Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 105: David Harrison return

Chapter 105: David Harrison return

The rain continued its steady assault against the windows, a persistent drummer keeping time with the night. Liam Campbell stood motionless by the floor-to-ceiling window, staring out at the city’s glittering expanse. His reflection—dark hair tousled, brow furrowed—overlaid the urban canvas below.

Something wasn’t right.

He couldn’t pin it down precisely, but the feeling had been building all evening. A hotel staff member who’d held his gaze a beat too long in the lobby. A momentary flicker in the hallway lights as they’d entered the suite. Small things. Inconsequential things.

Things that shouldn’t have made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"You’re doing it again," Isabella’s voice, warm with amusement, cut through his thoughts.

Liam turned to find her lounging on the cream-colored sofa, two crystal glasses of cabernet in hand. The burgundy liquid caught the light as she extended one toward him.

"Doing what?" he asked, crossing the plush carpet to accept the offered glass.

"That thing where you turn into a statue and stare at nothing." She smiled, the dimple in her left cheek appearing. "Very brooding, very handsome, but not very helpful for celebrating our last night in the city."

Liam’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Sorry. Professional hazard."

"Being handsome?"

"Being paranoid." He took a sip of wine, rich and full-bodied. Expensive, like everything Isabella chose.

She leaned back, studying him over the rim of her glass. In the soft lighting of the suite, with her dark hair cascading over one shoulder and wrapped in a silk robe, she looked both vulnerable and powerful—a combination Liam had found irresistible from the first day he’d started working as her personal assistant.

"Is this about the drive?" she asked, her tone shifting to something more serious.

’The drive.’ Liam’s hand instinctively moved to his jacket pocket, confirming the small device was still there. ’The key to everything. The reason we’re running. The reason I’m scanning shadows for threats that might not exist.’

"Maybe," he admitted. "Or maybe I’m just not used to five-star hotels and thousand-dollar bottles of wine."

Isabella’s laugh was genuine, musical. "That’s rich coming from a tech millionaire."

"Former tech millionaire," he corrected. "Most of my assets are frozen, remember? And even when I had money, I was more of a craft beer and coding-until-dawn guy."

She patted the sofa beside her. "Come sit. You’re making me nervous."

Liam hesitated, then made a show of visually scanning the room—checking behind the abstract artwork, peering suspiciously under lamp shades—before dropping dramatically onto the sofa beside her.

"All clear, Agent Campbell?" she teased, leaning into him.

"Perimeter secured, Ms. Ashworth," he confirmed, some of the tension finally easing from his shoulders as he slid an arm around her.

Isabella nestled against him, her head fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck. For a moment, they simply existed together, the rain providing a soothing backdrop to their temporary sanctuary.

"Tomorrow," she said softly, "we’ll be on that yacht, headed for international waters. No more looking over our shoulders."

Liam’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, frowning at the screen. "No signal."

"It’s probably the storm," Isabella suggested. "Or the hotel’s concrete walls. We’re pretty high up."

"Maybe," Liam agreed, but the unease returned, slithering up his spine like cold fingers.

He was about to suggest they pack the remaining items when he heard it—a faint click from the direction of the service corridor. So soft it could have been mistaken for settling pipes or the building’s natural sounds. But Liam had spent too many years developing security systems not to recognize the distinct sound of a high-end electronic lock disengaging.

He was on his feet in an instant, moving Isabella behind him with one fluid motion.

"Liam, what—"

"Shh." His voice was barely audible. "Service entrance. Someone’s coming."

Isabella’s eyes widened, but to her credit, she didn’t panic. Instead, she moved quickly to the bedroom, returning seconds later with her phone in hand. Liam watched as she swiped the screen, her face illuminated by its glow.

"No signal," she whispered, confirming what he already suspected. "Jammed?"

Liam nodded grimly. There was no time to grab the emergency bag they’d packed, no time to plan an elaborate escape. He positioned himself with a clear view of the service door, calculating distances and angles, mapping the quickest route to the main exit.

The service door opened silently, a testament to well-oiled hinges and professional precision. The man who stepped through moved with the fluid grace of a predator—black tactical gear, face impassive, eyes scanning the room with mechanical efficiency.

He didn’t see Liam until it was too late.

Liam struck with surprising speed for a former tech executive, years of street fight taking over. His first blow caught the intruder in the throat, cutting off any potential cry for help. His second—a sweeping kick—took the man’s legs out from under him.

They went down in a tangle of limbs, the intruder’s head striking the edge of the coffee table with a sickening crack. Liam scrambled up, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

"Run!" he shouted to Isabella, who stood frozen, wine glass still clutched in white-knuckled fingers.

She didn’t get the chance.

The second attacker came from behind, so silent that neither had heard him enter. Something pressed against Liam’s back—a sharp, electric pain that radiated outward, turning his muscles to water. A stun baton, his brain registered dimly as he collapsed, limbs twitching uncontrollably.

Isabella’s scream penetrated the haze of pain. Liam tried to rise, to speak, to move—anything—but his body refused to cooperate. Through blurring vision, he watched the second attacker advance on Isabella, who had backed against the window, rain drumming against the glass behind her.

"That’s enough."

The voice was soft, measured, coming from the open service door. A third figure stepped into the suite, the dim light catching on something metallic in his hand.

A man Liam had never met in person, but whose face he recognized instantly from the photograph he’d accidentally discovered while backing up Isabella’s system files last month. A photograph that had been suspiciously labeled with his own name. The image had shown Isabella in a white dress, younger and laughing, her arm around this same man on what appeared to be a private beach. Confused by the file name and the unfamiliar man, he’d sent it to his friend James, who had helped identify the mystery figure through his contacts.

David Harrison.

Isabella’s ex-husband. The man who’d gone to prison for drug trafficking. The man whose name Isabella never spoke, though his shadow seemed to linger over everything she did.

Harrison entered the room with the unhurried confidence of someone arriving exactly where they belonged. He removed his wet overcoat, draping it carefully over a chair as if this were a social call. Water droplets glistened in his dark hair, on the shoulders of his impeccable suit. He looked not at Liam but at Isabella, his expression a study in controlled emotion.

"Isabella," he said, her name a statement, not a greeting.

Liam watched as Isabella’s posture shifted—shoulders squaring, chin lifting, her entire demeanor transforming from surprise to steely resolve in an instant.

"David," she said, her voice cool and measured, carrying easily over the sound of the rain.

Harrison moved further into the room, stepping deliberately around Liam’s immobilized form without sparing him a glance. "You’re looking well. Success clearly agrees with you."

"How did you find us?" Isabella asked, her tone more demanding than questioning. She took a step forward, unintimidated by his presence.

"You left breadcrumbs," Harrison replied, moving to pour himself a glass of the abandoned wine. "You always do. It’s one of your more charming habits—testing me, seeing if I’m paying attention." He took a small sip, considering the taste. "Still partial to Anderson Valley cabernets, I see."

A third man entered, this one broad-shouldered and impassive. He moved directly to Liam, roughly hauling him to his feet. Liam’s legs buckled, the effects of the stun baton still coursing through his system. The man supported his weight with one arm while efficiently securing zip ties around Liam’s wrists with the other.

"Let him go," Isabella commanded, her voice sharp and unwavering. "He has nothing to do with this. This is between you and me, David."

Harrison finally turned his attention to Liam, studying him with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen under glass. "So this is the famous Liam Campbell. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you." His smile was cold, predatory. "Though I must admit, I expected someone more... impressive."

"David," Isabella warned, taking a step forward.

Harrison ignored her, moving closer to Liam. "Do you know who I am, Mr. Campbell?"

Liam met his gaze steadily, fighting through the lingering effects of the stun baton. "David Harrison," he managed, voice rough. "Isabella’s ex-husband. Recently released from federal prison for cocaine distribution."

Something dangerous flashed in Harrison’s eyes. "Someone’s done their research."

"I protect what’s mine," Liam replied, feeling strength returning to his limbs.

Harrison’s laugh was soft, humorless. "Yours? Is that what you think?" He turned back to Isabella. "You didn’t tell him about us, did you? About what we built together?" When Isabella remained silent, he shook his head in mock disappointment. "Always keeping secrets, even from your loyal assistant."

The man holding Liam roughly searched his pockets, then made a triumphant sound as he located the drive.

"Ah," Harrison said, taking the small black device. He held it up to the light, examining the distinctive red stripe along its edge. "Here’s the prodigal drive, returned at last."

"Please," Isabella took another step forward, stopping when Harrison raised a hand. "David, I can explain—"

"You gave him my drive," Harrison interrupted, his voice dropping to something low and venomous. "After all we went through together. After everything we built."

"You were in prison," Isabella shot back, anger momentarily eclipsing fear. "What was I supposed to do? Let Lazarus die? Let everything we worked for disappear?"

Liam’s mind raced, trying to piece together the fragmented information. Lazarus. He’d seen that name in encrypted files on the drive, but Isabella had been vague about its specifics, saying only that it was "the future" and "too dangerous for him to know everything yet."

Harrison’s eyes never left Isabella’s face. "And instead you built your empire on its foundation. Clever girl." He took another sip of wine, considering her over the rim of the glass. "But you should have come to me when I got out."

"You weren’t the same man," Isabella whispered.

Liam struggled against his bonds, determined to protect Isabella despite his role as her assistant having clearly evolved into something far more complicated.

"Take him," Harrison instructed the man holding Liam. "Careful with the merchandise. I need him intact."

"Stop!" Isabella lunged forward, evading the second attacker’s grasp with surprising agility. She positioned herself between Harrison and the door. "This isn’t over, David. Not by a long shot."

Harrison’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of admiration mixing with his anger. "Still the fighter. It’s been a long game, Isabella. Long and expensive and, frankly, exhausting. But don’t mistake this for the end—it’s merely a new Chapter."

Liam tried to break free as he was dragged toward the service door, desperately searching for any opportunity to escape. "Isabella!" he called out, voice stronger now. "Don’t listen to him!"

Harrison didn’t look away from Isabella’s face as he spoke. "You shouldn’t have given him the drive, love. But it’s not too late to come home."

The last thing Liam saw before being pulled through the service door was Isabella’s face—fierce, determined, beautiful in its defiance. And something else, something that made his blood race.

Calculation.

As if she’d been preparing for this moment all along.

As if this was just another move in a game she had no intention of losing.