Lilith slammed her phone down onto the glass table, her jaw tight and her voice sharp with frustration.
"Where the fuck is Liam?"
She had tried everything—calls, messages, even voice recordings—but none of them were getting through. No reply. No update. Silence.
She paced in her penthouse like a caged lioness, her black heels clicking sharply with every step. Her body was wrapped in that signature sharp-cut black suit that hugged her curves like a second skin. Her blazer was slightly open at the chest, revealing just enough of her skin to tease death itself.
She grabbed her phone again and made another call. The line picked up almost instantly.
"Find Liam," she said coldly. "Go to his house. Tell him everything he needs to know. We don't have time."
The person on the other end responded with a simple, "Understood," before the line went dead.
Lilith let out a slow, shaky breath. She wasn't the type to panic—but this was war. And she needed her strongest pieces on the board.
