Chapter 2 — Unwelcome Reunion

Liam

The gravel crunched beneath the tires of the sleek black SUV as it wound its way up the narrow mountain road, the sound faint but persistent in the stillness of the late afternoon. From his study window, Liam Kane watched the vehicle’s steady approach, his piercing blue eyes narrowing. His estate had been designed to be impenetrable—a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. And yet, here it was: the past, barreling up his driveway in the form of Isabella Hartley.

He tightened his grip on the windowsill, his knuckles briefly paling. He’d spent years fortifying this place, his life, against intrusions like this. Letting her in felt like unlocking a door he’d sworn to keep bolted. But there was no choice. Not with his company on the brink of scandal. Not with the stakes this high.

The SUV came to a stop in the circular driveway, and Isabella stepped out. Her movements were brisk, efficient—so familiar it made something twist deep in his chest. Chestnut hair, kissed by sunlight, glinted in shades of auburn and gold. For a moment, he was transported back to the way that hair had tumbled over his fingers, the way her laughter had once filled the spaces between them.

Liam clenched his jaw, yanking himself back to the present. Nostalgia was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not now. Not with her.

He turned away from the window and strode toward the front door, his steps echoing sharply in the quiet hall. By the time she reached the estate’s heavy wooden door, he was there to meet her, his towering frame filling the entryway. He stood rigid, one hand gripping the doorframe as if bracing for impact.

“Ms. Hartley,” he said, his voice clipped, each syllable measured and deliberate.

“Mr. Kane,” she replied, her hazel eyes locking onto his without hesitation. There was a flicker of something in them—hesitation, guilt, or perhaps both—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You’re late,” he added curtly, stepping aside to let her in.

“No, I’m exactly on time,” she corrected, brushing past him into the foyer. Her blazer was perfectly tailored, her heels tapping sharply against the polished stone floor. But despite her composed exterior, her presence felt foreign here, an unwelcome disruption to his sanctuary.

The air inside was cool and still, faintly scented with cedar from the fireplace. Every detail of the space, from the meticulously arranged furniture to the gleaming floors, exuded order and control. It was his domain, a fortress carved out of chaos.

“You’ll be staying in the guest wing,” Liam said, his tone as impersonal as the marble beneath their feet. “It’s isolated from the rest of the house, so you’ll have the privacy you need for your work.”

Isabella arched a brow, her expression unreadable. “Privacy for my work or privacy from you?”

His gaze hardened. “Both.”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curling into a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Still as charming as ever, I see.”

He ignored the jab, his stride purposeful as he led her toward the living room. “You’re here for answers. I’ll give you what you need. Nothing more.”

The vast space opened up before them, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the jagged peaks of the mountains beyond. The room was a study in controlled elegance—neutral tones, minimalist furniture, and not a single item out of place.

Isabella paused, her gaze snagging on the view. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured, almost to herself, her voice softer now.

Liam felt a pang of something he didn’t want to name. He hadn’t invited her here to admire the scenery. “This isn’t a vacation,” he said, his tone cutting through the moment like a blade.

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing. “Of course not. You brought me here to make my job as difficult as possible. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

Her words, laced with quiet venom, struck a chord. “You always did love spinning things to suit your narrative,” he shot back, his voice colder now.

“And you always did hate anyone pointing out the cracks in your perfect image,” she replied, her tone sharp but calm, like a scalpel cutting precisely where it hurt.

Before he could respond, a soft giggle interrupted them—a sound high and light, coming from the doorway.

Liam tensed, his posture stiffening as he turned to see Emily standing there. Her strawberry-blonde curls caught the light, and her wide blue eyes darted curiously between him and Isabella. She was clutching the edge of the doorframe, her small fingers smudged with dirt, a telltale sign of her latest adventure in the garden.

“Daddy, who’s that?” she asked, her small voice carrying easily through the large room.

Isabella’s expression softened instantly, the sharpness in her gaze melting away. “You must be Emily,” she said, crouching slightly to meet the girl’s eye level.

Emily hesitated, her grip tightening on the doorframe. “How do you know my name?”

“Your dad told me,” Isabella replied, her tone gentle. “I’m Isabella. I’m going to be staying here for a little while.”

Emily tilted her head, studying Isabella with the seriousness only a child could muster. “Are you here to help Daddy?”

“Something like that,” Isabella said with a small smile.

Liam cleared his throat, the sound sharp and commanding. “Emily, why don’t you go find Mrs. Hill and see if she needs help in the kitchen?”

Emily’s gaze lingered on Isabella for a moment longer before she nodded. “Okay, Daddy.” She turned and padded away, but not before glancing over her shoulder, her curiosity evident in the small furrow of her brow.

As soon as she was gone, Isabella straightened, the warmth in her expression replaced by the guarded look he remembered all too well. “She’s lovely,” she said softly, almost wistfully.

“She’s not a part of this,” Liam said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

Isabella’s jaw tightened, a brief flash of defiance sparking in her hazel eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting she should be.”

For a moment, they stood there, the tension between them as sharp as the mountain air outside. Liam could feel the weight of her presence pressing against the walls he’d so carefully built around himself.

“I’ll have someone show you to your room,” he said finally, his voice cool and detached. “Dinner is at seven. Don’t be late.”

As he turned and walked away, he could feel her eyes on his back, a sensation both unwelcome and unsettling. His hands clenched briefly at his sides, his stride faltering for the barest moment before he forced himself to move forward.

Letting her into his home was a risk. Letting her into his life again? Unthinkable. And yet, as he closed the door to his study, Liam couldn’t ignore the faint tremor in his chest—the first crack in the armor he’d spent years perfecting.