The Night is Over

Chapter Twenty Two

The ballroom feels louder when I step back in. The lights glare, the chandeliers raining brightness down on all the polished marble, all the gowns that glitter like jewels. The music soars, but it feels too sharp in my ears. My hands are still trembling, even though I press them flat against the folds of my dress to stop them. I can still hear Elizabeth’s laugh. Daniel’s voice calling me names as if I am nothing.

And then I see him.

Liam stands near the center of the room, towering above most of the men, his black suit cut sharp across his shoulders. His gaze sweeps the crowd as if searching, but the moment I step into the light, his eyes catch mine. Relief flares across his face, subtle but certain, and he moves instantly. He cuts through the room like it parts for him, his steps firm, deliberate. Within moments, he is in front of me, his hand reaching for my elbow as though he needs to confirm I am real.

“You were gone longer than five minutes,” he says, his voice low, careful, meant only for me. “What happened?”

I shake my head quickly, forcing a small smile that does not reach my eyes. “Nothing. I just… the stain took longer to clean. That’s all.”

His eyes darken, skeptical, but he does not push yet. Instead, he studies my face as if searching for cracks. I drop my gaze, pretending to smooth the ruined fabric. “I’m tired, Liam. Can we go?”

Silence stretches for a moment. His thumb brushes lightly against my arm, almost like a question. “You want to leave now?”

“Yes.” My voice is soft but firm. “I just want to go home.”

His jaw tightens, but he nods once. He does not argue, does not demand an explanation, though his eyes linger on me as if he knows there is more I am not saying. He slips his hand to the small of my back again, steady and grounding. “Then we leave.”

The decision is that simple for him. No hesitation. No protest. He turns me gently toward the exit, shielding me from the eyes that follow.

As we cross the ballroom, I feel the weight of the stares, the whispers trailing after us like smoke. My heart pounds, and I imagine Elizabeth watching from somewhere in the crowd, satisfied with the way I am slipping out early, as though she has won. I swallow the bitterness burning my throat and keep walking.

At the grand entrance, the doorman bows, pulling the heavy glass door open. Cool night air spills in, brushing against my overheated skin. I breathe deeper, but the knot inside me does not loosen.

The limousine is waiting at the curb, sleek and black beneath the golden lamps. The driver steps out instantly, rushing forward to open the door. Liam gestures, and I slide inside, sinking into the leather seat with a shiver of relief. The car feels like a cocoon, separate from the hostile world outside, yet my chest still feels tight.

Liam steps in beside me, his frame filling the space, his presence overwhelming but steady. The driver closes the door, and the hum of the city muffles. For a long moment, the only sound is the quiet purr of the engine as we pull away from the glittering building.

I lean back, closing my eyes, trying to pretend I am just tired, that nothing else matters. But Liam is silent beside me, and silence from him is never empty. It is heavy, probing, expectant.

Finally, his voice cuts through. “Ava.”

I open my eyes and turn toward him. His expression is unreadable in the dim light, his jaw shadowed, his eyes fixed on me with unnerving clarity.

“You are not fine,” he says. It is not a question. “Something happened.”

I inhale slowly, steadying my voice. “I told you. I’m just tired.”

His gaze lingers, sharp, dissecting, as though he is trying to peel the truth from me without words. I hold steady, keeping my face calm, even though my stomach twists.

After a long silence, he exhales, low and measured. “If you want silence, I will give you silence. But do not lie to me.”

The words sting, though his tone is not cruel. It is a promise more than a threat. My chest aches, but I only nod faintly. “I understand.”

The city slides by outside the tinted glass, towers lit against the night, cars weaving through the glowing streets. The limousine moves smoothly, a quiet island gliding across the chaos. Inside, the tension coils between us, thick and unspoken.

I rest my hands in my lap, clutching the ruined silk as though holding it tighter will keep me together. My mind replays Elizabeth’s voice again and again. Slut. Nothing. Charity case. The venom of her words still clings to my skin, and Daniel’s tone cuts sharper than I want to admit.

I want to tell Liam. To pour it all out, to let him hear every word they said, to see the fury I know would ignite in his eyes. But I cannot. Not tonight. The thought of repeating those words out loud makes me feel smaller, weaker. I do not want him to see me shattered like this.

The limousine slows, and I realize we are already pulling into the underground garage of the penthouse. The driver parks smoothly, stepping out to open the door again. The cool air of the garage greets me, quiet and still, a sharp contrast to the buzzing gala.

Liam steps out first, then turns back, extending his hand to me. I hesitate for only a second before placing my hand in his. His grip is steady, firm, guiding me out of the car. The driver nods respectfully before climbing back into the limousine, leaving us in silence once more.

We walk toward the private elevator. My heels click softly against the concrete floor, echoing in the emptiness. Liam’s hand never leaves mine, his stride measured, matching mine so I do not have to rush.

Inside the elevator, the mirrored walls catch our reflections. I look at myself, at the smear of champagne across the front of my dress, at the exhaustion shadowing my face. I barely recognize the woman staring back. Beside me, Liam looks composed, unshaken, though his eyes flick to me in the reflection, watchful.

The elevator rises smoothly. My stomach dips with the motion, but it is nothing compared to the sinking heaviness already inside me.

When the doors open, the familiar scent of the penthouse greets me, clean, sharp, expensive. The lights glow warmly against the high ceilings and polished floors. It should feel like safety, but I only feel the exhaustion pressing harder against my bones.

“I’ll change,” I murmur, slipping my hand from his.

Liam does not stop me. He only nods once, his eyes following me as I cross the living room and disappear into the bedroom.

Inside, I peel the ruined gown away from my body, drop it carelessly onto the chair. My skin prickles where the champagne dried, sticky and uncomfortable. I scrub it away in the shower, letting the hot water pound against me until the memory of the stain fades, though the words still cling, louder than ever.

Slut. Nothing.

I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my palms to the tile. The water runs over me, but it cannot wash them away.

When I finally emerge, wrapped in a robe, my hair damp, I find Liam waiting in the sitting area. He has loosened his tie, his jacket gone, but he looks no less composed. His gaze lifts immediately, meeting mine.

“Better?” he asks quietly.

I nod, even though the ache inside me still pulses. “Yes.”

He studies me again, but he does not press further. Instead, he rises, crossing to where I stand. His hand brushes against mine briefly, grounding me without words.

“Rest,” he says. “The night is over.”

I exhale, the weight in my chest loosening just slightly. For now, that is enough.

I let him guide me to the bed, and as I sink into the sheets, my body finally surrenders to the exhaustion. The city still glitters outside the windows, but here, in the quiet of the penthouse, I allow my eyes to close.

The words of Elizabeth and Daniel linger like poison, but so does the memory of Liam’s hand catching mine, steady and unyielding.

And for tonight, that is the last thing I hold onto before sleep pulls me under.