LOGINLiam's pov
"I thought she would've told you," Jackson said, his voice low enough for just the two of us. "That’s not a small number." "It’s not," I murmured, still staring at Avery as she took another sip of champagne. Her polished laughter rang sharp through the air. My fingers curled around Jackson's suit sleeve unconsciously. Thirty percent of her company. That was a damn empire. She was merging her business into ours before we’d even merged lives. Before we’d even kissed properly. Before we’d even held a proper conversation about the future. What future? I wasn’t even sure if I wanted a tomorrow that looked like this. Dad was glowing. He clapped me on the back when Avery made her way down the steps. "You landed gold, son," he whispered. "This is what legacy looks like. This is how empires are built." Legacy? Empire? I felt like a brick in a wall I didn’t choose to be part of. "Smile," Jackson whispered beside me. "You’re being watched." I forced my lips to resemble something that might have looked like a smile. Avery reached my side and tucked her arm into mine. "Surprised?" she asked softly. I nodded. "You didn’t have to do that." She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “ Of course I did, Liam. That’s what power couples do." "Power couples," I echoed under my breath, the phrase tasting like ash in my mouth. Avery pulled back just enough to look at me. Her eyes were glinting with excitement, and a subtle sense of pride. "I meant what I said," she continued, her voice quiet now, just for me. "About the shares. About this.....us." I glanced at her, studying her calm expression. She wasn’t bluffing. Not like my father, who spun words like silk around his motives. Avery seemed to be the kind who meant what she said. Which made this much worse. "I know you didn’t choose me," she said after a beat, her tone softening. "I know this isn’t the story you dreamed about when you were a kid, Liam. But I like you." I froze. "I like you," she repeated. "And I don’t just mean in the ‘this will benefit my business’ way. I mean in the way that keeps me awake at night wondering if I’m doing too much too fast. Wondering if I’ll ever mean to you what I already feel for you." I didn’t speak. I couldn't. Jackson was still beside me. Shaking his head lightly at his sister, like he had envisioned this. I didn’t dare meet his eyes. "I know I shouldn’t be confessing this now," Avery continued with a small breathy laugh. "Especially when the party’s still going on, and we’ve barely said two full sentences to each other since the announcement. But I needed you to know. I’m not doing just this for my father or for some deal. I’m doing this because.....I want a chance. With you." A camera clicked somewhere, snapping a picture of us standing together. Avery’s smile widened effortlessly, trained for the lens. But mine didn’t. Because my heart wasn’t in it. And it hadn’t been......ever. ~ The room hushed. Just enough for the voice on the mic to cut through. "And now," the host announced cheerfully, "the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The exchange of rings." Applause erupted. My stomach churned. Avery's fingers tightened around my arm, guiding us towards the small podium where the velvet box waited. I didn't even know what the rings looked like, our father's had picked out everything. Every part of this night had been orchestrated to perfection, except my feelings. I could see Jackson in the back of the crowd, sipping on whiskey, gripping the cup painfully tight. Avery turned to me, beaming widely. She lifted the ring first. It was platinum, sharply-cut. Worth more than most people made in three years. Her hands didn’t shake as she slid it onto my finger. "For partnership," she whispered. I stared down at it. Then it was my turn. I opened the other box. Her ring glinted under the lights, custom-cut with a sapphire crest. It slid easily onto her hand, like it had always belonged there. She held my hand a moment longer than necessary. Then came the kiss. Avery leaned in. Her lips brushed mine in a soft manner. But I felt repulsed. It didn’t burn. It didn’t shake me. It didn’t feel like him. Jackson’s kiss had ruined me. One night. One taste of something I wasn’t supposed to want. It had been messy, raw, and had made my nerves come alive. It had gripped my chest like a vice and left my mind blank. But this? This was simply curated. Perfectly timed for the cameras. When she pulled back, the crowd clapped again. Avery beamed, her arms looping around my waist. "We look good together," she whispered. I didn’t answer. Because somewhere beyond the applause, beyond the ring cutting on my finger, beyond the woman holding me like she was already mine, I saw Jackson turn away. And this time, I felt my chest ache. ~ After the rings were exchanged and the empty kiss, father took the stage, beaming with smiles as he gave the appreciative speech. The spotlight glinted off his cufflinks as he lifted a champagne flute and started a speech full of legacy, power, and gratitude. Words like vision, empire, merger were directed to the audience. I didn’t hear the rest. I slipped away while the crowd’s attention was pinned to his monologue, ducking past a waiter and weaving through the side hallway. I found him on the bench behind the garden hedges. Jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose. Jackson was sitting forward, his elbows on his knees, running both hands through his hair like he was trying to rip the thoughts out of his skull. "She doesn't deserve this," he hissed under his breath, not even looking up. "Avery deserves to be happy with a good guy. Not someone who isn't even interested in women." "Lower your voice." I whispered, looking around. He shot me a look and went back to tugging on his hair. "This is crazy Liam, because..." His gaze zeroed in on mine. "I want to take you away from my sister."Third Person's POVSix weeks after Avery's disappearance, the Federal Courthouse in Manhattan buzzed with an energy that felt almost electric. Media trucks lined the streets. Protesters held signs. Security was tripled because this wasn't just another trial.This was the reckoning of Astor Sinclair.Inside Courtroom 4B, every seat was filled. Journalists with notebooks. Sketch artists with charcoal. Members of the public who'd camped out overnight just to witness history.At the prosecution table sat Barrister Michael Sullivan with his team of three assistant prosecutors. Files stacked neatly. Evidence organized. Years of preparation distilled into this moment.At the defense table sat Marcus Wright with two associates. Expensive suits. Confident postures. The look of men who'd defended the indefensible before and won.And at the defendant's table, wearing an orange jumpsuit that looked obscene on someone who'd spent his life in custom tailoring, sat Astor Sinclair. Handcuffed. Guarde
Third Person's POVThe federal holding facility was a concrete fortress designed to break spirits before trials even began. Cold. Gray. Smelling of industrial cleaner that never quite masked the underlying scent of human desperation.Astor Sinclair sat in his cell, a space barely eight by ten feet, with a metal bed bolted to the wall, a toilet with no seat, and a small metal desk that wobbled when he tried to write. The orange jumpsuit he wore was rough against his skin, a constant reminder that his thousand-dollar suits were gone. His penthouse was gone. His empire was crumbling.But his mind was still sharp.Still planning. Still calculating. Still looking for the angle that would save him.The door opened. A guard stood there, expressionless. "You've got a visitor. Conference room three."Astor stood. Let himself be handcuffed. Let himself be led through corridors where other inmates watched him with a mixture of recognition and contempt. Everyone knew who he was. The news coverage
Third Person's POVThree weeks had passed since Avery Maddox disappeared into the night, leaving behind a trail of broken trust and unanswered questions. Three weeks since Liam Sinclair had taken over his father's empire and started the slow, painful process of dismantling everything Astor had built on lies and corpses.And in those three weeks, the world had shifted in ways no one could have predicted.At Memorial Hospital, Jackson Maddox sat propped up in his bed, a tablet in his hands, his fingers moving slowly across the screen. Physical therapy had started. Speech therapy too. The doctors said his vocal cords were healing but it would be months before he could speak normally again. For now, he communicated through text and gestures and the occasional raspy whisper that cost him everything.Liam sat beside him, as he had every day for the past three weeks, reading through reports from Sinclair Corporation while Jackson reviewed documents for Maddox Corporation. Two CEOs, working s
Third person's POV Third Person's POVThe evening light filtered through the hospital windows in that particular way that made everything look softer than it actually was. Mr. Richard Maddox walked down the ICU corridor carrying a bouquet of white roses, his footsteps heavy, his shoulders slumped in a way that made him look older than his sixty-two years.He'd been a terrible father. He knew that now. Had known it for a while but had been too proud, too stubborn, too caught up in his empire to admit it.But seeing Jackson in that hospital bed, broken because of choices Richard had indirectly enabled by doing business with men like Astor Sinclair, had finally shattered whatever denial he'd been clinging to.The nurse at the station recognized him. "Mr. Maddox. He's awake. Can't speak yet but he's responsive. Go on in."Richard nodded his thanks and walked to Jackson's bay. Through the window, he could see Janet sitting beside the bed, her laptop open, probably working on something for
Third Person's POVOfficer Mackenzie stood in Avery's apartment with Torres and Dove, all three of them wearing gloves and moving carefully through the space like archaeologists excavating a crime scene."Closet's half empty," Torres called from the bedroom. "Expensive stuff too. Designer clothes. The kind you'd take if you were planning to be gone a while."Dove was photographing everything with her phone. "Suitcase is missing from the closet shelf. You can see the dust pattern where it used to sit. And look at this." She pointed to the dresser. "Jewelry box is empty. She took valuables. Things she could sell if she needed cash."Mackenzie walked to the window. It was still open, curtains moving slightly in the breeze. He leaned out, looking down. "Two-story drop. But there's a fire escape. She could have gone down that way if she saw us coming.""Or if she saw anyone coming," Torres added. "She was paranoid. Running scared.""With good reason." Mackenzie pulled back inside. "Let's c
Third Person's POVLiam left the police station with his mind in chaos, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles had gone white. The drive back to the hospital was a blur of streetlights and traffic he barely registered. His mother. Caroline Martinez. Both killed by Astor. Both erased because Elizabeth had dared to choose happiness over staying trapped in a marriage to a monster.His mother had been gay. Or bisexual. In love with a woman. Planning to run away and start a new life. With him. They could have been happy. They could have been free.But Astor had stolen that. Murdered it. Buried it along with two bodies and fifteen years of lies.Liam parked in the hospital lot and sat there for a moment, just breathing. Trying to hold himself together. Trying not to fall apart completely.He walked through the automatic doors, took the elevator to the ICU floor, his feet moving on autopilot while his brain processed horrors he couldn't fully comprehend.Janet was in Jac






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