Liam stood in that hallway for a full minute after the door closed, staring at the chipped paint, his mind refusing to accept what he'd just been told.
She was gone. Left the city. Didn't tell anyone where.
No.
No, that couldn't be right. People didn't just vanish in the twenty-first century. There were digital footprints, paper trails, credit card transactions. He had resources. Had connections. Had enough money to hire the best investigators in the country.
He could find her.
He would find her.
Liam raised his fist to knock again, harder this time, desperation overriding courtesy. Mrs. Reed needed to understand—needed to see that he was serious, that he'd changed, that he deserved one more chance to make this right.
The door opened before his knuckles connected. Mrs. Reed stood there, her expression harder now, all the cautious politeness gone.
"Mr. Black," she said firmly. "I believe I was clear. Isabella doesn't want to be found. Not by you. Not by anyone."
