8. Shiloh

Chapter eight

Shiloh

I’ve never been to Atlanta, and I never expected to get here with a legal celebrity. But that’s exactly how it feels as we pull up to Aegis’ Atlanta offices.

The revolving doors usher us into a lobby that's more akin to a sleek hotel than a law office, with its high ceilings and minimalist art hanging from the walls. Polished concrete floors are softened by the occasional plush rug, while exposed brickwork adds a touch of the rustic South to the otherwise modern design. Live plants add a pop of greenery, their leaves whispering secrets of Southern hospitality amid the buzz of the city.

As we step further inside, it's as if I've walked into the epicenter of Liam’s world, where he is nothing short of royalty. Paralegals in crisply tailored suits look up from their MacBooks , a chorus of "Mr. Nolan" echoing through the air like some sort of professional refrain.

Attorneys in corner offices poke their heads out, offering nods of respect that border on reverence. And then there are the assistants—gorgeous, each one of them, all statuesque lines and designer clothes, their smiles for Liam nothing short of adoring.

"Good to see you, Mr. Nolan!" one calls out, her voice laced with an admiration that makes my stomach twist.

"Always a pleasure, Liam," another adds, her handshake with my boss lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

They flock to him, drawn by some invisible force that seems to radiate from his very being. I wonder if he’s slept with any of them… and then I chastise myself for wondering because it’s really none of my business.

I just want to fade into the background—a blip on the radar compared to this bossy, arrogant god.

I draw a quiet breath, trying to steady the fluttering in my chest. This feeling of invisibility isn't new—it's been a constant companion since I started dating Chris… since I lost myself in the glare of his brilliance. But today, with the weight of what awaits us in the conference room, it settles over me heavier than before.

"Shiloh? You coming?" Liam's voice slices through the hum of conversations, a beacon pulling me back from the edge of self-pity. There's no hint of the celebrity in his tone when he speaks to me—just impatience laced with something that sounds an awful lot like concern.

"Right behind you," I reply, my voice steady despite the tremor in my knees. Because no matter how small they make me feel, I won't let him see me falter.

Not here. Not now. Not ever.

I remind myself that I'm here for a reason, clutching the leather portfolio to my chest like a shield as I shuffle after Liam. His strides are sure and long, his presence commanding even the air in this place to bend to his will. It's infuriating how much space he takes up—how much space everyone allows him to take.

"Mr. Nolan, right this way," an assistant says, her voice syrup-sweet, eyes fluttering at him with thinly veiled admiration.

"Thank you, Marissa," Liam nods curtly without breaking his stride, and I follow his lead, trying not to get lost in the sea of cubicles and glass doors that make up the labyrinth of Aegis's Atlanta office.

We reach an office at the back, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers of the main workspace. Liam doesn't knock, just pushes the door open with a confidence that speaks of ownership. I hesitate on the threshold, then step into the shadow he casts, entering the room.

My gaze immediately locks on the man rising from the conference table. He's tall, with the kind of effortless attractiveness that has nothing to do with the cut of his suit or the care in his grooming—it's innate, a part of him as much as his sharp jawline or the rich chestnut of his hair.

"Turner," Liam greets, a grin spreading across his face as they shake hands.

There's a camaraderie there that grates against my nerves, a brotherhood forged in secrets and closed-door deals. Yeah, this guy is good-looking, but I get the impression he’s not here because he’s adept at doing the right thing, and it sets alarm bells ringing in my head.

"Derek Turner," he introduces himself.

"Shiloh Sanders." My voice is a whisper of sound, barely enough to carry my name across the short distance between us. But it's enough to earn me a nod, an acknowledgment that I exist in this world of giants.

"Good to meet you, Shiloh," he says, and there's a warmth there that almost makes me believe he means it.

Almost.

I nod, the professional mask firmly in place, even as my insides churn with apprehension. Before I can settle into my observations further, a paralegal steps forward. She's got an efficiency about her that's as sharp as the stilettos she wears, and there's no mistaking the purpose in her stride.

"Miss Sanders," she says, handing me a sleek tablet, "we need you to sign this NDA before we proceed."

The screen glows with legalese, its contents spelling out the silence money can buy. My fingers hover over the digital line at the bottom. This is the part where I seal my lips and agree to keep their secrets—the infidelities and moral gray areas tucked away neatly behind my signed name.

I tap the stylus against the screen, scrawling Shiloh Sanders in a script that feels too delicate for what it represents. A shackle, a gag order—but it's part of the job.

"Thank you." The paralegal retrieves the tablet with a curt nod, her eyes flicking back to the recording device she's set up on the table. It blinks red, a tiny cyclops witnessing everything.

"Let's get started," Liam commands, a note of impatience already threading through his tone as he settles into the chair at the head of the table. His eyes are on me, expectant.

I reach into my leather satchel, fingers brushing against the crisp edges of meticulously organized file folders. I draw out the thick file marked 'Turner' and place it in front of him with practiced care. My role is clear: assist, facilitate, and, most importantly, do not engage.

"Here you go," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the fluttering in my chest that has nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with him.

Liam flips open the cover with a flick of his wrist and begins rifling through the documents. He’s all business now, every inch the hotshot attorney taking command of the narrative before him. But even the most controlled can be tripped up by their own expectations.

"Where's the correspondence from the Hawks' legal team? You can't have missed that, Shiloh," he snaps without looking up, the accusation clear in his voice.

I bristle at the implication, feeling a familiar surge of indignation heat my cheeks.

"It's there," I assert, leaning forward. "The email thread starts behind the tab marked 'Communications.'"

His hand pauses mid-flip, and then he finds the tab, abruptly pulling out the emails. His actions do not imply an apology, just a silent concession as his gaze scans the first page.

"Right."

The word is terse, a reluctant admission that I've done my job

I settle back into my seat, allowing myself a small, private victory.

"Let's get to the heart of this," Liam announces, his tone shifting as he straightens the stack of papers before him. The room feels colder somehow, despite the midday sun streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Derek Turner, the man at the center of the scandal, leans back in his chair, a picture of calm indifference that only those with immense wealth and influence seem able to muster. But there's a flicker in his eyes, a hint of something less assured.

"Allegations are flying left and right," Liam says, eyes fixed on the file. "The press is having a field day with rumors that you've been involved with another player's wife."

My fingers tighten around the pen I’m still holding, the plastic creaking its protest. It’s not just the allegation that grates; it’s the casualness in Liam’s voice, the clinical detachment as if he’s discussing a business merger instead of lives unraveling.

"Your wife is threatening to take this to court," Liam continues, "and she's hinted at going public with everything—claiming immoral behavior from you and the team. Orgies, swinging, cheating… even trying to force her into it."

Derek's jaw tightens, the only break in his composed facade.

"She always was dramatic," he mutters, almost under his breath.

My jaw drops, blinking fast—but Liam is already responding to Derek as if none of this matters. “So you’re not denying it?”

Derek shrugs. “I think this is really more about Nora—she was angry I was spending so much time working, even though all I’ve ever done is try to provide for our family. The affair… was because Nora and I had already drifted apart.”

“And the coercion allegations?” Liam asks.

Derek smirks and something burns in my chest. “Nora’s never done anything she didn’t want to.”

I can't help but wonder about his wife, Nora, now reduced to a single facet in a complex play of power and reputation. What must it feel like to have your pain dissected for strategic gain?

Liam doesn't skip a beat. "We need to be prepared for any outcome. Damage control is key, but so is maintaining a credible defense."

Anger courses through me, but I bite my tongue, swallowing the bitter taste of disillusionment. Even knowing what he does about me and Chris, and the fact that his own mother was cheated on… I can’t believe he’s okay with this.

"Shiloh," Liam says, snapping his fingers to draw my attention. His voice slices through my thoughts, cold and professional. "You've got all the relevant paperwork organized, right?"

"Everything's there," I reply.

"Good." He nods curtly before turning back to Derek. "I think we're done here for now."

Derek rises from his seat, the movement smooth and controlled. "Appreciate your help, Liam."

"Of course," Liam replies, standing as well. "Just doing my job. We'll keep things as quiet as possible. Oh, and I have a meeting scheduled with your wife tomorrow. I’ll see if she’d be amenable to the settlement we discussed, given the facts of the case."

"Thanks," Derek says tersely, his eyes catching mine for a fleeting second, revealing nothing.

I stand, too, feeling the weight of the situation settle heavily on my shoulders. The room feels colder somehow, sterile and impersonal. My heart aches at the familiarity of betrayal, at the casualness of infidelity being batted around like any other legal problem to be solved.

Liam's indifference stings. I know his history, the way his own mother suffered because of a man much like Derek. But here he stands, ready to defend the indefensible without so much as flinching.

Does his conscience not gnaw at him like mine does?

I get my answer when he extends his hand, a practiced smile etched onto his face. "Good to work with you, Derek."

"Likewise," Derek replies, clasping Liam's hand in a firm handshake that looks more like a merger than a meeting between lawyer and client.

As they disengage, Derek turns toward me, his hand outstretched. The expectation of compliance hangs in the air, but I can't bring myself to take part in this farce. My skin crawls at the thought of touching him, of pretending his actions are anything but despicable.

"Shiloh?" His voice is a cool drawl laced with a hint of surprise as I stand motionless.

I summon all the professionalism I can muster, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.

"Mr. Turner," I say, avoiding his gaze—and his hand. "If that's all, we should be going. We have other appointments to attend to.”

Liam's eyes flicker over to me, a shadow of something unreadable passing through them before he schools his features back to neutrality.

"Alright then," Derek says after a pause, retracting his hand and nodding once. "Until next time."

We turn to leave, and I can feel Derek's eyes on me, but I refuse to look back. There's a tightness in my chest that makes it hard to breathe.

I've never been one to shy away from standing up for what I believe in, even in the face of power or wealth, and I'm not about to start now, billionaire boss or not.

Liam leads the way out of the conference room, his strides confident. I follow in silence, grappling internally with the dissonance between my own values and the role I'm supposed to play here. The plush carpet muffles our steps as we navigate through the maze of offices and cubicles.

"Shiloh," Liam says softly once we're out of earshot, and there's a tension in his voice that wasn't there before.

I glance up at him, and I am met by the steel in his gaze. It's a look that demands answers without asking questions outright.

"Look, I know what you're thinking," I start, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "But I just couldn't shake his hand—not after everything."

Liam's expression doesn't soften, but he nods curtly as if granting me this one concession.

"This isn't about personal feelings. It's business. Sometimes it's about playing the long game," he says, his tone measured.

"Even if it means ignoring what's right?" I can't help the edge of challenge in my voice.

"Especially then," he counters. We reach the elevator, and he presses the call button, his jaw set.

And as we step into the elevator, he lowers his voice.

“We’ll talk in the car,” he growls. “But if you want to keep your job, you’re going to start playing by my rules.”