Liam Devereux
“Mr. Devereux, how does this project align with your company’s long-term vision?”
I leaned back in my seat, adjusting my cufflinks as I considered the question. I had already answered variations of this same inquiry throughout the interview, yet they still pressed on.
“Our vision remains the same,” I responded smoothly. “We are expanding, innovating, and ensuring that Devereux Enterprises stays ahead of the curve. This project is not just about real estate, it’s about transforming New York’s skyline.”
The host nodded, pretending to be deeply interested. I knew better. He wasn’t interested in the project. He was looking for something more, something personal.
“And what about the funds your company is donating to non-governmental organizations? Some say it’s just a PR move. Would you consider this charity?”
I shrugged, suppressing the irritation rising within me. “They can call it whatever the hell they want.”
The host chuckled awkwardly, sensing my indifference. I was already tired of this conversation. I had better things to do than sit here and indulge in the media’s endless curiosity.
Then, as expected, he decided to cross the line.
“Speaking of your public image,” he continued, shifting in his chair. “Many have noticed that despite your wealth and status, you remain a mystery when it comes to your personal life. Our audience is curious, do you have someone special in your life, Mr. Devereux?”
I didn’t even blink. I simply stared at him, letting the silence stretch long enough for him to become uncomfortable.
“I don’t discuss my personal affairs in public,” I finally said.
He smiled, thinking he had disarmed me. He hadn’t.
“Come on, Liam,” he pushed, using my first name as if we were old friends. “Surely there’s someone. An ex, perhaps? A woman from your past?”
I set my jaw and leaned forward slightly. “Are we done here?”
The host hesitated, clearly unsure of how to recover from my abrupt dismissal. He quickly signaled to the cameraman, who cut the segment short. I watched as the host’s confidence crumbled under my gaze.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Devereux,” he muttered.
I didn’t respond. I simply stood, adjusting the cuffs of my tailored suit.
James, my assistant, was already by my side. “I told you, sir, these interviews help with public relations.”
I shot him a sharp look, and he immediately fell silent. He knew better than to push me when I was in a foul mood.
The moment we stepped out of the studio, I noticed the problem. Paparazzi. Cameras flashed, voices shouted, reporters swarmed the entrance.
I turned to James, who immediately looked guilty.
“I told you to make this a closed interview,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
“I did,” he insisted. “They weren’t supposed to know you were here. The host must have leaked it.”
I sighed heavily. I didn’t have the patience for this.
“Do we have another exit?” I asked.
James hesitated. That was all the answer I needed.
Frustrated, I straightened my tie and began walking toward the black Mercedes Benz parked a few meters away. The crowd erupted as I moved, pushing closer, shoving microphones in my direction.
“Mr. Devereux, just one question!”
“Liam! Do you have any comment on—”
“Liam, are you seeing someone?”
I ignored every single one of them. I had spent years perfecting the art of indifference, and today was no different.
James rushed ahead, opening the car door for me. I was about to slide in when a voice rose above the chaos.
“Liam Devereux!”
I ignored it at first, assuming it was another desperate reporter.
Then the voice came again.
“Liam Devereux, it’s me! Sophie Evans.”
I froze.
Everything around me faded. The shouting, the flashing cameras, the overwhelming noise, it all disappeared in an instant.
That name. That voice. Slowly, I turned around, my heart pounding harder than it should have. And there she was. Sophie Evans. Standing amidst the chaos, her eyes locked onto mine with a desperation I had never seen before.
The woman I had tried so hard to forget.
The woman I never thought I would see again.