Liam stood frozen in the middle of the conversation, his jaw clenched and his fists tightening at his sides. His heart was pounding in his chest, and confusion clouded his thoughts like a thick fog. He couldn't shake the growing dread in his gut.
"This can't be right," he muttered under his breath, brows furrowed as he paced a few steps toward the door.
His mind raced with thoughts of Ava, of how she must be waiting, worried sick. He needed to explain. He needed to see her.
"I need to talk to Ava," he declared, this time louder, more firmly, as he turned to leave.
But before his foot could hit the floor again, a sharp, commanding voice pierced the air and stopped him cold.
"Don't even think about going to see that woman," came the chilling voice of his mother.
Liam turned slowly, eyes locking on his mother, who stood like a queen surveying her territory—cold, regal, and completely in control. Her eyes narrowed, her voice like ice cutting through glass.
