5. Liam

Spirit had spent the remainder of the afternoon tucked in the bedroom, the television playing in the background while her tired eyes tracked the slow hands of the wall clock.

Despite the ridiculous luxury surrounding her, her stomach was beginning to growl with hunger.

Chris had told her to use the intercom to call the housekeeper, but the thought of invoking the hospitality of this house made her skin prickle uneasily.

She wasn’t a guest. She was an uninvited stray in a rich man's cold psychological war.

To anchor herself back to reality, she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number.

The line rang twice before a small, impossibly bright voice exploded through the receiver.

"Sis!"

A genuine, weary smile broke across Spirit’s face, the tension melting from her shoulders at the sound of her ten-year-old brother, Liam.

"Hey, buddy. You answered fast."

"I was helping Mrs. Gable set the table for dinner, and her phone was right there," Liam said, his voice carrying the smartness of a child whose mind outpaced his years.

"How is the hospital? Did you finish the paperwork? Are you on the floor yet?"

Spirit chuckled a little, and just like that, the stress and anxiety from the day vanished into nothing.

Liam was terrifyingly smart for his age, a trait that both comforted Spirit and kept her on high alert. She couldn't let him catch on to the ugly truth.

He didn't need to know his sister was currently facing hell in a billionaire's estate because she had to provide for him.

"I'm actually on an off-site assignment for the weekend," Spirit lied smoothly, keeping her tone light.

"A special protocol shift. I'm currently on a long break, so I wanted to check in. Are you behaving for Mrs. Gable?"

"Of course. I helped wash the dishes, water the hydrangeas," Liam noted proudly. "And I didn't let her lift the heavy grocery bags. But she wants to talk to you."

A moment of rustling passed before the warm, raspy voice of Martha Gable filled the line. Martha was sixty, a widow who loved her kids but had zero children of her own.

She had been their neighbor since before Spirit's parents died five years ago, transforming from a friendly face behind their house to the surrogate grandmother who kept their fractured little world spinning whenever Spirit was trapped with exhausting schoolwork.

"He's telling the truth, Spirit. He's been an absolute prince," Martha said softly, ensuring her voice was low enough to keep Liam from overhearing.

"How are you holding up, dear? You sound exhausted."

"I'm fine, Martha. Just... a lot of unexpected variables today," Spirit murmured, rubbing her sore temples.

"I won't be back until Monday morning. Thank you for watching him. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't ever have to thank me for this boy. Just take care of yourself. And don’t forget to eat a proper meal, we don’t want your ulcer flaring up again."

After promises to call again tomorrow, Spirit hung up.

The deep stillness of the room returned, immediately disrupted by a loud, aggressive growl from her empty stomach.

Sighing, she walked over to the wall intercom and pressed the small button.

"Hello? Missus... hello?"

Nothing.

She waited a minute, then tried again. Then a third time. The line remained completely, stubbornly dead.

I thought Chris said this machine worked, she thought, a spark of irritation replacing her hunger.

Still dressed in her scrubs, she turned the handle of her door and stepped out into the silent hallway.

She moved like a ghost, tiptoeing down the stairs and navigating the sprawling lower level by until she finally caught the scent of stainless steel cleaner and citrus.

The kitchen was a minimalist masterpiece of black and white design. But Spirit froze the moment she crossed the threshold.

A man was standing by the oversized island. He was still shirtless, his broad, athletic back turned to her.

Spirit immediately tensed, preparing to turn on her heel and sprint back up the stairs before he noticed her.

Then he turned around. The bright red shade of her palm print was clearly visible against his cheeks.

It was Chase.

Spirit’s breath caught sharply, her weight shifting nervously to her back foot.

"You don't have to run," Chase said quietly.

His voice lacked the mischievous purr from earlier. It was respectful, grounded.

He held his hands up slightly, a gentle gesture of submission that looked entirely foreign on a man built like a god.

"I'm an idiot," Chase murmured, looking directly at her, his eyes unblinking.

"What I said to you out there... it was disgusting and absolutely disrespectful. I'm sorry."