Chapter 97 It Had All Been An Act, Hadn't It?

• The shower pelted Liam like it held a personal grudge. It was too hot—deliberately so—but he didn't flinch. Let it burn. The sting was better than the dull, echoing ache left behind after Rosie’s words. In the quiet of the foyer earlier, her voice had landed with surgical precision—clean, cold, cutting. And now the scalding water did what it could. Not to heal, no, just to occupy. Distract. Maybe even punish.
• He stood there far too long, letting the water batter his skin until his fingers pruned and his spine began to complain. Eventually, he shut it off. Silence followed, dense and abrupt. The marble bathroom echoed it back like a vault. Steam draped over everything, making the mirror useless, his reflection just a blur of fog and shadow. Maybe that was for the best.
• He reached for the towel and dragged it over his hair with a roughness that bordered on aggression. Then wrapped it around his waist and stepped into the cool air of his dressing room. The scent of cedar and tailored cloth greeted him—predictable, controlled, unlike everything else in his life right now. He breathed it in.