection.

And I saw it.

That flicker of something he couldn’t name. Not recognition. Not yet.

But familiarity.

As if the part of him that once loved me… was whispering: She feels like home.

I dropped my gaze just for a moment.

That’s when I saw it, wrapped around his left wrist, just beneath the cuff of his shirt.

The silver bracelet.

Our bracelet.

Tarnished from time but unmistakable. I remember the day he brought it to me in school, how warm and giddy I felt inside.

Then he’d never taken his off.

Even now, after everything, after all these years and betrayals and silence,he was still wearing it.

I clenched my fists, heart caught between a sob and a scream.

Because no matter how unreadable his face was…

That bracelet whispered truths his mouth never would.

By sunset, we were back in the car, heading to the Marlowe estate,a luxury property under construction on the coast. I followed him across gravel paths and scaffolding as architects babbled numbers and blueprints.

He said little. Watched everything.

So did I.

Because something told me this wasn’t just about business anymore. Not for him. Not for me.

Every step I took behind Liam felt like walking a wire between two lives.

The one where I still hated him.

And the one where I remembered why I ever loved him at all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The restaurant overlooked the cliffs, sleek, modern, obscenely expensive. Glass walls. Minimalist décor. Every table dressed in white linen and silence. A place for the elite to pretend the world didn’t burn beneath them.

Liam chose a table by the window, naturally. I took the seat beside him, angled just enough to keep the exits in my periphery. Julian was on a call, pacing near the hostess stand, muttering into his earpiece. The waiter poured sparkling water. Liam didn’t speak.

He hadn’t said much since the Marlowe site, and I didn’t press him. I watched the way his fingers drummed against the table. Nervous. Impatient. No,wound tight like a live wire.

Something was coming.

And then it did.

The roar of engines shattered the quiet.

I turned sharply just as the first motorcycle sped past the restaurant’s open terrace. Then came another. And another. Five. Six. Seven. Faces covered. Jackets unmarked. And then….

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Gunfire.

Glass exploded. People screamed. Liam moved, ducking behind the table just as I lunged across the space and knocked him to the floor.

My back hit cold tiles as bullets tore through linen and metal and wall.

I rolled over him, pulling my sidearm from the holster under my jacket. He stared up at me, eyes wide with something more than fear. Something I didn’t have time to name.

“Stay down,” I snapped.

And then I was running.

Out the side door. Down the alley. My boots pounded pavement as I caught sight of the last bike peeling away from the scene.

I didn’t think. I just chased.

Through crowded sidewalks and blind turns. My lungs burned. Wind tore at my braid. The bastard glanced over his shoulder,and that was his mistake.

He cut too sharply. The back wheel skidded. He lost control.

The bike crashed against a stack of crates. He flew.

I was on him before he could stand.

He threw a punch,sloppy, wide. I ducked, drove my knee into his gut, slammed him into the wall, and ripped the helmet off.

Young. Maybe twenty. Eyes wild. Tattoos snaking down his neck. Not a professional. A pawn.

I pressed the muzzle of my gun beneath his jaw. “Who sent you?”

He smirked, blood trailing down his lip. “You’re fast.”

I slammed him harder. “Who sent you?”

He hesitated. Then whispered a name.

Not one I expected.

Not Beatrice. Not Levi.

But Nick.

And in that moment, the ground tilted.

Because the boy I once knew,the boy who protected me like a sister,wasn’t supposed to become the monster in the shadows.

He laughed once, low and breathless. “He didn’t tell you, did he?”

I froze. Just for a second. A dangerous second.

“What didn’t he tell me?” I demanded.

The biker smiled wider, despite the blood. “That he’s being his bodyguard only meant death? What do you think happened to his previous bodyguards?”

My grip faltered. Just slightly.

And that’s when he moved.

Fingers went for my wrist. I caught him mid-lunge and cracked the butt of my gun into his temple. He crumpled.

Alive.

Barely.

I stared down at him, heart hammering. The restaurant, the bullets, Liam, none of it compared to the storm now rising in my chest.

Nick.

It was never over.

It had only just begun.