The ambulance lights flickered red and blue against the glass walls of Styles Global.
Lisa stood frozen, her fingers ice-cold against her phone.
Shot.
Liam’s father.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs, her stomach knotted tight.
This wasn’t just corporate warfare anymore.
It was blood.
Liam shoved his phone in his pocket, his face carved in stone. His jaw flexed but his eyes were somewhere else—far away, locked behind some invisible door she couldn’t open.
“I need to go,” he muttered.
Lisa stepped forward. “Liam, wait—”
But he was already grabbing his coat, his movements clipped, mechanical. His shoulders stiff under the weight of betrayal, grief, and rage.
Lisa’s voice cracked. “Liam, listen to me—”
He didn’t.
The door slammed behind him.
Silence swallowed the penthouse who
