Thirty-six hours passed like water through fingers.
Liam didn't sleep. Didn't eat. Didn't go near her door. He worked—spreadsheets, contracts, deals he couldn't focus on—because working was easier than thinking.
Thinking meant remembering her face when she told him.
Thinking meant hearing his father's voice.
Thinking meant Harry's words: She was seventeen.
He stands now in the penthouse living room, midnight blue suit, watching the city blur below. The gala starts in two hours. The gala where Kaelen promised to destroy them.
The gala where Isla's voice will fill the room.
His phone buzzes.
We need to talk. Before tonight. Please.
Isla.
He types back: I'll be in the car at 7.
He doesn't know what he'll say to her. Doesn't know if he can look at her. Doesn't know anything except that thirty-six hours of silence have hollowed him out completely.
---
Isla
She hasn't left her room in thirty-six hours.
Chloe came. Brought food. Held her while she cried. Didn't ask questions because she already knew—Isla told her everything, years ago, and Chloe said the same thing Harry said: You were a child.
But Chloe isn't Liam.
Liam hasn't looked at her since he walked out.
She stands now in front of the mirror. Black gown. Simple. The one Anna sent that she hasn't worn yet. She puts on earrings. Lipstick. Armor.
Tonight, Kaelen will play his recording.
Tonight, everyone will know who she was.
Tonight, she loses Liam forever.
Her phone buzzes.
I'll be in the car at 7.
Three words. No warmth. No promise.
But he's coming.
That has to mean something.
---
The Car
They sit on opposite sides of the back seat. City lights flash through the windows. Neither speaks.
Finally, Liam turns. Looks at her for the first time in thirty-six hours.
"You should have told me sooner."
"I know."
"I might have—" He stops. Starts again. "I don't know what I would have done. But I deserved to hear it from you."
"You did."
Silence.
"Tonight," he says quietly, "he's going to play recordings. Phone calls from eight years ago. Your voice. My father's voice."
Her stomach drops. "How do you know?"
"Because I'd do the same thing." He looks away. "If I wanted to destroy someone."
She nods. Because what else can she do?
They don't speak again until the car stops.
---
The Gala
The ballroom glitters. Chandeliers. Champagne. Cameras flash as they enter—Liam's hand on her lower back, the picture of a perfect couple.
No one knows what's coming.
Then she sees him.
Across the room, Kaelen Mercer raises his glass. Smiles. Tips it toward her.
Beside him, a man adjusts audio equipment.
No.
She grips Liam's arm. "He's going to do it now."
Liam follows her gaze. His jaw tightens. "Stay close."
They try to move. But Kaelen is already stepping onto the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen." His voice cuts through the chatter. "I have something special tonight. A recording from eight years ago, when a man named Alexander Blackwood tried to save his family from ruin."
Liam freezes.
Kaelen nods. The recording begins.
Static. Then a man's voice—desperate, exhausted, breaking.
"Please. I need to speak to Mr. Mercer. I've called four times. I'm going to lose everything—my house, my family, my son. Please."
Isla closes her eyes.
A pause. Then a girl's voice. Seventeen. Uncertain.
"Mr. Mercer's office, how can I help you?"
The room gasps.
The recording plays on. The begging. The messages. The final defeated click.
When it ends, everyone is staring at Isla. Cameras flash. Whispers rise.
Kaelen steps forward. "The girl on that recording is Liam Blackwood's new wife. She took those calls. She knew Alexander Blackwood was begging. And she did nothing."
Liam hasn't moved.
Isla reaches for him. "Liam—"
He flinches. Steps away from her touch.
The cameras catch it.
"Isla Conti," Kaelen continues, "daughter of the man who helped move the money that destroyed the Blackwood family."
The room erupts. Questions. Shouts. Flashing lights.
Isla reaches for Liam again—
And he's gone. Walking away. Toward the exit. Not looking back.
Liam.
She tries to follow. But hands grab her—reporters, security—and she's trapped, watching him disappear.
Kaelen appears beside her. Leans close.
"Told you I'd destroy you both."
---
One Hour Later
Isla sits alone in the car. The same car that brought them here. The driver waits. The city glitters.
Liam isn't here.
Her phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
She answers anyway.
"Isla?" A woman's voice. Older. "It's Claire Blackwood. Liam's mother."
Isla's heart stops.
"I received checks from you. Restitution, you called them. I never understood why. Until tonight." A pause. "My son is sitting in my kitchen. He hasn't spoken in forty minutes. He's going to make a choice tonight—stay or leave. And I think he needs to hear something only you can say."
"What?"
"That you're not running."
The line goes dead.
Isla stares at her phone. Then she opens the door. Steps out. Starts walking.
She doesn't know where she's going. Doesn't know if she'll find him.
She just walks.
Until she finds herself somewhere familiar.
A street in Brooklyn.
A faded sign.
Conti's. Since 1972.
The lights are off. But through the window, she sees someone sitting at the table by the window.
Liam.
She opens the door.
He looks up. His eyes are red. His face is hollow.
"How did you know I'd be here?"
"I didn't." She crosses the room. Sits across from him. "But it's the only place that made sense."
Silence.
"I heard the recording," he says quietly. "Really heard it this time. Heard you." His voice breaks. "You were a child. You were a child and you answered phones and you didn't know and I've spent thirty-six hours trying to hate you and I can't."
"Liam—"
"I can't hate you." He looks at her. "I don't know if I can trust you. I don't know if I can forget. But I can't hate you."
She reaches across the table. Slow. Giving him time to pull away.
He doesn't.
"I'll spend the rest of my life earning your trust," she whispers. "However long it takes."
He looks at their hands. At the table. At the restaurant that started all of this.
"I should have stayed tonight. When you reached for me."
"You're here now."
"Does that count?"
She smiles. Small. Hopeful. "It's a start."
They sit in silence. Holding on.
Then Liam's phone buzzes.
He glances at it. Freezes.
"What?"
He turns the screen toward her.
A text from an unknown number. But they both know who sent it.
Nice reunion. But you forgot something.
I have more recordings. Phone calls from seventeen-year-old Isla. Want to hear what else she said?
I'll be in touch.
Below the text, a sound file.
Liam looks at her. "Whatever this is—"
"Play it."
He presses play.
A girl's voice fills the empty restaurant. Seventeen. Scared. Crying.
"I don't want to do this anymore. Please. He keeps looking at me. He gives me candy and calls me 'little one' and I don't—I don't like it. Please don't make me go back there."
Isla's blood turns to ice.
Her father's voice now, harsh:
"You'll go back. You'll do what they say. We need this money."
"But Dad—"
"You're helping. That's what matters. You're helping."
Click.
The restaurant is silent.
Liam stares at the phone. Then at her.
"He knew." His voice is strange. "Your father knew about Kaelen. About the way he looked at you. And he sent you back anyway."
Tears spill down her cheeks. She nods.
Liam sets the phone down. Stands. Moves around the table. Lowers himself to his knees in front of her.
"You were a child," he says. "You were a child and he was supposed to protect you and he didn't." His voice breaks. "Isla. God."
She's crying now. Really crying.
"I didn't know how to stop," she whispers. "I just kept going back because he said I was helping."
"Because you were a child." He cups her face. "None of this was your fault. None of it."
She looks at him. At this man who had every reason to walk away.
"Liam—"
"I don't know if trust comes back." His voice is raw. "I don't know if I'll ever look at Kaelen without wanting to kill him. But I know you were seventeen and scared and used by people who should have protected you. And I know I'm still here."
"You are?"
"I'm here."
She falls into him. Arms around his neck, crying like she hasn't cried since she was seventeen.
He holds her. Right there on the floor of Conti's.
He holds her.
---
Later
They're still on the floor when her phone buzzes. And his. And the restaurant landline starts ringing.
All at once.
Kaelen's voice fills both lines:
"Touching. But you're forgetting something. The restaurant. Conti's. I own it now. Have since the night you wrote that check."
Isla's heart stops.
"I can do whatever I want with it. Including selling it to developers." A pause. "Demolition crew starts Monday. Say goodbye to Nonna's sauce, sweetheart."
The line goes dead.
Isla stares at the phone. At Liam. At the restaurant around her.
Gone. Monday. Four days.
Liam takes the phone from her shaking hands. Sets it aside. Pulls her close.
"We'll figure it out."
"How? He already sold it."
"There's always something." He pulls back. Looks at her. "I built an empire from nothing. You ran this restaurant alone for two years. We're not done yet."
She wants to believe him.
But Kaelen's voice echoes in her head.
Demolition crew starts Monday.
Four days to save the only home she's ever known.
Four days to fight a man who's already won.
She looks at Liam. At this man who should hate her, who's kneeling on a dirty restaurant floor holding her like she matters.
"Okay," she whispers. "Together."
He kisses her forehead. Soft. Gentle. Like a promise.
Outside, the city hums. Somewhere, Kaelen is celebrating.
But in a small Italian restaurant in Brooklyn, two people hold on to each other and refuse to let go.
Monday is coming.
But tonight, they have this.