Chapter 3: The Hunt Begins
599 Words
Liam Sinclair wasn’t the kind of man who let things slip through his fingers. Especially not a woman like Ella Moreau.
The moment she walked out of Crimson Luxe, his patience ran thin. He turned to his right-hand man, Victor Hale, who had been sitting nearby, quietly observing.
“Find out everything about her,” Liam ordered, his voice low but sharp. “I want to know who she is, where she came from, and why the hell she thinks she can just walk away from me.”
Victor gave a curt nod, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll have everything within the hour.”
Liam downed the rest of his Scotch, jaw tightening as he thought about their encounter. He had met confident women before—models, CEOs, even royalty—but none of them had looked at him the way Ella did. Like he was just another man.
And that? That made him crave her even more.
An hour later, Victor returned with a file.
“Ella Moreau. Twenty-six. Moved here two years ago. No known family. No digital footprint beyond the basics. Works as a private art curator for high-end clients.”
Liam flipped through the pages. “And?”
Victor hesitated. “And… she’s hiding something.”
Liam looked up, his gaze sharp. “Explain.”
“No past records before she moved here. No trace of where she lived, who she was before. It’s like she didn’t exist until two years ago.”
Liam’s grip tightened on the file.
Mystery. Secrets. A woman who appeared out of nowhere and yet carried herself like she had nothing to hide.
His lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk.
Perfect.
He stood, already grabbing his coat. “Where is she now?”
Victor glanced at his phone. “At an art gala. The Rosendale Exhibition. High society crowd.”
Liam buttoned his jacket. “Let’s go.”
—
The Rosendale Exhibition was filled with polished elegance—crystal chandeliers, expensive champagne, and men who thought their wealth made them powerful.
Liam ignored them all.
His eyes found her instantly.
Ella stood near a display, a glass of red wine in her hand, looking like temptation itself. Tonight, she wore a deep emerald dress, the silk hugging her body like it had been designed just for her. She was speaking to another man—a Duke of something insignificant—but her expression was unreadable.
Liam took his time walking toward her, knowing she would feel him before she saw him.
And sure enough, the moment he was close, she stiffened slightly, her fingers pausing on the stem of her glass.
Then, slowly, she turned.
Their eyes met.
Liam smiled. Slow. Knowing.
Ella arched a brow. “Stalking me already, Mr. Sinclair?”
He took her glass from her hand, taking a sip before handing it back.
“I told you, Ella,” he murmured, stepping in close. “I always get what I want.”
Her lips curled into something between amusement and defiance.
“And what happens,” she whispered, “when what you want… doesn’t want you back?”
Liam chuckled, low and dark. He leaned in, his breath brushing against her ear.
“Then I make her want me.”
Ella’s pulse fluttered—he felt it. Saw it.
But just as he thought she might give in, she smirked, pulling back.
“Good luck with that,” she said, taking her glass and walking away.
Liam watched her disappear into the crowd, his blood humming.
Oh, this game had only just begun.
- Writer
