Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 37: Buried Truths

Chapter 37: Buried Truths

Isabella strode into her office, her heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. The sound held a different weight now, each step carrying the echo of Blackwood’s words. She moved to the window, but her reflection betrayed the slight smile playing at her lips.

Liam closed the door behind them, catching that smile before she schooled her features into something more controlled.

"How did he know?" she asked quietly, not turning around. "Richard Blackwood, of all people." There was something almost pleased in her tone, despite her attempt to hide it.

"Isabella—"

"No." She spun to face him, her eyes bright with an intensity that made him pause. "I want to know. The way my staff looks at me lately, the whispers..."

The whispers weren’t unfounded. Over the past months, she had orchestrated an intricate dance of keeping him close. Meetings that could have been emails. Documents that suddenly needed his personal review at midnight. Private dinners to discuss projects that any junior associate could have handled. Each request more transparent than the last, each excuse flimsier than before. The great Isabella Ashworth, who never explained herself to anyone, making up reasons to have her assistant by her side.

She moved closer, her calculated steps betraying none of the vulnerability in her next words. "They see it, don’t they? How I can’t seem to let you out of my sight."

"You’re their boss," Liam said carefully. "They’re bound to notice—"

"Notice what?" she challenged, moving closer. "That I request you specifically for every meeting? That I find excuses to keep you near?" Her laugh was soft, dangerous. "I used to be better at hiding it."

The whispers weren’t unfounded. Over the past months, she had orchestrated an intricate dance of keeping him close. Meetings that could have been emails. Documents that suddenly needed his personal review at midnight. Private dinners to discuss projects that any junior associate could have handled. Each request more transparent than the last, each excuse flimsier than before. The great Isabella Ashworth, who never explained herself to anyone, making up reasons to have her assistant by her side.

She moved closer, her calculated steps betraying none of the vulnerability in her next words. "They see it, don’t they? How I can’t seem to let you out of my sight."

"You’re their boss," Liam said carefully. "They’re bound to notice—"

"Notice what?" she challenged, moving closer. "That I request you specifically for every meeting? That I find excuses to keep you near?" Her laugh was soft, dangerous. "I used to be better at hiding it."

’Who’s really hiding what?’ Liam thought, watching her prowl the space between them. She spoke of her own transparency, but beneath it all, he knew there were deeper currents. Hadn’t she herself praised Blackwood’s brilliance just last month? Called him ruthless, cunning, a man who saw beneath surfaces. If he was making moves now, there was more to this game than simple office gossip.

"Blackwood’s trying to get under your skin," he offered, holding his ground as she approached. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Not with Blackwood. Not with Isabella.

"Is he?" Isabella stopped inches from him, close enough that he could catch the subtle scent of her perfume. "Or perhaps he sees what I want him to see? After all, you’ve heard me say it yourself - Blackwood is brilliant. Ruthless. He doesn’t make moves without purpose." Her eyes searched his face. "The question is, what does he hope to gain by watching us so closely?"

’Perhaps he sees what I want him to see.’ The words echoed in Liam’s mind, adding another layer to their complicated dance. Always three steps ahead, always calculating - that was Isabella Ashworth.

"If you’re worried about appearances—"

"I’m not worried," she cut him off, reaching up to straighten his tie in a gesture that was both intimate and possessive. "I’m... considering my position."

Liam’s pulse quickened, but he kept his voice steady. "And what position is that?"

"The one where London society is watching my every move." Her fingers lingered at his collar. "The one where I should care more about their whispers than I do about keeping you close."

"Should," he noted. "But don’t."

Her smile turned sharp. "No. I don’t."

The air between them crackled with unspoken intentions. This wasn’t just about business anymore – it had never been just about business. Every move, every calculated display of possessiveness, every seemingly transparent moment - it was all part of something larger. Something neither of them was ready to name.

"We should be more careful," he said, echoing her earlier concerns but not stepping away.

Isabella’s laugh was low, almost predatory. "Should," she repeated his word back to him. "But will we?"

The question hung between them, loaded with possibility and danger. Neither moved to answer it, both knowing they’d already crossed too many lines to pretend at caution now.

"Go back to your office," Isabella said softly, stepping away from him. "I need to think."

After Liam left, Isabella stood at her window, watching London’s skyline blur as her mind raced. She moved to her desk, trailing her fingers along the polished wood. Her reflection showed a smile she didn’t bother to suppress. All these years building her empire, and now everyone was whispering about how she couldn’t keep her eyes off her assistant.

’Let them whisper,’ she thought, settling into her chair. ’They don’t understand what they’re seeing.’

She pulled up her laptop, fingers hovering over the keys. Trust – it had always been a luxury she couldn’t afford, but now... Now she couldn’t even trust her inner circle.

Marcus, her loyal bodyguard of eleven years, who knew every secret meeting, every quiet conversation in the back of that Mercedes. Sarah, her efficient assistant who handled her most sensitive documents. Even Christina, Liam’s bodyguard, whom she’d personally vetted and assigned.

’Everyone’s suspect now.’

Isabella began typing, pulling up files on every employee, every connection. Years of carefully documented interactions, favors traded, secrets kept. She’d start from the beginning, trace every leak, every rumor back to its source.

Her closest friends weren’t exempt either. The ones who’d supported her rise through London’s elite circles, who’d vouched for her at crucial moments. Any one of them could be using her apparent weakness for Liam against her.

’He’s mine,’ she thought, her smile turning sharp as she worked. ’Mine to keep, mine to protect.’ She wouldn’t share him, wouldn’t let anyone else’s games interfere with what she’d carefully built.

The thought of anyone trying to take him from her, to use him as leverage... Her fingers tightened on the keyboard. They’d learn why the elite circles of London both courted and feared Isabella Ashworth.

In his office, Liam stood at the window, watching Isabella through the glass walls of her office. She was focused on her laptop now, that familiar intensity radiating from her posture. He recognized that look – she was hunting.

’Always in control,’ he thought, a smile playing at his lips. ’Always three steps ahead.’

The way she moved earlier, prowling around him like she owned him... It should have bothered him. Should have set off warning bells. Instead, it had awakened something deeper, darker.

’You think you’re taming me,’ he mused, watching her work. ’But you don’t see it yet, do you? How you’ve shown your hand.’

Every possessive gesture, every demanding request for his presence – she thought she was pulling his strings. But in those moments, she’d revealed something precious: vulnerability. Need. The great Isabella Ashworth, who’d built an empire through sheer force of will, couldn’t help but want him close.

His jaw tightened as he thought about whoever was trying to expose them. Blood ties meant nothing when it came to protecting what was his. If family stood in his way, he’d cut those ties without hesitation. If friends became threats, he’d eliminate them just as easily.

’For her,’ he thought, ’I’d paint London red.’

Isabella had awakened something in him, something he’d kept carefully locked away. She’d shown him a kind of love she didn’t even recognize as love – in her demands, her possessiveness, her need to keep him orbiting her like a satellite.

’You think you own me,’ he thought, his smile matching her earlier predatory grin. ’But I’m going to show you what real possession looks like.’

He would protect her, possess her, match her control with his own until she realized – this wasn’t about who was taming whom. This was about belonging to each other, completely and dangerously.

And anyone who tried to interfere would learn just how far he’d go to keep what was his. Family, friends, enemies – the labels meant nothing. If they threatened Isabella, they’d discover exactly what kind of monster lurked behind his careful facade.

’I’m going to tame you, Isabella Ashworth,’ he promised silently. ’Not to break you – but to show you what we could be together. Even if I have to wade through my own blood to do it.’

As both Isabella and Liam plotted in their separate offices, neither noticed the elegant woman who stepped out of a Bentley across the street. She watched the building with calculated interest, her red lips curving into a smile as she spotted Isabella through the window.

Her phone buzzed with a message: "Everything in place?"

"Yes," she typed back. "They’re both exactly where we need them to be. Blackwood played his part perfectly."

She slipped the phone into her designer bag, her fingers brushing against a familiar envelope. Inside were photographs spanning months—little moments between Isabella and Liam that told a very different story than anyone suspected. But more importantly, there were documents that would shake the very foundation of Ashworth Luxury Events.

’Oh, Liam,’ she thought, remembering the last conversation. ’You should have listened when the masked man warned you. Now you’ll have no choice than to carry her burden or leave for good.’

Up in his office, Liam’s phone lit up with a text from an unknown number. A single image appeared: Isabella, years younger, standing next to a man whose face he recognized instantly—Jonathan Ashworth, her father.

The timestamp read: The night he died.