Liam sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at the ceiling.

Darren wasn’t okay but this much was established.

He knew this the way he knew when a case was about to fall apart—a gut feeling, honed by years of reading between the lines. Darren’s voice had been too tight and his pauses too long.

The way he had said weird like the word itself weighed something.

But Liam also knew something else whivh was Darren hating pity.

He hated it more than being indebted to someone, more than he hated failing, more than he hated any of it—pity made him shut down completely.

Liam had seen it happen before.

A well-meaning friend had once tried to stage an intervention for Darren’s finances. Darren didn’t speak to the guy for six months.

So Liam had to be smart about this.

Which was why having Rachel around was turning out to be a blessing in disguise.

She lived in the same building as Darren. Same floor, actually. Different units, but close enough that a visit to her could easily include a casual stop by Darren’s door.

Darren would never know Liam had come specifically to check on him. It would look natural.

"Perfect," Liam thought.

He stood up slowly, his body still protesting Mike’s torture session from yesterday. The soreness had faded from excruciating to merely annoying thanks to Rachel’s massgage that she nearly undid by riding him. He could move now at least, that was enough.

This allowed Liam to freshen up, shower and the basic hygiene routine to get himself ready for the day.

Liam grabbed a hoodie from his closet—dark gray, soft, something that looked put-together without trying too hard.

He was about to head for the door when his phone buzzed in his hand.

He looked down.

[Mrs. Harriet.]

Liam frowned because he had no personal relationship with this woman.

This was the third time she had reached out in two days. When he worked at Harlan & Associates, she barely contacted him at all. A quarterly review her, a holiday party invite there.

Nothing personal and definitely not this frequently.

But now? Now she was practically blowing up his phone.

"Why?" Liam wondered. Liam wasn’t dull, not by a long shot or he wouldn’t have made senior associate at such a young age.

Liam’s legal mind kicked into gear. The timing was strange. The frequency was strange. Everything about this was strange.

Unless...

Unless they wanted to retain him. Unless there was something she wasn’t saying. Unless there was something that had happened—something out of the ordinary—that made them nervous.

His thumb hovered over the screen.

Then he set the phone down.

He didn’t work for her anymore. He wasn’t an employee. He didn’t have to answer just because she called. That was the beauty of being unemployed—no obligations. No forced smiles. No pretending to care about partners who would throw him under the bus the moment he became inconvenient.

Liam grabbed his keys.

"I’ll call her when I feel like it," he muttered to himself.

Right now? Right now he had a friend to check on.

-

Mrs. Harriet paced her home office.

Her phone lay on the desk. Three calls to Liam. Three ignored, no text back, nothing.

This had never happened before.

When Liam worked for her, he answered every call within two rings. He responded to emails within minutes. He was reliable to a fault—one of the reasons she had fought to keep him around as long as she did.

But now?

Now he was a ghost and who could blame him?

Harriet stopped pacing and stared out the window. The Seattle skyline stretched before her, gray and indifferent. Somewhere out there, Liam was living in the company’s housing, probably ignoring her calls on purpose.

"Ge knows something," she thought. "Or he’s starting to." Mrs. Harriet trusted her intuition above all else.

Arthur was convinced Liam wouldn’t find the loophole. "The boy is distracted," he had said. "He’s too busy crying over his gold-digging ex-girlfriend to read his own termination letter,"

Their break up was no secret for someone who posts on social media all the time.

But Arthur was arrogant. Arthur had never bothered to actually know Liam.

Harriet had, at least, to the extend she did with most of her bright employees.

She had seen his case files, watched him argue in court and witnessed the way his mind worked—sharp, meticulous, unforgiving. He was the kind of lawyer who found the crack in every argument because he refused to accept things at face value.

If he ever looked at that termination letter with a clear head, he would see it.

The private story. The limited audience. The policy’s wording.

Publicly visible or reasonably likely to become public.

A private Instagram story didn’t meet that threshold. Not legally, it wasn’t full proof.

And while not all lawyers might be able to exploit, Liam certainly would.

And if Liam sued? The firm would settle. Six figures, maybe seven and publicly as well with headlines that would make Arthur’s smug face disappear.

Harriet kissed her teeth in irritation.

She couldn’t let that happen.

She walked back to her desk and picked up her phone. Scrolled through her contacts. Found the name she was looking for.

[Vanessa Cole.]

She was young, ambitious, and beautiful in a way that made men forget their own names. Blonde hair that fell in waves past her shoulders. Green eyes that could charm the truth out of a ghost. And a body that she used like a weapon—massive breasts that strained against every blouse, hips that swayed with intentional precision, an ass that had closed more deals than Harriet wanted to admit.

Vanessa was an associate. Low-level and hungry for a promotion.

And she was perfect for this.

Harriet pressed call.

Vanessa picked up on the second ring. ["Mrs. Harriet? Is everything okay?"]

"Vanessa, I need you to do something for me. Discreetly."

["Of course. What is it?"]

Harriet leaned against her desk. "Liam. Former senior associate. Terminated two days ago."

["I know who he is," ] Vanessa said. There was something in her voice. Interest, maybe. ["Tall, blonde, blue eyes and a very good dresser."]

"That’s him. He’s not answering my calls. I need you to go to his place and talk to him."

["His place? The company housing on Fourth?"]

"Yes. He’s still there. For now." Harriet paused. "I need you to convince him to take the New York position. The associate firm. Make him see it as an opportunity, not a consolation prize."

["And if he says no?"]

"Then you find out what he’s thinking. What he’s planning..." Harriet’s voice hardened. "I need to know if he’s a threat, Vanessa."

Silence on the line.

Then: ["And what do I get out of this?"] Vanessa asked, her tone shifting.

Harriet almost smiled. She respected ambition.

"A promotion. The junior partner track. And a very generous bonus."

["How generous?"]

"Generous enough."

Another pause. Then Vanessa laughed—low, smooth, confident. ["Fine. I’ll go see him. But I’m going to need his address."]

Harriet sent it to her immediately.

"Don’t underestimate him," Harriet warned. "He’s smarter than he looks. And right now, he has nothing to lose."

["Those are the most dangerous ones," ] Vanessa said. ["I know."]

The call ended.

Harriet stared at her phone.

She had just sent a wolf to check on a wounded lion.

She hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.