CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A few days had passed since Philip's visit.
Few days of forced calm.
Few days of pretending nothing had changed.
Mayor Liam told no one.
Not his wife.
Not his daughter.
Not even himself—at least not aloud.
He buried it beneath paperwork, meetings, smiles for the public, and the dull routine of governance. If he kept moving, kept talking, kept breathing—then perhaps the danger would remain distant. Perhaps the past would stay buried where it belonged.
By the time the sun dipped low, bleeding orange and gold across the horizon, Liam was done for the day.
His car rolled through tall iron gates and into the private driveway of his home.
The house stood quietly behind layers of hedges and security fencing—large but not extravagant. Two stories of pale stone and dark wood, with wide glass windows that reflected the dying light. It wasn't the kind of mansion that screamed wealth. It was the kind that whispered stability.
A place built for family.
