Chapter2

It was Liam. In that instant, I caught the fleeting trace of panic flashing through the depths of his eyes. But his panic lasted only a single second.

"Help her up," Liam threw out coldly to a nearby waiter, not even tossing a single glance at Mia on the floor.

Mia had been eagerly waiting for him to support her. Her half-extended hand froze in midair, and the pitiful grievance on her face instantly shifted into sheer embarrassment.

Then, his gaze turned to me. He pulled a pocket square from his suit jacket and wiped his hands with slow, deliberate movements.

"I don't care which abandoned construction site you crawled out of," his voice was pushed dangerously low, "but since you're still alive, you should have stayed rotting in the sewers. Coming onto my turf and touching my woman... Chloe, you've completely forgotten the lessons of the last three years."

He raised a hand and pointed at the marble floor beneath his feet, which was slick with spilled wine.

"Kneel." He articulated every single word. "Wipe Mia's shoes clean. Then get the hell out."

I threw a glance at Mia, who had just been rolling hysterically on the floor.

Two waiters were trembling over her, nervously pressing a towel to her skin to stop the bleeding. Hearing Liam's words, Mia stopped her wailing, utterly unable to suppress the triumphant upward twitch of her lips.

I let out a soft scoff.

"Wipe her shoes?" Instead of kneeling, I took a step forward. "Liam, if you like collecting trash, that's your business. Don't expect others to be your janitor."

Liam's hand-wiping motion came to an abrupt halt. His face instantly darkened into a thunderous storm. With a cold sneer, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers crisply.

His personal assistant immediately stepped forward, respectfully offering up a black box in his hands.

The assistant opened the lid. Inside rested a small white ceramic urn—Leo's ashes.

My stomach plummeted violently. My fingers dug tight into the fabric of my dress.

The onlookers in the know sucked in sharp breaths. Over the past three years, Liam had become a notorious paranoiac in New York's business circles. No matter the occasion, his assistant never left his side, always carrying this exact box. But now, he took the urn out entirely. Gripping it with one hand, he walked step by agonizing step toward the edge of the elevated marble platform.

One loose grip, and it would shatter.

"Your mouth really is tougher than it was three years ago," he said. "But I'd love to see just how tough your knees actually are."

He extended his arm, moving the urn completely past the platform's edge so it hung suspended in midair. Gripping its rim with just three fingers, he deliberately loosened his hold. The ceramic jar violently slipped half an inch downward before he pinched it tight again.

"Three," he suddenly started counting, his voice stripped of any warmth.

People around us gasped softly, yet no one dared utter a word to stop him.

"Two."

Hiding behind a bodyguard, Mia couldn't suppress a vicious, utterly gloating smile.

Inside that urn was the precious treasure I would have gladly carved out my own heart and flesh to save.

"Liam!" someone in the crowd exclaimed in a hushed, horrified voice, appalled by this cruel blackmail.

Liam turned a deaf ear to it. He merely stared at me, the corners of his lips curling upward as if he already saw the image of me kneeling before him.

I bit through my lower lip so hard I tasted my own blood.

Kneel. All I had to do was kneel. As long as I knelt, I could keep my son's ashes safe, just like that blizzard-swept night three years ago, when I slammed my head against the floor outside the cellar door until my vision blurred.

I stared at the ceramic urn dangling perilously in midair, and then looked back at Liam's face, practically glowing with inevitable victory.

But it had been three years. The little boy who used to cry, "Mommy, I'm cold," was no longer inside that jar.

I unclenched my trembling fists and straightened my spine.

I did not bend my knees even a single fraction of an inch.

The cruel sneer on Liam's face instantly froze. His absolute desire for control was utterly shattered.

He jerked his head around and waved a commanding hand at the dozen bodyguards surrounding us.

"Break her legs, and hold her down to make her kneel!"