Twenty-Five
TWENTY-FIVE
SOPHIE
TEN YEARS AGO
“ I ’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t plan it. It just happened,” I say, trying to calm him down, again . He was not happy after I sent him those tattoo photos. What was I thinking? I mean, whose father jumps with joy at the sight of ink on their daughter? But I thought the sight of the flower would warm up his day in rehab. I was obviously wrong.
“I didn’t send you to Barcelona to go rogue. You’re supposed to be studying.” His voice is stern, but I can hear the undercurrent of humor hiding beneath the disapproval.
“I am studying,” I try to defend myself, but he’s already on a roll.
“Tattoos and boys... It’s not like I haven’t been young once. And I know what Barcelona’s like. The parties, the men, the wild life.”
“It’s not like that, Dad. Liam is actually amazing. He’s kind and smart and...” I trail off, suddenly aware of just how much I’m revealing.
“Oh?” He’s intrigued now. “So, this Liam boy. He’s more than just a tattoo buddy?”
I hesitate, because what are we exactly?
“He’s… Well, it’s complicated. I know it’s just for now. I’m coming back home soon, and he lives here and in France, but it’s hard to explain.”
My dad sighs, his playful tone shifting to something softer and more fatherly. “Sophie, I just want you to thrive. I want you to not end up throwing away your potential for other people—or worse, throwing it away for someone like me.”
“Dad,” I say, my voice firm but affectionate. “Firstly, you‘ve done your best and I love you. Don’t ever think I’d compare anyone to you. And secondly, Liam… He’s different. He does something to me.”
“Are you sure you know him well? Please, tell me he’s not into...” he pauses, and I know where this is going, “drugs, is he?”
There it is, the real fear creeping into his voice. I can almost picture him on the other end, running a hand through his graying hair, anxious. My heart softens, and I wish I could hug him through the phone.
“Dad, no,” I reassure him, “Liam’s not into any of that. He’s nothing like that.” But the silence stretches too long, and I know he’s not fully convinced. “I swear, Dad. He’s different. I picked the tattoo. He’s not dragging me into anything bad. No drugs. No recklessness.”
He lets out a long breath, but there’s still something weighing on him. “Sophie,” he says, his tone shifting to something heavier, something more raw. “Promise me something.”
I feel my stomach tighten. “Dad, please. You’re overthinking this.”
“No,” he cuts me off, his voice firm, ”I know what I’ve done. I know the path I walked. And I don’t want you falling for someone like me. Promise me you’ll never choose a man like me.”
My throat tightens. “Dad, stop, you’re–”
”No, Petal. I mean it. The things I’ve done, the damage I’ve caused. Please, promise me.” His voice cracks, and I can hear the years of regret laced in his words.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his request. “I promise.”
The call with Dad took longer than I had anticipated, but I’ve missed him. He’s been doing great and making so much improvement. Rehab has been great for him. I just hope it continues.
I’m sitting on my bed, textbooks and notes spread out in front of me, trying to focus on my Design Project Management exam coming up on Monday. But my mind keeps drifting. To Liam. Always Liam.
Outside, I can hear the sounds of people laughing, talking, living—it’s Saturday in Barcelona, and everyone’s out enjoying themselves. Except me.
Liam asked me to go out tonight. His friend just opened the hottest new club in town, The Black Pearl . Apparently, everyone who’s anyone is dying to be on the guest list, especially the girls at my school. But I told him I needed to study. And yet, here I am, staring at my books, not absorbing a single word.
Four more weeks and I’ll be back home. By then, my dad will be back from rehab too, and Liam? Liam will stay here.
What am I doing? I should be spending as much time as I can with him while I still can. I’m already acing my classes. I can study tomorrow.
Before I know it, I’m up and out of bed, tossing my books aside. My decision is made. I need to see him. I practically jump into the shower, washing away the day, the stress, and the thoughts of exams. I scrub fast, eager to get ready. When I step out, I stand in front of the mirror, my damp blonde hair clinging to my skin. Okay, now what? What's the look? What am I going to wear?
I decide on an old Hollywood look—bold red lips, winged eyeliner that makes my blue eyes pop, and bouncy waves that fall perfectly around my shoulders.
Rummaging through my wardrobe, I pull out an emerald green dress. The deep green stands out against my tanned skin, and the slit running up my thigh is daring. I smooth the fabric over my hips, a smile tugging at my lips. Liam is going to love this. I hope.
I call for a taxi and make my way to The Black Pearl. But when I get there, my confidence takes a hit. The line stretches around the block, full of people clamoring to get in. Shit. How am I going to get past all these people? But I’ve already come this far. I can’t turn back now.
Straightening my back, I walk right up to the entrance, ignoring the stares from people in line. The bouncer gives me a quick once-over. “There’s a line, miss.”
“I’m on the list,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I’m getting deja vu. This is just like that first night I met Liam.
“Under what name?”
“Liam Ayoub. I’m his plus one. Sophie Anderson.”
The bouncer’s expression barely changes as he scans his clipboard, then nods. “Javier!” he calls over one of the staff. “Show her to Liam Ayoub’s table.”
He steps aside, and I let out a small breath of relief. That was much easier than the first time I met him.
Javier appears and gestures for me to follow him inside. The club is luxurious, the kind of place designed to make you feel like a VIP just by stepping inside. The lighting is dim, casting soft shadows across the sleek black interior. Music pulses through the space, wrapping around me like a heartbeat, and the scent of expensive perfume and cologne fills the air.
He leads me to a grand staircase, the black marble steps sparkling under the lights. My heels click as I climb the stairs behind him. Each step I take, my nerves ratchet up a notch. Why am I so nervous? I can feel my heart beating in time with the music, my pulse racing.
What if Liam’s here with his friends, and I ruin it? Am I crashing his night?
But then I remind myself: It’s Liam. He invited me. He’ll be happy to see me.
Still, with every step, the nerves build. My excitement turns into something more. I like this man much more than I want to admit. Honestly, I’m falling for him. I’m falling so hard, and the idea freaks me out.
Am I in love? I think I’m very close to it.
We reach the top of the stairs, and Javier leads me to the left, past velvet curtains, into the VIP section. The crowd thins here, but the air is thicker, more exclusive. I hold my breath as we walk through. Then, finally, he stops in front of a large booth.
And there he is.
Liam.
But his beautiful face does not light up with a smile as it usually does when he sees me. Instead, he looks caught. My gaze drifts from his face to the scene around him, and my heart sinks.
He’s not with any of the friends I know. My eyes drift to the woman perched on his lap, barely wearing anything that could be considered clothing. His hand is thrown over the back of the sofa, relaxed, as if he’s entirely in his element, detached and unbothered by the chaos around him.
What the hell is this?
My chest tightens as I take in the rest—the black glass table in front of him. Three white lines. Scattered euro bills.
My heart stops.
The realization crashes down on me, and I feel the ground tilt beneath my feet. My heart slams against my chest as everything starts to blur. Just hours ago, I promised my dad. I swore I wouldn’t choose someone like him—someone who could lead me down the same path. And now this.
I feel sick. My stomach twists painfully as my mind races. Liam knows about my dad. He knows how I feel about drugs. I told him everything, laid my past bare, every scar, every fear. And yet here he is, surrounded by everything I despise.
He told me he didn’t do this . He said he didn’t care for it. He lied. For what? To get into my pants? My heart? The betrayal burns, sharp and unrelenting, as the memories of every word he said play mockingly in my mind.
Our eyes lock, and for a brief second, I see the shock in his face—the way his expression crumbles like he’s been caught doing something he knows will break me. His lips part, but no words come. He stays frozen, The woman’s still on his lap like he hasn’t even realized what it means. His body betrays him in that instant, and it’s worse than anything he could say.
Time stretches, everything suspended in the awful silence between us. I wait for him to say something—anything—to explain this, but the longer I stand there, the more I feel like a fool.
I can’t stay here.
I don’t speak. I can’t. There’s nothing left to say. Without another glance, I turn on my heel and walk out, each step heavier than the last. My chest aches with every breath, but I refuse to let him see how badly he’s broken me. Not him. Not now. And maybe...not ever again.