Chapter 6 - The Shadows RetreatThe final two days of the week passed in a tense, watchful quiet. Senator Vance’s private militia made no further attempts to breach the estate, apparently licking their wounds after the disaster in the pine forest.
By Thursday evening, the mansion felt different. The heavy, oppressive dread that had choked the hallways when I first arrived had lifted, replaced by the crisp, clean scent of pine and antiseptic.
I stood by the window in Liam’s bedroom, pulling the heavy velvet drapes wide open to let the brilliant afternoon sunlight flood across the polished wooden floors.
Liam sat propped up against a stack of pillows, reading a stack of corporate restructuring files, his color returning to a healthy, natural bronze. The external fixator on his leg still made movement difficult, but he could now sit upright without grimacing in agony.
“You know,” I said, turning away from the window and crossing my arms over my scrubs, “most billionaires hire professional security firms and high-priced PR consultants to take down their enemies. You just bleed on the carpet and intimidate them through sheer stubbornness.”
Liam looked up from his files, a slow, amused smile curving his lips. “Security firms talk too much. Stubbornness gets results.”
He set the file aside, his blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken.
“Tomorrow is Friday,” he said quietly.
My chest tightened slightly. The realization hit me with unexpected weight. My contract was finished. Tommy was receiving his treatment at Northwestern. The ten thousand dollars sitting in the manila envelope on the desk would cover rent, groceries, and months of stability.
I was free to go back to Chicago. Back to the county hospital, back to my normal, grinding life.
“Yes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Friday.”
Liam reached into the drawer of his bedside table, pulled out a second manila envelope—thicker than the first—and slid it across the mahogany surface toward me.
I walked over, picked it up, and opened the flap. Inside wasn't just cash. It was a deed transfer for a small, sunlit bakery and apartment downtown, completely paid in full, alongside a medical endowment fund bearing Tommy’s name.
I stared at the papers, my breath catching in my throat. I looked up at Liam, shaking my head.
“I can’t accept this. This is... this is too much.”
“It’s not charity,” Liam said, his voice dropping into a low, uncompromising register. He reached out, his warm fingers wrapping around my hand, stopping my protests. “It’s an investment. I like having my life saved, and I happen to know a certain nurse who is entirely too stubborn to let me die, but deserves a kitchen with actual sunlight instead of working eighty hours a week in a county hospital.”
I stood frozen, looking down at his hand holding mine. The rough calluses, the faint scars from a life built on violence and survival—they didn't scare me anymore. They felt like home.
“And what if I don't want to bake in a bakery downtown?” I whispered, a slow smile breaking across my face. “What if I’d rather stay here and argue with you about your medication?”
May you like
Liam’s eyes flared with a sudden, brilliant heat. He pulled me gently forward until I was standing right beside the bed, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me down against his chest.
“Then consider yourself hired,” he murmured against my hair, his lips brushing my temple. “Indefinitely.”
