Chapter 3 - Standing beneath the grand crystal chandelier while the terrified young maid confronts a ruthless interrogation about her secret connection to the crying infant child.
The framed US flag hanging neatly beside the grand staircase seemed to watch over the tense confrontation like an unblinking witness of justice.
Liam took another slow step forward, his black unbuttoned dress shirt parting slightly to reveal the taut muscles of his exhausted chest.
"Look at me, Clara," Liam commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience or evasion.
Clara slowly lifted her chin, her long dark wavy hair framing a face that bore the unmistakable ghost of a tragic, forgotten past.
Her eyes met his hazel ones, and for a fleeting second, Liam felt as though the floor beneath his polished shoes had completely vanished.
Those eyes held a depth of sorrow and fierce maternal devotion that stirred memories he had tried to drown in bourbon for half a decade.
"My name is Clara Vance," she finally whispered, the name carrying a strange, heavy resonance that echoed through the empty marble halls.
"Vance? As in the Senator Vance logistics group?" Liam asked, his brow furrowing as he calculated the dangerous political implications.
"No relation to that corrupt dynasty," Clara replied coldly, her jaw tightening with an unspoken resentment that ran deeper than ocean trenches.
"Then explain why my son, who hasn't stopped screaming since my wife walked out on us, fell silent the second you touched him," Liam demanded.
"Babies sense instinct, Mr. Sterling; maybe he just knows who actually cares whether he breathes or starves," Clara retorted with unexpected fire.
May you like
Liam stepped back as if struck, the sharp rebuke cutting through his exhaustion and piercing straight to his guilty, tormented soul.
---
Related Stories
