ELIZABETH'S POV
Saturday morning comes with the smell of sugar and warm dough. Aunt Massie's pastry shop is already buzzing, and I spend half the day helping her box orders, greet customers, and refill display trays. Kids press their noses to the glass. Couples share pastries. Massie hums while she bakes, her smile soft and proud.
It's ordinary.
It's peaceful.
Days like this at the pastry shop feels like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
Massie bakes in a steady rhythm, flour smudged on her cheek. Rose helps decorate cupcakes and argues with her playlist. Customers drift in and out, laughing, talking, smelling like rain and coffee.
I take orders, wipe counters, refill the pastry case, and try not to think about the man who stood in front of me yesterday.
Liam Smith.
I don't know what I expected him to be like, but somehow, he was… more. Sharper. Colder. More intense than any description I'd heard.
When he looked at me, it felt like he saw everything and nothing at the same time. Like he was evaluating the worth of the air I breathed.
And yet—
I didn't feel small.
I felt… focused. Like I had to be very still just to hold my ground.
Massie notices me drifting off at the counter. She nudges me with her elbow.
"What's got you thinking so hard?"
"Nothing."
"Mmm," she hums. "The kind of nothing that could pull your head into the clouds."
"It's work," I admit.
She studies me for a moment. "You'll be fine. You always are."
"Am I?" I ask softly.
She wipes her hands on a towel and gives me a gentle look. "You forget what you've survived, Lizzie. Meetings are nothing compared to real life."
She's right.
But still… monday is coming fast.
LIAMS POV
Sunday is worse.
Not because anything happens. But because nothing does. I can't get ahead of my own thoughts.
I go to the gym in the morning. Normally, pushing my body past its limit helps clear out the mental noise. But today the noise stays. I shower, get dressed, and try to dive into work.
Becka calls twice. I ignore both.
Edward shows up uninvited with takeout and eats half of it before I touch mine.
"You're thinking too loud," he says.
"Get out."
"Can't. You need me."
"For what?"
"For telling you the truth."
He raises an eyebrow.
"You're bothered," he says. "And I know why."
"You don't," I snap.
"Elizabeth Williams," he says simply.
I go still.
Edward leans forward, elbows on his knees. "You don't dislike her. If anything, she disrupted your equilibrium."
"That's ridiculous."
He shrugs. "Is it? You postpone a meeting for the first time in two years, then stare at the wall all weekend. I'd call that disruption."
I grit my teeth. "I postponed because I wanted a controlled conversation with Leonard."
"And that woman made you rethink your approach. You don't get affected, Liam. Not by anyone. So the fact that you even noticed her…"
He shakes his head like he's amused.
"I notice everything," I say.
"Not like that."
He wipes his hands, stands, and heads to the door.
"Be careful," he says again. "People like her… they don't play your games. And you don't know how to play theirs."
I look out the window. Lightning flashes faintly over the skyline.
Tomorrow is the meeting.
And I am not the only one heading toward it.
Somewhere across the city, Elizabeth Williams is preparing too—but she doesn't know what she's walking into.
A part of me wants to see how she handles the pressure.
Another part wants to see if she breaks.
And a small part—one I refuse to acknowledge—wants to see what happens when our worlds collide again.
I exhale slowly and turn away from the window.
Tomorrow begins something.
Whether I like it or not.
I cross to the bar cart and pour a glass of water. For a second I consider whiskey, but it's barely noon, and I don't drink when I'm unsettled. That's a rule I learned years ago—liquor magnifies emotions I prefer to forget exist.
I take a slow sip and look out the window. From the penthouse, the city stretches wide and bright below me, a maze of movement and noise I don't have to participate in. I should feel grounded by the view. I usually do. But I keep replaying Friday.
Starlight's sterile lobby.
Leonard's strained smile.
Becka watching me like a dog guarding a bone.
And then—
Elizabeth.
The way she looked up at me. Calm. Alert. Not intimidated, not impressed. Just… present. Women don't look at me like that. Most people don't. They either try to get something from me or shrink away, knowing I can ruin them with a single strategic sentence.
But she had stared at me like she was bracing herself without stepping back.
It shouldn't matter. I don't want it to matter.
It does.
I run a hand across my jaw, annoyed at the entire situation. At myself most of all.
My phone buzzes. A single notification flashes across the screen:
MOTHER:
Dinner tonight. Six sharp. Don't be late.
Your stepfather has something to discuss.
Perfect. Luke always has something to discuss. Stocks, land purchases, political contacts. Sometimes he throws in fatherly advice he delivers like a corporate memo. I respect him. I don't need anything from him.
But my mother will want me there. And for her, I go.
I text back a simple: On my way.
Then I toss the phone aside, start the shower, and strip. Hot water hits my back, easing muscles still tight from the week. I close my eyes, letting the steam fog everything over.
But Elizabeth's face still flickers behind my eyelids.
I curse quietly.
This is ridiculous. I've met thousands of people in boardrooms, negotiations, overseas conferences. Beautiful women. Brilliant women. Ruthless women. Not one of them stuck in my mind long enough to make me lose focus.
So why her?
By the time I'm on the road, the sun has started dipping toward the horizon. The drive to the Smith family mansion is long enough to let the city fall away mile by mile. Traffic fades, buildings thin out, and the landscape grows into sprawling estates and quiet driveways.
We turn through the wrought-iron gates and climb the circular drive. The mansion rises ahead, too large and too ornate for my taste. Edward calls it "the palace." I call it "evidence of my mother marrying a man with old money and no concept of subtlety."
Still, it's familiar. I grew up in these halls after my father died and my mother remarried. Luke wasn't cruel. Just cold in a way that matched us. He fit into our lives without pretending to fill the space our father left. I respected that.
The car stops. I step out into the crisp air, adjusting the cuffs of my dress shirt. The front doors open, and one of the staff ushers me in with a bow. I nod and walk through the foyer.
The mansion's interior is warm in a curated, museum-like way. Paintings, antiques, polished marble floors. Wealth that doesn't need to prove itself but still insists on being seen.
Voices drift from the dining room. I follow them.
Edward sees me first. He's leaning back in a chair, his tie loosened, swirling a glass of wine.
"Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence," he says.
"Shut up," I reply, taking the seat across from him.
He grins. "Mother said six sharp."
"It's six-oh-three."
"So you're slipping."
Mother enters then, elegant as ever, her dark hair pinned up, her earrings catching the light. She comes straight to me, cupping my face briefly like she did when I was fifteen.
"You look tired," she says, brushing invisible lint from my shoulder.
"I always look tired."
"That's because you work yourself to death," she replies, kissing my forehead. "Sit. Eat. Try to be human for one evening."
"I make no promises."
She smiles, the kind that softens her whole face, and moves to her seat.
Luke arrives last. Tall, silver-haired, always more businessman than stepfather. He nods at me as he sits at the head of the table.
"Liam. Good. We can begin."
Staff bring in dinner—steak, roasted vegetables, some overly sweet sauce Luke insists is a "family recipe." I cut into the steak, listening as Luke goes straight into conversation.
"We have an opportunity," he says. "A development project on the west coast. Private investors. But they want a partner with design influence."
I raise a brow. "Meaning… Global Legacy."
"Exactly. They've asked for a meeting."
"Already gave my conditions to the board."
"Yes," Luke says, "but this is different. They want you specifically."
Edward whistles. "Look at you. Popular."
I ignore him. "Why me?"
"Your reputation," Luke answers. "You're efficient. Brutally honest. And you don't sugarcoat anything. Investors like clarity."
My mother gives him a look. "Translation: they want someone who intimidates everyone into getting things done."
Luke shrugs. "It works."
I take a slow sip of wine. "Fine. Set the meeting. I'll hear them out."
"Good," Luke says. "Because this deal could expand Global Legacy's reach significantly."
I nod. It's expected. Routine. The kind of conversation that used to absorb my entire attention.
But not tonight.
Tonight, there's a constant tug at the back of my mind—an image I can't shake. Not a building plan. Not an investor. Not a competitor.
A woman in a white blouse, tapping a pen against her planner.
My mother notices the slight shift in my focus. She always does.
"You're quiet," she says softly.
"I'm always quiet."
"No," she says, studying me more closely, "this is different. Something's bothering you."
Edward chimes in immediately. "Her name is Elizabeth."
I shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut bone.
Marinela's eyebrows lift. "Elizabeth?"
I inhale slowly. "She's an assistant at Starlight."
"Oh," my mother says, relaxing. "A professional matter."
"Not exactly," Edward mutters.
I kick him under the table. Hard.
He yelps. Marinela frowns at both of us. "Children."
I lean back, trying to appear indifferent. "She's just someone who crossed paths with me during a meeting. Nothing more."
My mother tilts her head. "Then why do you look like you're thinking about her right now?"
I stiffen. Edward smirks.
Luke, who has been silent, finally speaks. "If she's distracting you, remove her."
Typical Luke.
"Not necessary," I say coolly.
"Are you sure?" Luke asks. "You're a man who thrives on control. Anything or anyone that disrupts that can become a liability."
My jaw tightens. "I don't get distracted."
Edward coughs loudly. "Liar."
I give him another look that promises consequences.
Luke continues, ignoring the childish exchange. "You're entering a large negotiation tomorrow. Clarity is essential. If this woman—"
"She is not a problem," I say sharply.
Silence fills the table for a moment.
My mother watches me with quiet curiosity, like she's piecing something together. "What is she like?" she asks casually.
I grip the stem of my wine glass. "Ordinary."
Edward snorts. "Right. Because you think about ordinary women all weekend."
"I didn't—"
"You did," he says.
My mother smiles behind her hand in that knowing, motherly way that grates on my nerves.
"She must have made an impression," she says gently.
I look away, focusing on my plate. "It doesn't matter. I'm not interested."
Luke cuts his steak with cold precision. "Good. Relationships complicate things."
There it is. The unspoken rule. The family philosophy. The one I adopted without question. The one my father lived by. The one my mother ignored when she dared to fall in love twice. The one that has protected me since—
I swallow hard.
Since her.
Since the woman who taught me exactly how love can be weaponized.
I push my plate away slightly.
My mother notices the shift and reaches over, resting her hand briefly on mine. "Not everyone wants to hurt you, Liam," she says softly.
"I know."
I don't believe it.
After dinner, we move to the sitting room. Edward pours more wine. Luke talks numbers. My mother asks about the office renovation I'm planning. I answer automatically, barely listening to my own words.
Because my mind keeps drifting. To her.
Elizabeth Williams.
Her measured voice.
Her quiet confidence.
Her steady eyes.
Something tells me she isn't someone who fades after one meeting.
Something tells me she's going to be a problem.
Not for Global Legacy.
For me.
When I finally leave the mansion, the night air is cold, sharp, grounding. I step into the car and lean my head back against the seat.
I should be preparing for tomorrow.
I should be strategizing.
I should be doing anything other than this.
Thinking of her.
But even as the driver pulls onto the road, her face lingers in my mind like a faint imprint I can't wash off.
Elizabeth Williams.
Calm, collected, annoyingly memorable.
I close my eyes.
Tomorrow, I'll see her again.
And something deep in my chest—the part I thought died years ago—flickers in response.