All Chapters of I Left Broken and Fat, I Came Back His Boss With Triplets: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Liam's POVMarcus arrives at the George V at four in the afternoon.He does not call ahead. He does not need to. Marcus has been my assistant for eleven years and there is a specific rhythm to the way he moves when he is bringing me something he does not want to send electronically, and I have known since that evening I gave him certain instructions that whenever the rhythm arrived, it would arrive without warning.I open the door.He is carrying a leather folder under his arm.Not a large folder. That is the first thing I notice. Whatever is inside it is not thick. Not the volume of paper you would expect from an eight month investigation carried out through three private contractors in two countries, and my first thought, walking back into the suite in front of him, is that the folder is small because there was less to find than we feared.My second thought, arriving a beat later, is that the folder is small because Marcus is very good at his job.He closes the door behind him.He do

Emma's POV We are at the Jardin des Plantes by twelve fifteen.Ace immediately becomes the tour guide.He has been to this garden precisely three times in his life and he has no accurate information about any of it, but accuracy has never mattered to Ace, and he takes Julian's hand without asking and leads him from tree to tree, explaining each one with the confident inaccuracy of a small person who has decided that inventing facts is more efficient than acquiring them.Julian listens to every one.He nods at the appropriate moments.He asks follow-up questions.He does not correct a single fact.When Ace informs him, with total conviction, that the tree they are standing under is called le arbre du grandpère and produces apples that only grow on Sundays, Julian nods gravely and asks whether Sunday apples taste different from other apples.Ace considers this for a long moment."They taste like Sunday," he says finally."Ah," Julian replies. "That makes sense."Grey is walking three p

Liam's POVShe does not answer immediately.She stands there with the wine glass loose in her hand and the hotel robe hanging slightly open at the collar and her hair coming loose from where she had it tied earlier, and she looks at me the way you look at something you tell yourself cannot not possibly happen. Her lips part, jaw drops slightly. Her eyes flick past me to the door closed behind me. Then back to me.And whatever she was about to say she does not say, because the specific muscle in her jaw is doing the thing it does when she is deciding, in real time, how she wants to play the next thirty seconds.She chooses warmth.Of course she does.That is the version of her she has always deployed first, and I watched her deploy it a thousand times across dinner tables and living rooms and hotel bars, and I know the exact shape of the softness that is about to arrive in her voice before she opens her mouth to produce it."Liam." She says my name the way she used to say it in the morn

Emma's POV I stare at the second envelope on the mat.Cream. Heavy stock. Centred exactly where the first one was, as if the person who placed it measured the distance from the door frame with the same care both times. Placed within the last twenty minutes, while I sat at my kitchen counter listening to Ace describe the posture I take when I am afraid.Which means whoever left it is still in the building.Or was, in the last twenty minutes.Or has a key, or a way of coming and going, that the concierge does not know about.I do not pick it up immediately. I stand in my open doorway with my coat over my arm and my keys in my hand and I look down at the envelope, and I look up at the empty corridor, and I look at the elevator at the far end of the hall, and I understand in one clean second that whoever is doing this is either watching my door right now or has someone in this building who is.I step back into the apartment.I close the door.I lock both locks.I call Adèle, who was alrea

Liam's POV The text arrives at eight fifty-three.I am at the desk in the suite reading a document Marcus sent me overnight, and my phone lights up on the wood beside me, and I glance at it and I stop reading.The number on the screen is not saved to my phone.But the number is one I know.I have known it for over three years. I have not called it in three years. I have not been contacted from it in three years. I have not restricted it in three years, and I have never once, in all of that time, seen it light up on my screen with a message attached to it.I pick up the phone.I open the message.Marcus is going to call you within the hour. Take the call, no matter where you are or what you are doing.I read it twice.I read it a third time.I do not respond. I do not reach for the dial to call her. I do not do any of the things the version of me from three years ago would have done, which would have been to react. I sit at the desk in the suite with her message on my screen and I let