Chapter 3
His gaze drifted from the flower to the dark circles beneath my eyes, to the IV in my arm, to the cheap shoes beside the bed still wet from melted snow.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
I almost laughed, but it came out as a tired breath.
“You sign my overtime approvals every week.”
His face tightened.
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“Emma,” I said. “Emma Hale.”
He repeated it silently, as if committing it to something deeper than memory.
Then his eyes hardened—not at me, but at some invisible enemy.
“How long has this been happening?”
I knew what he meant.
The skipped meals. The sleepless nights. The endless overtime. The tasks piled on my desk because I was too desperate to refuse them. The managers who called it ambition when they meant exploitation.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
“No.” His voice sharpened. “You fainted in my lobby at nearly midnight.”
“I’m not the only one working late.”
“You’re the only one whose body gave out.”
I looked away.
The door opened before I could answer.
A woman stepped in, immaculate in a charcoal coat, her silver hair twisted into a knot at the back of her head. Her face was familiar from business magazines and company holiday videos, though I had never seen her in person.
Vivian Vance.
Liam’s mother.
She glanced first at him, then at me, and finally at the blue paper flower in his hand.
Her expression changed so quickly I might have missed it if I had blinked.
Fear.
Not surprise. Not confusion.
Fear.
“Liam,” she said smoothly. “Your driver said there was an incident.”
He did not stand.
“There was.”
Her smile was polished enough to cut glass.
“I assume she’ll be compensated appropriately. These late-night accidents can become unpleasant if handled poorly.”
My stomach turned.
To her, I was not a person in a hospital bed. I was a liability.
Liam’s hand closed tighter around the flower.
“Do you recognize this?” he asked.
Vivian’s eyes flicked to it.
Only for a second.
“No.”
Liam watched her.
“You’re lying.”
The room went colder than the snow outside.
Vivian’s smile faded.
“Careful.”
It was one word, but it carried a lifetime of command.
For the first time since I had known of him, Liam Vance did not obey.
“This flower belonged to the woman who saved my life.”
Vivian said nothing.
“Her daughter works in my design department,” he continued. “Her daughter collapsed tonight from exhaustion inside my company.”
Vivian looked at me again, and something unreadable passed over her face.
Then she sighed.
Not with guilt.
With annoyance.
“Sentiment has always been your weakest trait,” she said.
Liam rose slowly.
“My weakest trait?”
“You were missing for fourteen hours,” Vivian said. “The press almost found out. Your father was negotiating the Weston merger. We could not afford the appearance of negligence.”
I stared at her, unable to breathe.
Liam’s voice dropped dangerously low.
“So you knew where I had been.”
Vivian adjusted one leather glove.
“Eventually.”
“And you knew who found me.”
“She was paid.”
The words struck the room like a gunshot.
My fingers curled into the blanket.
May you like
“What?” I whispered.
Vivian looked mildly irritated that I had spoken.
