Liam’s POV
It was the first time I’d ever liked one of them.
Not that I’d met her.
But damn, did she know how to make an impression.
“A note?” I asked, trying not to laugh and failing miserably. “You’re telling me she left a note like this was summer camp?”
Arthur did not find it funny. He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was trying to keep the veins from bursting.
“She’s missing. She’s been missing since morning. Athena’s losing her mind. The staff is combing the city.”
I bit back another laugh. “Tell Athena to check under the nearest yoga mat. Or maybe she finally figured out what marrying into this family actually means.”
Arthur glared. “This isn’t a joke, Liam.”
“No,” I agreed, pushing back from the table. “It’s a goddamn miracle.”
I stood, tossed a couple hundred-dollar bills onto the plate even though I knew Arthur would hate that. “Thanks for dinner, old man. Really hit the spot.”
“Where are you going?”
“To work. In a very good mood.”
And I was. Floating, practically. The sky was clearer. The air—less polluted. My enemies? Still pathetic.
She’d run.
Not because of me, specifically, but because she could. Because she wanted to.
The rebellious daughter of Athena Sinclaire. Already my favorite almost-fiancée and I didn’t even know what she looked like. Hell, maybe in another life… I’d have chased her.
Maybe she’d have let me catch her.
I let that thought roll around for a minute as I stepped into the elevator of the Duarte Tower. Seventy-three floors of my empire. My rules. My name in slick platinum across the front like a signature I dared anyone to forge.
The elevator dinged on my floor, and there was Jamie—coffee in one hand, chaos in the other.
“Well, well, well.” He smirked the moment he saw me. “Rumor has it your reputation finally scared one off before the first drink.”
I smiled. “Fuck off, Jamie.”
“She left a note, man. A note. That’s Shakespearean levels of dramatic. You inspire art now.”
“Shouldn’t you be managing my calendar instead of my dating reputation?”
“Oh, I am,” he said cheerfully, handing me a tablet. “Which is how I know you’ve got that Tech Strategy Lead interview in ten minutes.”
I groaned.
“Don’t give me that. You’ve been bitching for months about finding someone who could actually work with you without crying.”
“That was one time,” I muttered.
“Two. And a half.” He winked. “Anyway, this one’s promising. Bit of a wildcard, though. No real work experience. Just credentials out the ass. Resume reads like she hacked the Matrix in high school.”
He handed it over, and I skimmed the name.
Ava Green.
Top of her class. Dual degrees. Award-winning capstone on scalable AI infrastructures. Hackathons. Patents. Glowing reviews from every interviewer.
“No real-world experience,” I said.
“Sure, but... she’s got that thing. Grit.”
“I like grit.”
“I know. You are grit.”
We stepped into the executive corridor—glass walls, polished concrete floors, and an atmosphere so silent it might as well bill by the minute. My office was a few steps down. The interview room? To the right.
Jamie nodded toward the one-way glass. “She’s in there.”
I looked.
And the world stopped.
She was sitting in one of the low leather chairs, legs crossed, back straight, a folder resting in her lap. Hair so dark it looked almost black under the light, twisted into some kind of careless knot that still managed to look unfairly elegant. Skin kissed by a hint of sun. Lips that should’ve been illegal. And eyes—
I couldn’t see them yet, but I knew, somehow, they’d wreck me.
She wasn’t beautiful. She was a goddamn problem.
And I wanted to solve her.
“Jesus,” I murmured.
Jamie grinned. “Told you.”
“She looks…”
“Like she’ll destroy you with a smile?”
“Like she shouldn’t be here.”
“Then maybe she’s exactly who you need.”
I handed him the resume. My pulse was spiking. I hadn’t even heard her speak yet, and she was already living rent-free in the part of my brain I usually kept locked.
Ava Green.
Mystery girl. Brilliant. A wildcard.
I reached for the door handle, heart suddenly— inexplicably—pounding.
Let’s meet her.