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Liam’s POV

The second I stepped out of my father’s study, my phone buzzed.

Avery: We’re going out. Dress well. 😘

No further context. No explanation. Just her usual brand of confident command.

And I couldn’t exactly say no.

Not after this morning.

Not after waking up in his bed, fully clothed, fully guilty—with a shirtless Jackson standing too close while I scrambled for excuses like a panicked teen.

I sighed, adjusted my shirt collar, and moved through the marble foyer like a soldier marching to war.

I didn't expect the war to be waiting by the car.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Jackson was leaning against the SUV like a man in a cologne ad—tight black jeans hugging his thighs, a loose white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the trail of sin leading beneath.

And that grin.

That insufferable, cocky, I-know-what-your-moans-sound-like grin.

“You’re late, lover boy,” he said, pushing off the car like he had every right to be here.

Avery stepped out from the other side of the vehicle