Chapter 171 – Liam's Rule
Liam Blackwood's POV
The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and red outside the tinted windows of his black SUV as it pulled up to the entrance of the luxury penthouse he used when he didn't feel like going home. Not that his actual home was lacking, but it held memories—too many of them. And tonight, he didn't want memories.
He wanted silence. No shadows. No plans. No ghosts.
Just escape.
The elevator ride to the top floor was smooth and quiet, save for the low hum of soft jazz filtering from the speaker overhead. He hated jazz. Arya loved it. And she'd once made him listen to it during long drives. Now it was just a sound that clung to his nerves.
He stepped into the suite and loosened his tie, shrugging off the weight of the day. Meetings, double-crossings, and the name Marcus always finding a way into his thoughts like a splinter under his skin. The man had crossed too many lines.
And Valkyrie…
He closed his eyes. Four years and she still lingered like the taste of something bittersweet.
He moved toward the bar in the corner of the room, pouring himself two fingers of whiskey, letting the fire burn down his throat as he settled into the leather couch. His phone buzzed on the table.
Your girl will be there in 20. Blonde. Quiet. No strings.
Liam stared at the message without reacting. He didn't need strings. He didn't want names. That was the rule.
He wasn't a player. He didn't collect women like trophies. He didn't chase or entertain drama. What he did—what he needed—was control. A brief moment where he didn't have to think about power plays or betrayal or underground missions. When he was too stressed, too deep in his own head, and teetering on the edge, he needed an anchor.
Something—someone—that didn't ask questions. That didn't look at him like he was broken or dangerous.
That was why he set the rules.
No names. No attachments. No one stayed past sunrise.
By morning, the girl would be gone, and Liam would return to the chaos he called life.
He wasn't proud of it, but he didn't hate himself either.
He was a man trying to stay afloat in a world filled with liars, backstabbers, and people like Marcus who didn't understand the cost of declaring war on him.
He sipped his drink and leaned back. The lights were dimmed low, casting shadows across the room. He liked the dark—it didn't judge him. He didn't have to pretend here.
There was a knock at the door.
Liam didn't move right away. He stayed still, studying the glass in his hand as if it had answers written in the amber liquid. Then, slowly, he rose and walked over to open the door.
She was beautiful, as expected—tall, blonde, slim waist, and dark eyes that gave away nothing. She smiled softly.
"Mr. Blackwood," she said politely.
He nodded. "Come in."
She walked past him, her heels silent on the marble floor. He closed the door behind her.
"Do you want to talk first?" she asked gently, standing near the window.
He shook his head. "Not tonight."
She didn't ask more. That was why he paid extra—no questions, no conversation, no lies pretending it was something it wasn't.
She followed him into the bedroom. He didn't look at her face when she undressed. He didn't want to remember her.
And he didn't want her to remember him.
Tonight, he didn't need warmth. He needed distraction.
Afterward, Liam lay in bed, fully awake while she slept beside him. Or at least pretended to sleep. He didn't care either way. He stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of the city beyond the glass windows reaching his ears.
He could still hear Raven's voice from earlier that day:
"They found her, boss. Valkyrie."
His jaw clenched.
Everything was spiraling too fast again.
He reached over and grabbed his phone. It was 2:16 AM.
He texted Shadow:
Tomorrow. 10 PM. Warehouse B. We finalize the plan against Marcus. No loose ends.
He set the phone down, ran a hand through his hair, and let out a long breath.
The woman stirred beside him, but he didn't look at her.
By morning, she'd be gone. The sheets would be cold. The room would be silent again.
And Liam Blackwood would return to being what the world expected him to be—ruthless, calculated, and untouchable.
But for now, just for tonight, he could pretend he wasn't any of those things.
He could pretend he was just a man trying to forget.