Chapter 66: The Interview
Liam’s POV
Three days. Three days since I’d been beaten within an inch of my life by a faceless man from my past who.had turned me to his personal punching bag. Three days of lying in bed, watching shadows creep across my ceiling as pain radiated through my body with each breath. The bruises had bloomed across my skin in violent purples and sickly yellows, a physical manifestation of my spectacular fall from grace.
I gingerly touched my bandaged ribs as I descended the stairs toward the dining room. Dr. Jason had warned against movement, but isolation was driving me mad. The silence of the house pressed in on me from all sides, giving me too much space to think, to remember.
Thomas had been stopping by daily, bringing groceries and checking that hadn’t died in my sleep.
The maid had laid out dinner before leaving for the evening—some kind of poached fish with vegetables. Bland, easily digestible food for the invalid. I lowered myself carefully into my chair, wincing as my broken fingers brushed against the table’s edge. The painkillers were wearing off, but I resisted taking more. The fog they created was worse than the pain.
I’d been absent from work all week. A reluctant call to Vanessa and a brief, humiliating conversation with Guerrero had secured me some time to "recover from a minor accident." The official story was food poisoning followed by a fall. The truth—that I’d been assaulted by a disgruntled ex-employee—was locked away, another secret to add to my growing collection.
My phone buzzed on the table beside me, the screen lighting up with yet another name I didn’t want to see. Richards from the board. I silenced it, just as I had silenced the dozen calls before. They’d heard something, no doubt. Perhaps rumors of my "accident" had begun circulating, whispers of weakness spreading through the corporate ecosystem like blood in shark-infested waters.
Let them talk. Let them wonder. I’d return soon enough, stronger for having been broken.
The fish tasted like nothing in my mouth, but I forced myself to eat. Recovery required sustenance, regardless of appetite. As I raised another forkful to my lips, my phone buzzed again—this time with Sophie’s name flashing across the screen.
She had been persistent today, calling repeatedly since this morning. Six missed calls, no voicemails. Whatever she wanted, I wasn’t in the mood. The last person I needed to see was her, with her demands and complications and reminders of everything that had gone wrong.
I hesitated, then silenced it. Whatever crisis she was having would have to wait. I had my own demons to wrestle.