Chapter 92 What If She Already Had?

• Liam lowered the phone slowly, as if it weighed more than just glass and circuits. The call was over. Alistair had answered. Rosie was with him. At his apartment.
• That knowledge, expected though it was, sat in Liam’s gut like a block of melting ice—cold, slow, and stubborn. He didn’t need to hear the words to believe them. The villa had already told him. The mug with the chipped handle she liked so much was still in place. The one she pretended to hate but always reached for. It wasn't sitting on the sink, unwashed, which felt worse somehow, like she’d decided she didn’t need comfort anymore. Not from here.
• He turned toward the wide window of his study, the city glimmering below like it didn’t know how to care. It was all just glass and light and empty noise. His own reflection stared back at him, a shadow with tired eyes and a jaw locked too tight. This office—this fortress of polished wood and calculated distance—had never felt so silent. Even the air was holding its breath.