Chapter 5

Liam’s POV.

I couldn't sleep.

I sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, legs wide apart, one hand rubbing the back of my neck while the other held an untouched glass of whiskey. I'd lost count of how many hours had passed since I last saw her face.

She had no idea what she did to me.

It started with her face. Not just her beauty, though yeah, she was beautiful. She looked like someone I'd seen in a dream I didn't even know I had. There was something soft in her eyes, something... familiar. Like I already knew her, even before she walked into my room that day.

Then came her body. Real. Curvy. Full. She looked nothing like those plastic dolls most men chased. She didn't need to look like them. All I saw was everything I wanted. Everything I didn't even know I liked.

And when she spoke? When she raised her voice at me, told me to back off, called me a jerk, a psychopath? I was hooked. The fear in her eyes... yeah, it stabbed me in the chest. But the fire in her voice lit something in me I hadn't felt in a long time.

And I hated that she still looked at me like I was a monster.

I wanted her to feel safe. Not because I was trying to play the nice guy but because I genuinely wanted her to like me. To look at me without fear. To trust me. To see that I wasn't just the gun, the mansion, the danger. That I was also the man who hadn't stopped thinking about her since the second I saw her.

I didn't want to just own her time. I wanted her to want to give it.

But I didn't know how to make her feel that way without making everything worse. And I hated that too.

I leaned forward and let out a slow breath. Then her phone rang.

It was still in the drawer by my bed. Where l'd thrown it days ago. I'd meant to return it, but something stopped me. Maybe I just didn't want her talking to anyone else.

l opened the drawer. "Bestie" with a heart emoji flashed on the screen.

I hesitated. Then I answered.

"I've been trying to call you for days now," a girl said quickly. Her voice was full of panic. "Where are you? Are you hurt? I asked your mum if you were at home and she said you're not, that she thought you were at my place. Where are you? Your mum even talked to the police about you."

I leaned back. "She's fine. You don't need to worry about her."

There was a moment of silence.

"What the hell? Who are you and where is my best-"

I ended the call.

Then turned off the phone and threw it back in the drawer.

The next morning.

I stepped out of my room and saw her.

Bella. Dressed in jeans and a simple top, her curls are messy but pulled back. She looked like she was ready to bolt out the door.

"Good morning," I said.

She didn't even pretend to be polite. "I want to leave."

"You can't, mummy."

Her arms crossed. "I have to go to the hospital. I've already missed too many days. I'll get in trouble. I might lose my job."

"I can call your boss," I said, my voice even. "Tell him you'll resume when I say you can."

She laughed dryly, then walked closer and shoved me in the chest—not hard, but it made her point. "You can't just keep me here like some damn prisoner. You're insane. What right do you have to kidnap a doctor? I came here to treat your wound, not be caged like a damn hostage."

She was breathing hard now. Her voice cracked. "This is a crime. And I swear to God, Liam, I'll make sure you pay for this."

I let her speak. All of it. I didn't interrupt. Just stood there and took it. When she finally paused, I asked, "Do you want to go for a drive?"

She blinked like she didn't hear me right. "What?"

"A drive. To clear your head."

"I don't want to go for a drive. I want to go home."

"You've got two choices," I said quietly. "Come with me now. Or stay locked in this house till further notice."

She stared at me. Her jaw clenched. Then she muttered, "Fine."

In the Car.

We didn't talk at first. She sat with her arms crossed, eyes glued to the window.

I drove without rushing. Pulled through a drive-thru.

Ordered food. She didn't touch it.

On the way back, I glanced at her. "Your best friend called."

She whipped her head to me. "What?"

"Last night. I answered. Told her not to worry."

Her mouth dropped. "You what?!" she yelled. "You didn't tell me?! You didn't let me talk to her?! What the hell is wrong with you?"

She was yelling now, hands flying. "You controlling freak! God, you're such a jerk. A dickhead. I hate you."

She turned back to the window. Quiet and furious.

We pulled up at a red light. Her head turned slightly, then she froze.

"What the hell..."

I followed her gaze.

A huge billboard lit up across the street. Her face. A

"MISSING" sign. Her full name, a hotline.

She gasped. "Oh my God," she whispered. "They're looking for me."

She looked out the window like she was seeing hope for the first time in days. Her hand crept toward the door.

Then we passed a police car.

I saw her mouth part like she was about to scream. I reached into my coat, pulled out my gun, and pressed it to her side.

"Shut the fuck up," I said coldly.

She froze. Every part of her stiffened. Not a sound came out after that.

I gripped the wheel tighter.

I hated myself at that moment.