Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 40: Conversation with the devil

Chapter 40: Conversation with the devil

The morning after the gala was unnervingly quiet. No messages from Seraphina. No sudden power plays. Just the slow hum of London waking up beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of Isabella’s penthouse, a city oblivious to the threat hanging over two of its occupants.

Liam stood by the coffee machine, watching the espresso drip into a sleek black cup, his mind tangled in last night’s conversation.

’Tomorrow. Noon. The old tea shop on Crawford Street.’

Seraphina had set the game in motion, and he had no choice but to play. He checked his watch—nine hours of normalcy left. Nine hours before everything might change.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text from an unknown number: ’Looking forward to our chat, Mr. Campbell.’

Liam deleted it immediately, jaw tightening. She was toying with him, making sure he knew she could reach him anywhere, anytime.

"Are you waiting for it to brew itself?" Isabella’s voice cut through the silence, smooth but edged with amusement.

She was barefoot, dressed in a silk robe that skimmed mid-thigh, her hair loose from the usual sharp styling. He never got used to seeing her like this—stripped of the armor she wore in public. Vulnerable, in a way that made his chest ache with the need to shield her from what was coming.

Liam exhaled a chuckle, finally grabbing his coffee. "Figured I’d let it think about its purpose in life first." His tone was light, practiced. Perfect.

She hummed, reaching past him to pour herself a cup, close enough that he caught the scent of her—amber and jasmine, expensive and understated. "If only people were as cooperative."

His gaze flicked to her, reading between the lines. "Something happen?"

She took a slow sip before answering, leaning against the marble counter. Morning light caught in her dark hair, turning the edges to gold. "Blackwood is making noise about a renegotiation."

"Already? I thought he was too busy basking in the genius of his own decision."

She smirked. "Evidently, that glow wore off. He’s poking for weaknesses, trying to see if he can tilt the scales now that the ink’s dry."

Liam leaned against the counter, cradling his cup. "You want me to deal with it?"

Isabella studied him over the rim of her mug, something unreadable in her gaze. "No. Not yet." She paused, setting the cup down with a soft clink. "Though I might need you to handle the Mercer portfolio later this week. Something feels off about their latest proposal."

Not yet. Because she would need him at some point. And he didn’t mind that—being the one she turned to when the world tried to push back. But with Seraphina’s warning still pressing against his skull, he couldn’t afford any distractions.

She moved to the large windows, looking out at the city sprawled below. "I saw you speaking with Sera last night. After our dance." The statement hung in the air, deceptively casual.

Liam joined her by the window, careful to keep his expression neutral. "She caught me on the way back from the bar. Apparently, she wanted to catch up."

Isabella’s gaze remained on the cityscape, but he caught the slight tightening around her eyes. "That sounds like her. Always networking."

She turned to him then, studying his face with that razor-sharp focus that had built her empire. "What did you two talk about?"

"Nothing earth-shattering," he replied, matching her gaze steadily. "She mentioned an old business venture you two collaborated on. Said she missed those days."

Something flickered across her face—too quick to catch. "Sera always did have a selective memory. Those collaborations were... complicated." She paused. "She has a talent for making connections. Turning casual acquaintances into useful allies."

There was an undercurrent to her words. Not a warning, but an observation wrapped in what almost sounded like—

"Nostalgia?" he asked, a slight smirk playing at his lips.

Isabella rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness beneath the gesture. "Perhaps. Sera and I go back a long way. School, then business, now... sometimes competitors, sometimes collaborators." She smiled slightly. "Sometimes friends, when we’re not trying to outmaneuver each other."

"Sounds complicated," he offered.

"The best relationships usually are," she said with a small shrug. "We respect each other’s ambitions, even when they occasionally collide."

Before he could unpack that loaded statement, she glanced at her watch. "I have meetings all day. You?"

Liam hesitated for half a second. "I need to meet with that potential investor. The one from Singapore who’s only in town today."

Isabella nodded, her expression shifting to one of recollection. "Right. The Chen portfolio. I’d forgotten that was happening today."

A plausible excuse. A necessary one. They both knew her schedule was packed with back-to-back strategy sessions that he’d normally attend, but this particular investor had specifically requested Liam’s presence after their initial introduction weeks ago.

"Want me to pick you up after?" he asked casually. "We could grab dinner at that new place in Mayfair."

She pushed off the counter. "Let’s play it by ear. These meetings might run long, especially if Blackwood decides to be difficult."

But instead of walking away immediately, she paused, looking back at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. "Be careful today, Liam."

His heart stuttered. "Any particular reason?"

She shrugged, a calculated casualness that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just a feeling. The markets feel... restless."

’Did she know? Had she somehow sensed the trap closing around them?’

"I’ll keep my guard up," he promised, and meant it.

She studied him for a moment longer before turning away, her fingers trailing briefly over the counter where a silver letter opener lay. "Try not to give Mr. Chen too many concessions. He’s sharper than he lets on."

The unconscious gesture caught his attention—the way her hand had drifted to that sharp edge, her fingers caressing it with familiar ease, as if she’d held it before in more deliberate circumstances.

"No promises," he muttered as she walked away, the silk of her robe catching the light like liquid.

His phone buzzed again. Another text: ’Tick tock, Mr. Campbell.’

He deleted it and poured himself another coffee, black and bitter enough to match the feeling coiling in his gut.

With the weight of Seraphina’s ultimatum pressing heavily on his chest, Liam stepped out into the bustling street, the air thick with tension and uncertainty, as he prepared to confront the storm brewing just beneath the surface of his carefully constructed world.

The tea shop was tucked between a boutique jeweler and an unassuming tailor’s shop, its old-world charm a stark contrast to the weight pressing against Liam’s ribs. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the sound incongruously cheerful.

Seraphina was already there, seated in a quiet corner, dressed in soft pastels that screamed effortless wealth. A contrast to the venom laced in her smile. Her eyes tracked him as he moved through the shop, something calculating in her gaze.

"You’re punctual," she mused, swirling a spoon in her untouched tea. "I appreciate that in a man."

Liam pulled out a chair, lowering himself into it with the kind of calm that took effort. "Let’s cut the small talk. What do you want?"

Her smile widened. "Straight to business. Very on brand." She leaned forward slightly, her perfume—too similar to Isabella’s for comfort—enveloping him. "Though I wonder... do you even know what your brand is, Liam? Or has playing Isabella’s loyal soldier become so comfortable you’ve forgotten?"

"I’m not playing anything," he replied evenly. "And you didn’t arrange this meeting to discuss my career choices."

She laughed, and there was something genuine in it that unsettled him. "No. But it is interesting to see what she’s made of you." Her eyes traveled over his face, lingering. "Or perhaps... what you’ve allowed her to make of you."

She reached into her bag, pulling out a sleek envelope and sliding it across the table. He didn’t touch it.

"What’s inside?"

"Answers." She tilted her head, watching him like a cat with a cornered bird. "Or maybe just the right questions."

Liam exhaled slowly, his fingers tapping against the table. He hadn’t opened it yet, but he already knew—this wasn’t just about him. It was about Isabella. And Seraphina wasn’t done playing.

"Open it," she encouraged, her voice honey-smooth. "I promise it won’t bite."

Her fingers brushed against his as she pushed the envelope closer, the contact lingering several seconds too long to be accidental.

Liam held her gaze for a long moment, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. Then, with deliberate slowness, he picked up the envelope and tore it open.

Inside was a single photograph—old, slightly faded, but clear enough. A study lined with books, heavy curtains drawn against the night. Two figures captured in what appeared to be a heated exchange. Jonathan Ashworth—Isabella’s father—his face contorted with rage. And beside him, a figure, its back to the camera, slender, with a familiar stance that made Liam’s blood run cold.

"That’s the night he died," Seraphina said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Heart attack, they said. Natural causes."

Liam kept his expression neutral. "And you’re showing me this because...?"

"Turn it over."

He did. On the back, written in faded ink: ’J.A. and I.A. - Final Meeting’

I.A. The initials hit him like a physical blow. Isabella Ashworth.

"This is a fake," he said, his voice steady despite the alarm bells ringing in his head.

Seraphina’s laugh was soft and dangerous. "Is it? Are you sure about that, Liam?"

"What exactly are you implying?" he asked, sliding the photo back toward her.

She ignored it, leaving it lying between them like a silent accusation. Instead, she reached across the table, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw in a gesture too intimate for enemies, too calculating for desire.

"I’m not implying anything. I’m simply curious about why Isabella Ashworth keeps you so close." She leaned forward. "Does she tell you everything, Liam? Does she share her deepest secrets with you? Or are you just another piece on her chessboard?"

He caught her wrist, removing her hand from his face with controlled precision. "You’re reaching," he said, but there was a coldness spreading through him.

She didn’t pull her hand away immediately, instead turning it in his grip so her fingers wrapped around his wrist in return. A power play disguised as a caress.

"Am I?" Seraphina’s eyes locked with his, something hungry in their depths. "I have more than just photographs, Liam. I have statements. Records. Things that would make everyone question everything they think they know about Jonathan Ashworth’s death. About who might have wanted him gone."

"What do you want?" he asked again, his voice lower now.

"Simple. I want you to retrieve something for me from Isabella’s private files." She smiled, finally withdrawing her hand, but slowly, her fingers trailing against his skin. "Nothing too complicated. Just a certain agreement her father made before his untimely death. An agreement that, legally speaking, should have passed to me."

Liam’s eyes narrowed. "You want me to steal from her."

"I prefer to think of it as restoring balance," Seraphina countered. "After all, don’t you ever wonder why she keeps you so close? What secrets she might be protecting?"

"You don’t know her."

"I know enough." Her gaze raked over him with undisguised appreciation. "I know more than you might think. Including what happened in that study the night Jonathan died. The silver letter opener missing from the investigation. The way Isabella’s hands trembled for weeks afterward—something only her closest confidants would notice."

Liam kept his face impassive, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction, even as pieces clicked into place—the way Isabella sometimes woke in the night, gasping; her aversion to certain rooms in her father’s old house; the missing family heirlooms that were never spoken of.

Seraphina reached into her bag again, this time pulling out a small USB drive. "All the details are here. You have three days. After that, both you and Isabella get special deliveries. I wonder how she’ll look at you then, knowing you’ve discovered her darkest secret."

Liam took the drive, his mind already racing through options. None of them good.

"Oh, and Liam?" Seraphina stood, gathering her things with elegant precision. "Don’t try to warn her. I have eyes everywhere. Including inside her organization."

She smiled, a cold, cutting thing. "Didn’t you ever wonder how I knew so much about Jonathan’s final night? Who told me? About the kind of man Isabella really needs by her side?"

She leaned down, her lips nearly brushing his ear as she whispered a name that turned his blood to ice.

"No," he breathed, disbelief coloring his voice.

"Yes," she confirmed, pulling back just enough to watch the realization dawn across his face. "Your most trusted ally in her circle. The person who’s been feeding me information for months."

Her smile widened. "The same person who helped me arrange our little chat today by making sure Isabella would be in meetings all day."

Liam stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "You’re lying."

"Am I?" She raised an eyebrow. "Check your phone."

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. A message from Isabella: *Meeting running long. Don’t wait up. Strange day—Blackwood suddenly cooperative. Almost like someone spoke to him.*

And then, a second message, this one from the unknown number: *She trusts so easily, doesn’t she? Just like her father did.*

When he looked up, Seraphina was still watching him, standing closer than necessary, her eyes tracing the lines of tension in his face with something like satisfaction mixed with—was that desire?

"Three days, Liam. Choose wisely." She leaned in, her voice dropping to a murmur. "And perhaps consider whether you’re fighting for the right side in this game. Isabella isn’t the only one who knows how to value... loyalty."

The invitation in her words was unmistakable. Before he could respond, she pressed something into his hand—a hotel keycard.

"Suite 1103. The Dorchester. In case you have questions about the assignment." She smiled, the gesture not reaching her eyes. "Or in case you’d like to discuss... alternatives."

The bell chimed cheerfully as she left, leaving him standing alone with a photograph that raised disturbing questions, a USB drive heavy with secrets, a hotel keycard burning in his palm, and the sickening realization that the circle around Isabella—around him—was smaller and more treacherous than he’d ever imagined.

Someone close to them both had betrayed them. And now he had three days to identify the traitor, recover whatever document Seraphina wanted, and protect Isabella’s darkest secret—a secret he was beginning to suspect involved her father’s final moments and a silver letter opener that now sat innocently on her kitchen counter.

As he stepped out onto Crawford Street, a sleek black Bentley pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down to reveal Isabella, her expression brightening when she spotted him.

"Perfect timing," she said, gesturing for him to join her. "Blackwood folded like a cheap suit. Meeting ended early."

Liam hesitated for just a moment before sliding into the leather seat beside her, quickly pocketing the USB drive and photograph.

"Everything alright with the investor?" she asked, studying his face with curious eyes. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

He forced a smile, his mind racing. "Just some unexpected complications. Nothing I can’t handle."

Isabella nodded, her trust in him evident and crushing. She squeezed his hand briefly. "I’ve always valued that about you, Liam. Your ability to handle complications."

As the car pulled away, he glanced back to see Seraphina watching from across the street, her predatory smile visible even at this distance. She raised her phone, took a photo of them together, then turned away.

His phone vibrated with a new message: "The clock starts now. Oh, and tell Isabella I said hello. For old times’ sake."

Three days to save them both from secrets neither could afford to have exposed. Three days. Three days to uncover the traitor, retrieve the document, and protect Isabella’s darkest secret—one that might be tied to her father’s final moments and a silver letter opener that now sat innocently on her kitchen counter.

And Isabella, despite her brilliance and power, had no idea that the danger was already sitting beside her, trapped between loyalty and survival.