Chapter 4

Liam sat on the floor of his now-foreign office, surrounded by the shredded remains of his future. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a jarring intrusion into his silent despair. He pulled it out, expecting a call from a concerned family member, a call he wouldn't know how to answer. Instead, it was a text from an unknown number.

"The arrangements are almost complete. We have a place for you in a secure location. Everything you need will be provided. Your recovery is the priority."

It was signed with a single initial: I.

Isabella. A jolt went through him, a flicker of something that wasn't despair. It was a lifeline. He texted back a simple "Thank you."

A moment later, the phone buzzed again. This time it was a call from the same number. He answered. "Hello?"

"Liam, it's Isabella." Her voice was the same as he remembered-calm, clear, and authoritative. "I trust you've handled what you needed to."

"Yes," he said, his voice quiet. "I have."

"Good. There's a car waiting for you a block away. Black sedan. The driver knows who you are. He will take you to a private airfield." She paused. "Do you have any questions?"

"Who are you?" he asked again, the question more urgent this time. "Why are you doing this?"

There was a brief silence on the other end. "Let's just say I represent a private organization that believes in justice. Especially for people who have been wronged by those who think they are above the law. Your case came to our attention. We don't like bullies, Liam. And the syndicate you crossed are some of the biggest bullies around." Her explanation was vague but carried an undeniable weight of power. This was not some small-time operation.

Before he could ask more, the office door flew open. Chloe stood there, her arms crossed, her face a mask of suspicion. "Who are you talking to?"

Liam quickly ended the call. "No one. A wrong number."

Chloe didn't look convinced. She walked into the room, her eyes falling on the pile of shredded blueprints on the floor. Her expression hardened. "What did you do?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"It does matter!" she shot back. "That was our future!"

"No, Chloe," he said, looking up at her from the floor. "That was your future. Mine ended in a basement a week ago." He saw a flicker of something in her eyes-maybe guilt, maybe just anger at being called out.

She quickly masked it with a return to her cold indifference. "You need to stop being so dramatic. The kidnapping was horrible, I get it. But you have to move on. Wallowing like this is just... pathetic. It makes you look weak."

The word 'weak' hung in the air between them. It was her favorite new description for him. He slowly got to his feet, his body aching. He had to get out of there.

As if on cue, she delivered the final, humiliating blow. "Mark is going to be staying here for a while," she said, avoiding his gaze. "Things at his old place are complicated. I told him he could use this office to work. I hope that's okay."

It wasn't a question. It was a declaration. She was not only replacing him in her bed but also in his creative space, the one place that had always been truly his. She was systematically erasing him from the life they had built.

He expected to feel a fresh surge of rage, of hurt. Instead, he felt a strange, cold calm settle over him. It was the calm of finality. He looked at her, at this woman he no longer recognized, and simply nodded. "Okay."

His quiet compliance seemed to unnerve her more than any outburst would have. She had been braced for a fight, for more tears, for more 'drama.' His placid acceptance threw her off. "Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"What else is there to say, Chloe?" he asked. "It's your apartment now. You can do what you want."

Her name, spoken with such sharpness, seemed to startle him. It wasn't the way Chloe used to say his name, full of affection. This was a command, an indictment. The sound of her voice, so full of disdain, sent an involuntary tremor through him. He felt the walls of the room begin to close in, the air growing thin. He had to get out. Now.