Page 133 of Sinfully Yours

Her eyes flash, but she keeps her expression schooled, her amusement intact. "Ah, there it is. That Carter arrogance." She sighs theatrically. "Always so convinced that you're untouchable. That you can outmaneuver me."

I stay silent.

She clicks her tongue, feigning disappointment. "You know, that's always been your problem. You play the long game, but you never know when to fold." She leans in just slightly, lowering her voice. "It's why you lost the first time. Why Carter Holdings was so easy to dismantle."

My heart thuds painfully, but I don't react.

"Tell me, darling," she muses, voice mock-sympathetic. "Did it sting? Watching your investors turn on you one by one? Seeing the lawsuits pile up? Having your own board members whisper about whether you had the nerve to run a company?" Her lips curve. "I wonder what your father would have thought, knowing his son wasn't quite the prodigy he was promised to be."

My fists clench at my sides, but I stay rooted. Vanessa sees it, the lack of response, and it irks her.

So, of course, she pivots.

"And then, of course, there's Ava," she says, examining her nails like this is a casual discussion. "The way you look at her—God, it's almost tragic. Like you actually think this is real."

I exhale slowly.

She grins. "Oh, Liam. You're fooling yourself if you think this is anything more than a phase for her. A rebellion." She shrugs, eyes gleaming. "She spent her whole life under her brothers' control. It's cute, really. Of course, she'd latch onto the one man who doesn't have his shit together."

Still, I don't rise to the bait.

But inside? Inside, I want to tear this entire place down brick by brick.

Because Vanessa? She doesn't believe a damn word she's saying. She's just trying to sink her claws into the one thing she can't stand losing control over me.

I roll my shoulders, leveling my gaze with hers. "Are you done?"

She tips her head. "Not quite."

She reaches into her coat pocket with her free hand, pulling out her phone. With a single swipe, she turns the screen toward me, revealing a photo—grainy, but clear enough. A storage unit. The kind that's monitored, locked down, inaccessible without the right codes.

"This," she says, tapping the image, "is where I keep my insurance policy."

My jaw tightens, but I stay still.

She swipes again, bringing up another photo. This one shows the inside of the unit—rows of metal filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, a secured safe bolted into the concrete floor. And in the foreground, a sleek, encrypted hard drive resting on a steel desk.

"Everything is in there," she continues smoothly. "Every deal I've ever made, every name I've ever covered for, every cent I've ever funneled through Carter Holdings. Proof that I" —she gestures delicately to herself— "was never the only one playing dirty." Her smile turns razor-sharp. "I imagine the SEC would have a field day. As would the Feds. And, of course, your beloved investors."

My blood runs cold.

Because she's right. If that hard drive contains what I think it does, it's not just her insurance—it's a nuclear weapon. One that could destroy not only her but the remnants of Carter Holdings, the company I've spent the last year trying to rebuild from the ashes she left behind.

"I never did anything wrong," I retort, but the slight tremor in my voice is enough.

"Oh, sweetheart." She tilts her head, mock-sympathy dripping from every syllable. "You really think that matters?"

I grind my teeth, but she continues before I can cut in.

"Tell me, do you think your clients will care that you never touched a cent of my dirty money?" She lets out a low, musical chuckle. "Do you think the SEC will take your word for it? Or, better yet, the press? Because when that hard drive leaks—and trust me, it will—it won't matter that the discrepancies are all mine. Your name is Carter. Your firm still bears your father's legacy. Do you really think anyone will stop to sort through the fine print before they rip it all apart?"

My fists clench.

I rebuilt Carter Holdings from the ground up after she nearly burned it to the ground. After she funneled money through shell contracts, inflated projections, and used our projects as leverage for her backroom deals. I spent months severing ties, reassuring investors, proving—to the board, to the city, to myself—that Carter Holdings could still stand.

And now she's dangling a noose in front of me, daring me to pretend it's not there.

"I erased every trace of you from my firm," I say, voice low, measured. "You have nothing."

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