Liam's POV
After days of avoiding Guerrero's calls, I finally deemed myself fit to return to the office. The seclusion of my mansion had become unbearable—reporters camping outside, jobless people driving by to throw trash at my gate, vandals spray-painting obscenities on my property. With each passing day since Diane's interview, the public's hatred had grown more tangible, more vicious.
I adjusted my Tom Ford tie in the rearview mirror as Thomas, my driver, pulled up to the Synergy Sphere building. The reflection that stared back at me looked composed, powerful—a careful illusion I'd perfected over years. Only the shadows beneath my eyes betrayed the turmoil beneath.
"I'll call when I'm ready to leave," I told Thomas, stepping out into the crisp morning air.
As I strode through the lobby, conversations halted. Employees averted their eyes, their whispers following me like ghosts. Let them talk. Let them wonder. I was still Liam Ashton, and this was still my company.
