Chapter fourteen
The Watcher
Liam didn't move.
He stood in the shadows across the street from Aiden's building, eyes fixed on the
top-floor window — the only one with a faint golden glow still burning at this hour.
She was in there. He'd watched her go in.
Hazel.
Or... not Hazel.
He hadn't decided yet.
The first time he saw her — really saw her — had been two weeks ago.
She'd been laughing, holding a coffee she never got to drink. Something inside him had stopped. Not skipped. Stopped.
She had Emily's face.
Emily's walk. Her voice, her hair, the way she tilted her head when thinking.
But it wasn't just resemblance. It was worse.
It was like she remembered.
He couldn't explain it. Not logically. Liam had always been the reasonable one.
The quiet one. The observer. Aiden had been the charming storm — all fire and impulse and control.
And Emily? She'd been the bridge between them.
Until she wasn't.
Until she became the reason everything fell apart.
Liam took a breath, letting the city's cold night air slide down his throat.
He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets.
Hazel had been drawn to Aiden too quickly.
That bothered him.
The pull between them wasn't natural — it was like they were falling back into something they hadn't earned.
Something they'd already lived.
But they didn't deserve that second chance. Not after what happened.
Especially not Aiden.
Liam's eyes shifted back to the window.
He couldn't see clearly from here — only silhouettes when they passed close to the curtains. But he didn't need detail.
He could feel it.
Aiden had kissed her. He knew it.
Hazel had let him.
And somehow that burned more than he expected.
She doesn't know who you are, a voice inside whispered.
Not yet.
He would wait. Let Aiden get comfortable. Let Hazel fall into whatever illusion she thought she was living.
And then he'd unravel it. Thread by thread.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the photo again — old, creased, worn at the edges.
The last picture of the three of them together.
Aiden in the center, one arm around Emily, the other loosely slung over Liam's shoulder.
Emily was laughing. Liam was smiling too.
But when he looked closer, he could see the crack in his own eyes.
The line between admiration and ache.
He hadn't meant to fall in love with her.
He had tried to step back.
He'd told her so — once.
"I'd rather lose you than betray him."
But she'd kissed him anyway.
And in that moment, the choice was made for him.
Liam looked up again.
Hazel had stepped near the window now — just her silhouette, framed by light
. She was barefoot, hair down, a robe or something soft wrapped around her.
Not Emily.
But close enough that his chest hurt.
Aiden didn't deserve her.
He never did.
Liam still remembered the way Emily cried the night before her accident — the fight they'd had.
The secrets she confessed.
The promises she made. And then she was gone.
But Liam had never believed it was an accident. Not really.
Not when Aiden had so much to lose.
And now? Hazel showing up with Emily's face, Emily's voice, in the middle of everything?
No. That wasn't fate.
It was a test.
And Liam had waited too long to act.
He slid the photo back into his coat and stepped away from the streetlamp.
He didn't need to watch any longer tonight. He had time.
But not much.
And when the moment came, when the pieces finally aligned—
She would have to choose.
Him.
Or the man who let Emily die.