Stellar Corporations towered over the city like a piece of steel carved into the sky. Glass walls reflected the evening sun, turning gold and silver as the day came to an end. Inside, the air was always cool, always controlled.
Liam stepped out of the private elevator, his suit jacket resting perfectly on his shoulders. No wrinkles. No loose buttons. Everything about him looked deliberate. His face was calm, unreadable, the kind of calm that made people nervous.
As he walked through the main floor, conversations died down.
Employees straightened up. Some bowed their heads slightly. Others avoided eye contact altogether. There were whispers, quiet and fast, but no one dared to look too long. The new CEO was young, but no one mistook him for weak. He didn't shout. He didn't threaten. He didn't need to.
Fear followed him naturally.
Liam didn't notice—or maybe he did and simply didn't care. His footsteps echoed softly as he made his way out of the building. The glass doors slid open, and the city noise rushed in.
Waiting outside was his favorite car.
A matte black Mercedes-Maybach S-Class.
Low-key to anyone who didn't know cars. Elegant. Expensive in a quiet, dangerous way. Liam opened the door and slipped inside, shutting the world out with a soft click. The engine purred to life, smooth and controlled, just like him.
He drove away without looking back.
The city lights blurred past as he moved through familiar streets, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely by his side. He didn't play music. He never did anymore. Silence filled the car, thick and heavy.
Eventually, he slowed in front of a bar tucked between two older buildings. Nothing flashy. No loud sign. Just warm light spilling through narrow windows. He parked neatly, stepped out, and adjusted his jacket before heading inside.
The bar smelled of alcohol and old wood. Soft music played in the background. It wasn't crowded, just enough people to feel alive without being loud.
Liam's eyes scanned the room once.
He spotted Tommy immediately.
Tommy sat in a quiet corner, one leg crossed over the other, a glass resting loosely in his hand. He looked tired, but relaxed in a way Liam hadn't felt in years. When he noticed Liam approaching, he raised his head and smiled slightly.
"You're late," Tommy said.
Liam pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down. "Work."
Tommy snorted softly. "That's your answer to everything now."
Liam didn't respond. He picked up the menu, glanced at it without really seeing anything, then placed it back down.
A waitress came over. Liam ordered a drink. Something strong. Something simple.
For a moment, they sat in silence.
Then Tommy's phone rang.
He frowned at the screen. "Give me a minute."
Tommy stood and stepped outside, leaving Liam alone with his thoughts. Liam stared at the glass table, at his own reflection staring back at him. Cold eyes. Sharp jaw. A stranger wearing his face.
When Tommy returned, there was a smile on his lips—real this time.
"Good news?" Liam asked flatly.
"Yeah," Tommy said, sitting back down. "The project's approved. Funding too"
Liam nodded. "Good."
They talked about work after that. Deadlines. Security systems. Expansion plans. Tommy did most of the talking. Liam answered when needed. Short replies. Precise words.
Eventually, Tommy sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"Liam," he said slowly, "you can't keep living like this."
Liam lifted his glass and took a sip. "Living like what?"
"Like nothing else exists," Tommy said. "You work, you go home, you work again. You don't talk. You don't feel. You don't even pretend anymore."
Liam smirked faintly. "Sounds efficient."
Tommy shook his head. "You should move on."
That did it.
Liam's smirk widened just a little, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Move on?" he repeated. "From what?"
Tommy studied him carefully. "From the past."
Liam leaned back, gaze drifting somewhere far away. "The past is already past," he said calmly. "There's nothing left to think about."
Tommy didn't believe him. He could hear it in Liam's voice—too flat, too rehearsed.
"And now?" Tommy asked.
"Now?" Liam said. "Now I work. I fulfill my parents' wishes. I run the company. That's all."
Tommy sighed again, deeper this time.
Liam raised his glass slightly. "Don't worry," he added. "I'm fine."
But even as he said it, the words felt hollow in the air between them.
The silence returned after that, heavy and awkward, stretching between them. Glasses clinked softly somewhere behind the counter. The music shifted to something slower.
Then Liam spoke again, almost as an afterthought.
"How's Julian?"
Tommy's face changed instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased, and something warmer slipped into his eyes.
"He's fine," Tommy said softly. "Really fine."
Liam glanced up this time.
Tommy leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. "His health is stable. Doctors say things are looking good. He's been… happy lately."
Liam nodded once, encouraging him to continue.
"We're getting the certificates soon," Tommy added, rubbing the back of his neck. "Marriage certificates. Everything's almost done."
The word landed harder than it should have.
Liam's fingers curled slowly into his palm.
Marriage.
Certificates.
Tommy kept talking, unaware of the shift. "Julian keeps acting like it's no big deal, but I know he's nervous. He pretends he's annoyed when I double-check everything, but he still lets me." He chuckled quietly. "He's like that."
Liam listened in silence.
Marriage.
A future written down. Signed. Official. Protected.
Without warning, Oliver's face surfaced in his mind—clear and sharp. The graduation gowns. The lies spoken calmly. The way Oliver chose pain over staying. The future they never got to plan.
Liam's jaw tightened.
He curled his fists under the table, knuckles whitening, then forced himself to relax. He did not let it show. He would not let it show.
"That's good," he said finally, his voice steady. "Julian deserves it."
Tommy smiled, grateful. "Yeah. He really does."
They fell quiet again.
Liam took another sip of his drink, eyes distant. Somewhere inside him, something stirred—something he had buried under work, silence, and control.
And for the first time in days, Oliver's name echoed in his head without permission.
He hated that it still did.
By the end of the night, Liam was drunk.
Not loud drunk. Not sloppy drunk.
The quiet kind—the kind that sat heavy in his chest and blurred the edges of his thoughts.
Tommy sighed for what felt like the hundredth time and shook his head, helping Liam into the passenger seat. Liam barely responded, eyes half-closed, head leaning against the window as the city lights slid past like ghosts.
Tommy drove him home in Liam's own car, the engine humming softly through the silence.
When they arrived, the house lights were on.
That alone was strange.
Tommy cut the engine and helped Liam inside, his arm firm around Liam's waist. As soon as they stepped into the house, someone rushed toward them.
"Liam!"
Lorette.
She stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, the smell of warm food filling the air. She looked… different. More mature. More composed. Her figure had softened into something elegant, deliberate—like she had grown into herself. For a second, she forgot how to breathe when she saw Liam like this.
Drunk. Quiet. Broken.
Her heart ached.
"I've got him," she said quickly, taking Liam from Tommy's grip without hesitation.
Tommy studied her for a moment, then nodded. "He didn't say much," he explained quietly. "Just… let him rest. He's had a lot on his mind."
Lorette nodded again, lips pressed together. She didn't ask what "a lot" meant. She already knew.
Tommy left soon after, the door closing softly behind him.
Lorette led Liam upstairs, step by slow step. He leaned heavily against her, taller, heavier, familiar in a way that hurt. When they reached his room, she eased him onto the bed and pulled off his shoes, her movements careful, almost tender.
She fetched a glass of water. A towel. She wiped his face gently, brushing damp hair away from his forehead.
"You're impossible," she whispered, though there was no anger in it.
As she turned to place the towel aside, she felt it.
His gaze.
She froze.
Liam's eyes were open, dark and unfocused, staring straight at her. He looked at her for a long moment—too long. Her breath caught, heat rushing to her face.
Is he… seeing me?
Is this the moment?
"Liam?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
Instead, his hand moved.
In one sudden, unsteady motion, he pulled her down onto the bed, his weight pressing her there. Her heart slammed wildly against her ribs. She stared up at him, shock and hope tangling together.
"Liam—"
He leaned down and kissed her.
It wasn't gentle.
It was hungry. Desperate. Like someone trying to drown out a memory rather than create a new one. His hands fumbled, urgent and careless. Somewhere between breathless gasps and tangled limbs, clothes were pushed aside, the world narrowing to heat and confusion.
Lorette let it happen.
She told herself this was what she had wanted. What she had waited for.
The room blurred. Time slipped.
And then—
Right at the edge of everything—
Liam breathed a name.
Soft. Broken. Unmistakable.
"Oliver…"
The word pierced her deeper than any rejection ever could.
Her body went still.
Her chest tightened.
That name.
The name she had learned to hate.
The name that had taken everything from her without even trying.
But she didn't push Liam away.
She closed her eyes and stayed, letting the moment finish itself in silence, knowing—deep down—that no matter what had just happened…
She had never truly been the one he was holding...