Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 39: Silent Threat 2

Chapter 39: Silent Threat 2

The waltz had ended, but Liam could still feel Seraphina’s breath against his ear, the weight of her words pressing into him like a vice.

"Your precious Isabella’s father, on his final night... I own every second of that night, Mr. Campbell. Every detail that would bring her empire crashing down."

The ballroom hummed with elegant conversation, champagne glasses clinking beneath the glow of crystal chandeliers. Laughter, flirtation, deals brokered with carefully veiled threats—it was a world Liam had learned to navigate, but tonight, the stakes had shifted.

He stood at the edge of the dance floor, his hands steady, his expression unreadable. Across the room, Isabella moved through the crowd, her smile poised, her presence commanding. She belonged here. This was her domain. And Seraphina... Seraphina wanted to rip it out from under her.

A slow inhale. A measured exhale. Keep it together.

Seraphina hadn’t lingered after the dance. She’d glided away as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t just placed a knife against his throat and told him to smile. He could feel her eyes on him from somewhere in the room, waiting, watching.

’No questions. No hesitation.’

She hadn’t said what she wanted yet. That was the worst part. The waiting. The knowing.

A waiter passed, and Liam plucked a glass of whiskey from the tray, rolling it between his fingers before taking a slow sip. The burn steadied him. He needed to play this smart. If Isabella noticed anything off, if he so much as hesitated under her gaze, she’d press. And if she pressed, she’d find a truth that would shatter everything.

His phone vibrated in his pocket – once, twice. Subtle enough that no one would notice, but insistent all the same.

"Liam."

He turned at the sound of her voice. Isabella stood close, the scent of her perfume wrapping around him—amber and something dangerously intoxicating.

"You were gone for a while," she noted, her tone light, but her gaze sharp. "Everything alright?"

He met her eyes, a well-practiced smirk curving his lips. "Just entertaining Lord Highmont’s theories on modern architecture. Did you know the London Eye is actually a secret surveillance device run by pigeons? Fascinating stuff."

Isabella’s laugh was subtle but genuine, a rare sound that still caught him off guard when he managed to draw it out of her. "Is that why they’re always congregating around it? And here I thought it was the tourists’ sandwiches."

"A clever cover operation," he replied, falling into their familiar rhythm with practiced ease, even as his mind raced with the weight of Seraphina’s threat. "Very sophisticated birds, London pigeons. Oxford educated, I hear."

"Cambridge, surely," she countered, her eyes warming slightly as she accepted a fresh glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Oxford pigeons are too busy writing manifestos."

He grinned, the expression appearing perfectly natural despite the tension coiling inside him. "My mistake. Clearly I need to study my avian intelligence hierarchies more carefully."

Her eyes flicked toward where Seraphina had disappeared into the crowd. A quiet beat. Then, a slow nod.

"You certainly made an impression out there," she murmured, before taking a sip of champagne. "Sera always did enjoy making a scene."

There it was. That subtle edge of something he couldn’t quite name—not just possessiveness, but something darker, more complex. A history between the two women that ran deeper than he’d initially realized.

A waiter appeared at her side, offering a quiet word. She tilted her head, listening, then turned back to Liam. "I need to step away for a moment. The Singaporean investors have finally arrived."

"Go," he said easily. "I’ll be right here, defending your honor against any suggestions that you support the Oxford pigeons’ rebellion."

Her smile sharpened with amusement. "My hero," she murmured, her fingers brushing his arm once before she disappeared into the crowd.

And then, just as he expected, a voice at his side.

"You’re handling this well."

Seraphina.

She stood close, too close, her smile all charm, but her eyes sharper than before. "No visible tension. No suspicious movements. I have to admit, I’m impressed."

Liam took another sip of whiskey, keeping his posture relaxed. "If you were hoping to see me rattled, you’ll have to try harder."

"Oh, darling," she purred, leaning in just slightly. "We’re only just beginning." Her voice dropped lower, the words meant only for him. "Tomorrow. Noon. The old tea shop on Crawford Street. Come alone, or everyone will know just what happened that night in Jonathan Ashworth’s study."

She turned then, brushing past him with deliberate slowness, her perfume lingering like a whispered warning.

Liam’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t react. Couldn’t give her the satisfaction. But as he watched her disappear into the crowd, one truth settled deep in his chest.

Whatever happened that night—whatever Isabella’s involvement might have been—Seraphina had evidence. And now, he was trapped in her game.

As the evening wore on, Liam remained at Isabella’s side, his presence steady, effortless. He moved with her through the crowd, engaging investors, deflecting rivals, keeping just close enough that his absence would be noticed before his tension ever would. If she sensed anything beneath the surface, she gave no sign.

Later, they escaped to the balcony, the city stretched below them in a sea of lights, a quiet contrast to the ballroom’s glittering chaos. The air was cool, crisp, carrying the faint hum of London’s late-night streets. Isabella tilted her head slightly, studying him with that unreadable expression she wore when something was on her mind.

"You know," she began, sipping her champagne, "I’ve never seen Sera quite so interested in one of my associates before."

Liam raised an eyebrow, the picture of casual amusement. "Is that what I am? An associate?"

Isabella’s lips curved upward, her dark eyes reflecting the city lights. "Would you prefer ’consultant’? ’Advisor’? ’Man who somehow manages to make Lord Highmont tolerable’?"

"I think I’ve earned at least that last one," he replied, coaxing another rare laugh from her.

She studied him for a moment longer, something unreadable passing behind her eyes. "Just be careful with her, Liam. Seraphina plays games with rules only she understands."

If only she knew how right she was.

The conversation shifted, her expression softening. "I never got the chance to thank you properly."

Liam smirked. "For what? My unwavering support in the great pigeon debate?"

"For Blackwood," she corrected, rolling her eyes but unable to fully suppress a smile. "That deal could have gone sideways in a hundred different ways, but you handled it."

He shrugged, leaning against the railing. "Handled is a strong word. I mostly just stood there looking mildly intimidating until they decided signing was the better option."

"Right. Because intimidation is what finally convinced Lord Blackwood after weeks of negotiations," she said dryly. "Not the way you backed him into a logical corner while making it seem like it was entirely his idea."

Liam feigned innocence. "Did I do that? Must’ve been a fluke."

"Mm-hmm." She studied him for a beat longer, something softer creeping into her gaze. "I mean it, though. Thank you. I trust very few people with things like that."

Her voice had dropped slightly, sincerity laced between the words. For a brief second, Liam saw it—the hope in her eyes, the weight of everything she carried, the world she refused to let crack.

And just like that, something settled in his chest.

"Well," he said, pushing off the railing, "guess that makes me the world’s most overqualified assistant."

Isabella let out a laugh, low and amused. "That makes me the world’s most underpaying boss."

"I wasn’t gonna say it, but..." He let the sentence hang, smirking.

She nudged his arm lightly with her own, shaking her head. "Fine. Consider this my official IOU. One extravagant show of gratitude, redeemable whenever you see fit."

"Careful," he warned, "I might cash that in when you least expect it. Could be tomorrow, could be five years from now. You’ll never know."

She gave him a side glance, sipping her champagne. "As long as it doesn’t involve a hostile pigeon takeover, I’ll allow it."

"No promises."

For a moment, everything felt easy—like the weight of the evening hadn’t settled around them yet. But reality was never that kind. The night wasn’t over, and Seraphina’s words still loomed in the back of his mind.

Tomorrow at noon, he would discover exactly what game Seraphina was playing—and what secrets from that night she was holding over them both.

Still, standing there, with Isabella looking at him like that, like she believed in him—Liam knew one thing.

Whatever storm was coming, he’d make damn sure her world stayed standing.