He came here to get to the older sister. Fuck. And I ate it hook, line, and sinker.
“Roxy—” He steps closer, his beautifully sculpted face contorted into something that might be regret, or just plain calculation.
I don’t trust this man.
The thought slices through my chest like a sharp blade. Because a second ago, I did.
“Shut up. Just don’t talk.” I stretch out my hand to protect my space. “I told you this morning that we’re over. This only confirms that I was right. It was just a meaningless affair, anyway.”
He winces, actually winces, and steps closer. I almost take a step back, but fuck, I’m not going to cower.
“I will get you what you came for.” I jab my finger in his direction. “But you’ll promise to stay away from my sister.”
“I’m not interested?—”
“I swear to God, Liam.” My pulse thunders so loudly that half of Manhattan must hear it.
He shakes his head in exasperation. “Okay. I promise to stay away from your sister.”
“Not that your word means much.” I snort, my vision blurring, my heart hammering in my temple, making me dizzy.
I need to calm the fuck down. This is how mistakes are made.
“Can you please hear me out?” His plea is urgent and low, stripped of all bravado. That terrifies me more than anger ever could.
For a split second, I see his restraint, frustration, and something dangerously close to sincerity.
I don’t trust this man. Worse, I can’t trust myself around him. I let his words, often full of praise, fool me enough already.
“Fuck you, Liam. I’m not listening to a word you say. Everything you ever told me was a fucking lie.”
We are so close now, his scent embraces me, familiar and dangerous.
“Thunder…”
The nickname is a whisper, laced with regret and hope. It tugs at the strings of my heart; my eyes burn again.Just don’t cry, Roxy.
A knock on the door jerks us apart. “Mr. Stone, sorry to interrupt, but your mother is on the phone.”
He doesn’t look at his assistant, his gaze locked on me, like he can still anchor me here. “Tell her I’ll call her back,” he barks.
“She says it’s urgent.”
Liam groans.
“We’re done here, anyway.” I march out of his office.
I stop in the middle of the open-concept floor, not really sure where I’m going.
My hands tremble. The lump in my throat threatens to tear a scream loose.
Around me, the space hums in its typical rhythm: keyboards clicking, voices low and urgent, phones ringing, laughter drifting from the break room.
Someone shouting, someone explaining, someone celebrating a job well done.
The Merged symphony I’ve come to love feels like a finale. Like the last notes of a song I’ve memorized, but will never hear the same way again.
When I forced my father’s hand to let me taste freedom, my goal was to build a life for me and Tee. My brothers smirked at the idea.
