Thirty-Six
THIRTY-SIX
SOPHIE
PRESENT
M y eyes sting with unshed tears as I replay everything he’s just told me, his words carving into me all over again. Reliving it—hearing it in his voice—feels like a wound being ripped open. But I’ve listened, every detail sinking in, and as much as it hurts, a tiny, barely-there part of me understands. I wouldn’t have back then—not at all—but now…now I see the cracks in him that I couldn’t see before.
I clear my throat, forcing the words out despite the tightness in my chest. “Was that the first time you did cocaine?” I ask, my voice barely steady. It’s not the question I want to ask most, but it’s the one I can manage right now. The real question—the one that terrifies me—is if it was the last time. That’s the fear that’s haunted me, the image of him wrapped up in situations I can barely stomach: drugs, money, women.
Seeing that woman on his lap… It hurt. But it wasn’t the worst part—not by a long shot. He explained that she’d been brought there by the investors and how she’d dropped down just minutes before I walked up the stairs. How uncomfortable he’d been, caught in a scene he didn’t want any part of.
“Yes,” he says quietly, his unwavering gaze only deepening my fear.
I take a shaky breath, feeling the weight of what I have to ask next. My voice trembles. “Was it the last?”
A shadow crosses his face, his jaw tightening as he flinches, the weight of regret etched into every line of his expression. My stomach knots, dread coiling tighter as I silently plead, Please say yes. Please.
He looks down, unable to meet my eyes. “No.”
The word slams into me, sharp and unforgiving. A hollow ache spreads like a crack splintering through glass.
I stand up slowly, numbness creeping over me because he hasn’t said anything else. Nothing. Just that single, devastating no. It echoes between us, louder than any explanation he could give, a silent verdict on what our future could or couldn’t be. The ache digs deeper with every second, dragging me under, suffocating me. This is my hard limit. The one thing I can’t bend on, no matter how much I care for him. No matter how incredible he is. I’ve lived this life before, seen the destruction up close, and I refuse to go through it again. I can’t. I won’t. Not with him. Not with anyone.
It’s not fair, a small, desperate voice inside me whispers. But fairness doesn’t matter here. Self-preservation does.
He stands up, closing the distance between us in an instant. “Soph.” His voice is low, almost pleading, raw in a way I’ve never heard before. His hand reaches out, hesitant, as if he’s afraid to touch me but desperate not to let me go. “Please, let me explain.”
I cross my arms, my jaw tight as anger and hurt course through me, each beat of my pulse echoing in my ears. “Explain what, Liam? You know how I feel about this. I told you back then. I told you everything about my dad—I have no tolerance for this.” My voice cracks slightly, but I push through, swallowing hard as the words stick in my throat. “Are you an addict?”
His face hardens, as if I just struck him. Then, through gritted teeth, he spits out, “I’m not a drug addict.”
“Then what?” The words come out sharper than I intend, slicing through the air between us. I can’t hold back the frustration bubbling up, spilling out of me. “If you’re not, then what the hell is it?”
Frustration flashes in his eyes as he exhales sharply, his shoulders stiffening. “Will you just sit down and listen?” His voice is tight, teetering on the edge of control, his hand gesturing toward the seat with barely masked impatience.
But I don’t sit. I stand rooted to the spot, the distance between us feeling like a safety net. I need the option to escape if I have to. And as if sensing that, he stays standing too, his stance tense, like he’s bracing for a fight he’s not sure he can win.
“I'm not an addict. I've done it two times.” His voice is firm, but there's a strain beneath it. “Two times, Sophie. I didn’t enjoy it. But I thought I had to impress the investors and secure their support. I was young, and all I wanted was approval… Lucas’s approval, ammo Antoine’s approval. Hell, maybe even my own in some messed-up way.”
He drags a hand over his face, the motion slow, like he’s trying to wipe away the weight of his own words. “I thought that if I could bring in more investors, I’d prove myself. Show them I wasn’t just Lucas’s kid brother tagging along. But it wasn’t worth it. I didn’t even want to do it. And when Lucas found out…” His voice falters, his hand dropping to his side. “Let’s just say approval was the last thing I got.”
I stay quiet, absorbing his words. A part of me begins to understand the weight he must have carried back then—the suffocating pressure to be enough. To be the younger, carefree brother who just wanted the people he looked up to to be proud of him.
It’s not easy being Lucas’s brother, living in the shadow of someone who always seems to have it all figured out. Someone who thrives, who commands respect the moment he walks into a room.
But to me, Liam always had my respect. He was always more than enough. Every time he walked into a room, I saw him. I was always proud of him. I still am.
“Two times, Soph,” he repeats, holding my gaze as if willing me to believe him. “That’s it. And the last time was eight years ago.”
Eight years.
I exhale, but the tension in my chest doesn’t fully ease. I want to believe him. I do. But doubt lingers, curling at the edges of my mind like smoke. It’s not that I think he’s lying—it’s that I know how easy it is to hide the truth, to tell yourself that something doesn’t count if you don’t say it out loud.
I study his face, searching for cracks, for hesitation. But there’s none. Just unwavering certainty, the kind that makes my stomach twist because it means he’s been carrying the guilt, for a long time.
Eight years.
A long time. Long enough to move past a mistake. Long enough to change. But still, the thought of him like that—of Liam turning to something to quiet whatever storm was inside him—makes my throat tighten.
“Eight years ago,” I repeat softly, the words barely above a whisper. As if saying them aloud could somehow make them feel more distant, less threatening. Less real. “So…no drugs around you anymore? That whole scene–it’s gone?”
“I still go out—I have meetings, dinners—but now, if someone pulls that shit out, I tell them to wait until we’re done.” His voice is firm, resolute. ”I’ve left that desperate need to prove myself behind. I’ve spent years building something real, something that actually matters.” He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watches me closely, his eyes searching mine, bracing himself for what I’ll say next. “I don’t want you to think I’m that guy. Because I’m not.”
The knot in my chest begins to loosen, the tight ache easing just slightly. But the questions still linger, tangling in my thoughts like threads I can’t unravel. My voice is steady, but my words feel heavy. “And that night…ten years ago. Would you have ever told me if I hadn’t walked in?”
His face tightens with regret, his shoulders hunching slightly as he looks down, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he admits, “maybe I would have. Or maybe I would’ve just hoped it would stay buried. But I never wanted you to see me like that, Soph. Not then, not ever.”
I swallow hard, my throat thick with emotion. I search for words, something to fill the aching silence between us, but all I can manage is, “It hurt. You have no idea how much.”
His gaze snaps back to mine, unwavering, the intensity in his eyes making my chest tighten. There’s no defensiveness there, no excuses—just him, raw and open. “I know,” he says softly, his voice filled with regret. “And I’m sorry.”
“I believe everything happens for a reason. Nasib, you know?” He raises his hand, gesturing toward his ring finger, a soft, ironic laugh escaping his lips. His eyes drop to my hand, and guilt twists in my chest. Just this morning, I covered our tattoo with concealer, as I always do.
I’m not ready for him to see it. Not yet. Because once I show him, it feels like I’m letting him all the way back in—peeling back the layers of armor I’ve built, opening my heart in a way that terrifies me.
Liam’s voice softens, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve always been my ‘right person, wrong time.’ But the right time is now. I know it—I feel it.”
A beat of silence passes between us, thick with everything we’ve left unsaid.
“What if… What if we’re wrong again? What if it all falls apart like before?”
His eyes flash with something sharp—frustration, maybe even anger. He leans in, his movements deliberate, his jaw tight. “No,” he snaps, the word cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough of that.”
His hand reaches out, covering mine with a firm, steady grip, the warmth of his touch grounding me even as his tone makes me flinch. His voice lowers, taut with conviction. “Do you think I’m going to let that happen? Do you think I’d fight for this if I wasn’t sure?” His gaze pierces mine, fierce and unrelenting. “I’m not that guy anymore. And you,” he pauses, his voice softening just slightly, though the intensity in his eyes remains, “you’re not going to run from this, from us. Not this time.”
He squeezes my hand, his voice dropping lower, but every word carries weight, certainty. “Listen up, Soph. Here’s a simple reminder: You and I are inevitable. You and I are it . It doesn’t matter how many years have passed or how many oceans are between us. You were made for me, and only me. Just as I was made for you. I knew it the day I met you ten years ago, and I’ll know it ten years from now.”
The words hang in the air, sinking deep into the space between us, their finality wrapping around me like a tether. His eyes burn into mine, and for a moment, it feels like time has stopped.
He shifts slightly, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand in a gesture so tender it makes my heart ache. “I came back for you, Sophie,” he says, the edge in his voice fading into something raw, something almost pleading. He pauses, letting the words sink in, his eyes searching mine, waiting— hoping —for some sign of understanding. “But you were with Jared. And when you stopped replying to my messages, I had to let go. I had to try to move on. But even then, deep down, I knew. I knew our paths would cross again. I trusted the divinity that had chosen you for me. So, I waited.”
“Waited?” The word slips out before I can stop it, a sharp edge to my voice that surprises even me. I let out a skeptical laugh, the sound more bitter than I intended, pushing against the vulnerability in his words. It feels safer to throw up my defenses, to question him rather than confront the whirlwind of emotions he’s stirring in me. “Is this the part where you tell me you’ve been waiting all this time—never touched another woman?” As soon as the question leaves my lips, I feel a pang of regret. Why did I have to ask that?
Liam lets out a low laugh, his eyes gleaming with something unspoken. “No, I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve been with loads of women. Plenty. One after another.”
His words leave me momentarily stunned. Heat rises to my face, and my stomach twists painfully as jealousy surges through me, hot and raw.
Why does it matter? I tell myself. But it does. It sinks beneath my skin, settles in my chest like something heavy and unwelcome.
And I know I’m being a hypocrite because I’ve been with other guys. But that doesn’t stop the thought from clawing at me, sinking its teeth in, refusing to let go.
I throw my hands up, unable to contain the anger bubbling inside me. “I don’t want to hear this, Liam.”
But he’s faster. His hand wraps around my arm, turning me back toward him with a firm grip. His eyes burn into mine, fierce, relentless, like he’s trying to sear the truth into me. “But none of them were you.”
I freeze. My defenses falter, the anger in my chest battling with the ache his confession stirs. I want to push him away, to tell him this changes nothing. But I can’t. Not when he’s looking at me like that—not when his words dig into the places I’ve tried so hard to protect.
He leans in, his voice low, simmering with brutal honesty. “Yeah, I was with them. I fucked them. That’s all it was. Empty. Physical.” He pauses, his breath catching, before his voice drops even lower, reverent and aching. “But being with you was different. It was real. It is real. We’re connected, in a way I can’t escape. In a way I don’t want to escape.”
What am I supposed to say? His words are like a hand closing around my heart, squeezing so tightly it feels impossible to breathe. My pulse thrums in my ears, loud and insistent, drowning out everything but his voice.
I look into his eyes—those dark, vulnerable eyes I’m not used to seeing like this. He’s pleading, his gaze searching mine, waiting for me to give him something back.
I clench my trembling hands into fists, trying to keep the chaos inside from spilling over. I want this more than anything. He’s just... Liam. Infuriating and overwhelming, but also the only person who’s ever made me feel like this, like I’m whole and breaking apart all at once.
My dad’s voice echoes in my mind: He’s good for you . Liam isn’t just good for me—he’s so much more than that. And I’ve been punishing both of us for years, keeping him at arm’s length, building walls I’ve been too afraid to tear down.
I can feel it now—the weight of my fear, the mistakes, the months of denial. It’s all crashing down on me, the truth impossible to ignore. I’ve been denying us both the chance to really try, to really be. I’ve been standing in the way.
I needed to hear those words—needed my dad’s blessing like a final, impossible key. Now, it’s as if the door I’ve been hammering on for years has finally swung open, flooding me with a freedom I didn’t know I was waiting for. The weight I’ve carried for so long feels lighter, my chest loosening, my walls cracking. But with that freedom comes something else—a flood of emotions I don’t quite know how to process.
I glance at Liam, his eyes searching mine with desperation, making my throat tighten. He’s waiting—waiting for me to give him something. And in this moment, I realize how much he’s been waiting all along. For years. For me.
“Please,” he whispers, his voice trembling ever so slightly, breaking through the silence between us. His vulnerability is palpable, his words cutting through the noise in my mind. “Tell me you feel this too. Tell me you still feel it.”
The look of him right now could unravel me completely. He’s honest, stripped bare, and so heartbreakingly beautiful that it pulls at something deep inside me. It’s like every barrier I’ve ever built is crumbling, torn apart by the sheer force of his honesty. Just by looking at him, I feel it—the truth I’ve been running from for so long.
And I do. I still feel it. I’ve fought it for months, told myself I couldn’t, that I shouldn’t, but it’s always been there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for me to stop pretending.
The weight and the freedom to finally admit it steals my breath. Slowly, I reach up, my hand trembling as it finds his cheek. My fingertips brush against the warmth of his skin, and the simple touch feels monumental, like a bridge I’m finally willing to cross.
“I feel it,” I whisper, my voice unsteady, barely more than a breath. But it’s the truth—raw, undeniable, and for the first time, I let myself believe it.
A rough, shuddering sigh escapes him, his shoulders dropping as though he’s been carrying the weight of this moment for years. Relief floods his eyes as they search mine, and then, without another word, his lips find mine.
At first, the kiss is soft, searching, as though he’s testing the waters, afraid to push too far. His breath mingles with mine, each movement deliberate, like he’s memorizing the feel of me. It’s grounding, and I feel myself melting into him, my hand sliding to the back of his neck.
But within seconds, something shifts. A tension that’s been coiled tight for years snaps, breaking free, and the kiss deepens. There’s hunger now, a raw, unrestrained need that leaves me dizzy. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll slip away. And I let him. I let myself fall, sinking into the moment, into him.
My other hand flies to his cheek, pulling him closer. Every kiss, every movement feels charged, as if we’re making up for all the lost time, pouring everything unsaid, every unresolved feeling, into this moment. His hands slip to my waist, drawing me in tighter, and the last piece of the wall explodes, leaving only the two of us, bare and real.
This kiss isn’t like the others we shared. Those were desperate, fueled by need, sometimes even anger—a way to take and punish. But now, it’s different. There’s a deeper hunger, a shared urgency to hold on to something we’re both terrified to lose. We breathe each other in, lingering on every touch, every taste, as if we finally have all the time in the world. Each kiss is slow, intentional, as if we’re discovering each other all over again.
His fingers press into my waist, holding me close. Afraid that if he loosens his grip, this might slip away. And for once, I hold on just as tightly, letting myself fall without reservation.
The back of my legs hit the edge of the couch, and I fall back, breathless, only now realizing we’ve been moving. Liam towers over me, his bare chest rising and falling, his gaze locked onto mine. The way he looks at me—like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted—sends a shiver down my spine and a rush of desire pooling low in my stomach. My heart races, each beat echoing in my ears, as my body hums to life under the weight of his stare.
A smile tugs at my lips, a quiet thrill of freedom sweeping over me. I’m wrapped in his T-shirt, his sweatpants hanging loosely on my hips, yet he looks at me as if I’m wearing the finest thing in the world.
He leans down, close enough for his breath to brush my cheek, his fingers tracing a line along my collarbone, slipping down my arm with a slow, maddening intensity. “I’ve waited too long for this,” he murmurs, his voice rough and deep, making my skin prickle with anticipation. “I’m going to show you how much I’ve missed you.”
His hand slides down along my thigh, fingers grazing over the fabric of his sweatpants on my skin, sending warmth radiating through me. He presses me back, his thumb lingering at the edge of the T-shirt. His mouth hovers just inches from mine and whispers, “I want every second of this. Every sound, every look—I want everything.”
He dips his head, his lips brushing a line along my neck, leaving a trail of warmth as his fingers travel over the fabric, guiding it up inch by inch, reverent and slow. He’s savoring each touch and moment as though he’s engraving this into memory, refusing to rush. His words spill into the air between us, each one wrapping around me, “You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his voice thick with reverence. “And I’m going to make sure you feel it.”
His words wrap around me, sinking deep into my chest, and scattering every thought. My breath catches as his fingers trace higher, the soft fabric of the T-shirt lifting under his careful touch. He’s savoring me, every movement is unhurried, like this moment is the only one that exists.
I arch slightly beneath him, his lips continuing their path along my neck, trailing fire with every touch.
His hands slip beneath the fabric, brushing against bare skin, his thumbs trailing along my waist. It’s slow and torturous, but in the best way. I close my eyes, overwhelmed by its intensity, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“I’m not rushing this, Sophie,” he whispers, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, teasing but never quite claiming. “I want you to feel how much you mean to me. Every second of it.”
I shiver under his words, “Show me,” I whisper, tugging him closer. “Show me how much.”
A growl rumbles low in his throat, and he shifts, his lips licking and sucking on my pulse point. “Oh, I will, Sunshine. Every inch of you is mine.” His teeth graze my skin, a mix of rough and gentle that sends heat coursing through me. “I’m going to make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.”
His words make my breath hitch, and I arch into him, my body responding to every touch, every syllable. “Yes,” I breathe, my nails dragging lightly down his back, feeling the muscles flex beneath my fingers.
His hands slide higher under the T-shirt, pushing it up with maddening slowness. “I’m going to take my time with you, Sophie,” he murmurs, his lips finding mine again, his tongue teasing, tasting. “I want to hear every moan you make, every breath, every plea. I want to feel you completely unravel in my arms.”
His fingers slide higher, grazing the curve of my breast before cupping me fully. Heat blooms beneath his touch, a slow burn that makes my breath hitch. Then his thumb brushes over my nipple—light, teasing, deliberate. A shock of pleasure ripples through me, sharp and electric. I gasp, my body arching instinctively into his hand, silently begging for more.
He must feel it, the way I tremble, the way I strain toward him. Because he does it again, this time lingering, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers with an aching slowness that sends fire licking through my veins.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice a mix of authority and tenderness, his hands move to frame my face as he looks down at me.
“You,” I answer without hesitation. “I just want you. ”
He smiles, the kind of smile that’s almost predatory, but there’s love behind it, too.
“You’ve always had me.”
His hand moves down my body. Lower and lower, while his lips scatter kisses along my collarbone, my chest, and down my stomach, each one igniting a fire that spreads through me.
He grips the hem of the T-shirt and pauses, his eyes flicking up to mine, silently asking for permission. I nod, barely able to breathe.
“You’re stunning,” he murmurs, his gaze raking over me, devouring every inch of skin he’s uncovered. His lips return to my skin, making a slow, deliberate path as his hands glide down my sides, catching the waistband of the sweatpants. He tugs them down, his eyes never leaving mine.
He throws the pants away and moves up again, his lips brushing over the arch of my foot and then my ankle. He works his way up, kissing the inside of my calf, then my knee, and higher until his mouth lingers on the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. My breath hitches, and anticipation builds as his kisses inch closer to where I need him most.
He hovers there, his breath hot against my skin, and his hand moves, his finger sliding slowly up and down over my underwear. They’re slick with my arousal, and I feel a tremor run through me as he grunts, low and primal.
“Perfect,” he mumbles to himself, his voice thick and reverent, as though the word isn’t enough to capture what he sees.
His finger hooks under the fabric, sliding my underwear to the side, and he leans forward, his lips brushing softly, teasingly, against me. A gasp escapes my lips, and my hips arch toward him, instinctively seeking more.
And then he gives it to me, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles, coaxing and claiming as if he’s savoring every moment. He moves to my entrance, his tongue pushing in with torturous precision, all while his finger begins to draw lazy circles on the sensitive spot that sends jolts of heat spiraling through me.
“Liam…” His name falls from my lips, breathless and trembling, no longer a whisper but a plea of need. A surrender to him, to everything he’s making me feel.
“That’s it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my folds as he continues, his movements deliberate, almost worshipful. His hands grip my thighs firmly, holding me in place as he works me over, pushing me higher and higher. “Let me hear you, Sophie. Let me know exactly how good I’m making you feel.”
“Liam,” I breathe again, his name escaping in a broken moan as my hands try everything to pull him closer, needing more, needing everything he’s giving me. My body is alight, every touch, every flick of his tongue, sending waves of heat coursing through me.
“Keep saying my name while you come on my face,” he groans, his voice a mix of reverence and hunger, as if he can’t get enough. “You’re mine. You were always mine.”
His words, his touch, his relentless focus—it’s all too much and somehow not enough. My head falls back, a soft cry escaping my lips as I give in to him completely, the world fading until there’s only Liam and the way he’s unraveling me piece by piece like I’m the only thing that matters.