Thirty-Five
THIRTY-FIVE
LIAM
TEN YEARS AGO
R ed lights pulse across the club, cutting through the haze and painting the dance floor below in fiery streaks. Bodies move in sync with the pounding bass, energy radiating in waves. From where I stand, on one of the balconies in the private section, the chaos feels distant. Like I’m safe.
Sophie was supposed to be here with me tonight, celebrating the opening of my friend’s club—The Black Pearl. Yeah, he’s that obsessed with a certain movie. But she had to stay back to study for a test on Monday. I didn’t push or nag her to come, even though every part of me wants to be next to her, to share this night with her. But her education and her future come first. Always.
Instead, I turned the evening into an opportunity—a business meeting. Well, more like the final step in securing a deal. Lucas is usually the one who charms the right investors and earns our Uncle Antoine’s approval, but this time, it’s my turn. I’ve been in talks with these two for months, and tonight could finally seal the deal. If everything goes as planned, I’ll prove to Lucas and ammo Antoine that I’m more than just the younger brother coasting by.
I want to exceed. I’m meant to thrive too. I want to be the person they turn to for advice, the one whose opinion carries weight. But as of now, I’m not that person. I know they love me, but respect? That’s a different story. In the business world, they don’t see me as their equal. Some days, it feels like they sent me to Barcelona to babysit the hotels, or to manage staff, even though that shouldn’t be my role. I’m not a general manager, and I’ve never wanted to be. They haven’t given me the chance to be like them, to thrive.
But I know I can be as charming and persuasive as Lucas. I know I have it in me to be as great a businessman as my uncle. They just have to give me a chance. And because it hasn’t happened yet, I’m taking it upon myself. I’m doing everything in my power to seal this deal. To prove I belong at the round table.
I glance at my watch; they’re half an hour late. I should be annoyed, but I’m not. I have nowhere else to be. Sinking into the plush leather sofa, I pull out my phone.
Me
I hope you’re studying hard so you’ll ace that test.
The response comes almost immediately, and a smile tugs at my lips.
Sunshine
It’s going… but I hate Design Project Management, and the teacher is so strict, the exam will probably be impossible.
Her words make me chuckle. I can picture her now, sitting cross-legged on her bed, papers and books scattered everywhere, her nose scrunched up in frustration.
Me
Hate it all you want, Sunshine. I know you’ll crush it.
Sunshine
That’s the plan.
What about you? Enjoying the club?
I glance around, laughter and shouts rising above the music. My smile fades a little. The night feels hollow without her here.
Me
It’s fine. Not the same without you
I hesitate, staring at the screen, debating whether to hit send. Before I can make a decision, a voice cuts through the thrum of music, shouting my name from the top of the stairs. I glance up, spotting the two men—and three women I definitely didn’t invite—waving in my direction, their figures silhouetted against the flashing lights. Showtime.
We shake hands, diving straight into business. There are countless if’s and but’s , additions and subtractions, but we’re so close to agreeing. I focus on the details, forcing myself to ignore the noise, the crowd, and my pounding headache. They’ve been throwing back drinks—seven each, at least—and the girls, equally drunk, are giggling at every word. I’ve had my fair share, too, enough to feel the dull throb building at my temples.
Just finish this, I tell myself. Seal the deal, and you’re done. I’ll leave, head straight to Sophie’s apartment. She must be finished studying by now. The thought of her—the way her face lights up when she sees me—makes me smile like a lovesick puppy.
“What are you smiling at, handsome?” One of the women sways in front of me, her tiny, glittering dress barely covering anything. She leans closer, her perfume too sweet, too heavy. And there goes my smile.
“We bring the entertainment, Liam. You can thank us later.” Jeremy, one of the investors, grins, slouched back on the sofa while the girl in his lap sucks on his neck. The other man—blue suit—laughs and raises his glass. I never caught his name. Jeremy’s always been the one handling things, the main point of contact. This guy? Just another suit with deep pockets.
I don’t know when this transformed into a brothel, but here we are. Just a little longer. I can hold on a little longer.
Jeremy claps his hands, and the drinks are replaced with something darker. The black glass table is cleared, and before I realize what’s happening, lines of white powder are lined up neatly on its surface. My stomach sinks. Fuck.
Careful not to offend, I lean back, trying to mask my unease. The men act like this is a favor like they’re offering me some great opportunity, and if I don’t look like I want to be involved, I know it’ll backfire. If they feel insulted, this deal is dead. And so is my chance to prove myself.
The girls go first, giggling as they take turns rolling up euro bills with practiced ease. The men follow, snorting the lines without hesitation. I grip the armrest of the sofa, my hand twitching, and I pray silently, Do all of it. Don’t leave one for me, please.
No such luck. The man in the blue suit finishes his lines, then turns to me, holding out the rolled-up bill. ”Your turn,” he says, his tone light but his eyes sharp.
I hesitate, my heart pounding. Images flash in my mind—Sophie’s face, the stories she’s told me about her father. My grip tightens on the armrest. No. This isn’t me.
“Come on, Liam,” the man snaps, impatience creeping into his voice. ”It’s your turn.”
I take the bill from his hand, my movements stiff. One time won’t hurt. One time won’t harm. My fingers twitch as I lean forward. This is business. This is about proving myself. Sometimes you do things you don’t want to. My mind chants the words like a mantra, trying to drown out the guilt rising like bile in my throat.
I snort the line. The burn hits immediately, sharp and bitter, making my eyes water. The girl nearest to me claps her hands in delight and plops herself onto my lap, laughing. “See? I knew you’d be fun,” she says, draping an arm around my neck. Her giggles grate on me, her perfume suffocating.
Her touch makes my skin crawl. I reach up, removing her hand firmly, resting mine on the back of the sofa instead. My fingers twitch, opening and closing as I fight the urge to push her off entirely.
“None of that,” I say stiffly, forcing a tight smile, hoping it’s enough to dissuade her. She doesn’t move.
“So, what do you say? Do we have an agreement?” My voice is louder than necessary, cutting through the sound of their drunken laughter and make-out sessions.
Both men glance at each other and then nod. “We do,” Jeremy says, reaching out his hand.
THANK GOD.
Relief floods me as I shake it firmly, then the other’s. Yes. I did it.
The relief doesn’t last. It morphs into something far worse—shame, disgust, and a choking fear that wraps around my chest.
My stomach drops when I see her. Sophie. She’s standing right in front of me, her wide eyes moving between the table, the lines of powder, and me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
If I jump up now, I’ll ruin everything. The deal, the months of work, the chance to finally prove myself. But if I stay where I am, I’ll ruin something else. My mind races, a frantic tug-of-war between the deal I’ve been fighting to seal and the one person I can’t bear to lose. She’ll forgive me, I tell myself, clinging to hope like a lifeline. She’ll listen to me. She trusts me. I’ll explain it to her as soon as this is over. I’ll tell her everything. She’ll understand why I had to do this. She’ll see that this was about us, too. About proving I can be the man she deserves.
But even as I try to convince myself, I see the look on her face, and it shatters me. Even in the dim, pulsing light, I can see the tears welling in her eyes, the hurt written in every line of her expression. My chest tightens, my heart splintering into a thousand jagged pieces. I’m such an asshole. Such a fucking asshole.
Her lips tremble like she wants to say something, but no words come. And then, slowly, she shakes her head, the motion so full of disappointment that it feels like a punch to the gut.
She turns and walks down the stairs, and I just sit there, frozen. Glued to my seat. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run after her, to fix this, but I don’t move. The weight of what I’ve done keeps me rooted in place. The deal—the approval I’ve been chasing for years—is right here. Almost within reach. I can’t lose it. I can’t lose this. I can’t lose.
But as Sophie disappears from view, a bitter voice in the back of my mind whispers, What’s the point of winning the success you want if it means losing her?
She’s not answering my calls. Not responding to my texts. And she’s not opening the door, even though I’ve been pounding on it for over twenty minutes. I’ll stay here all night if I have to.
My chest feels tight, my breath shallow, and panic claws at me from the inside out. I need to fix this. I need her to understand. But no matter how many times I knock, no matter how many calls I make, she doesn’t answer.
And then, a ping.
The sound breaks through the storm inside my head, and I turn to see Sophie stepping out of the elevator. Her head is bowed, shoulders hunched in the way she always does when she’s trying to hide the weight of everything, making herself small.
When she looks up, my heart stops. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face streaked with tears. Every one of them is because of me. I did that. It’s my fault.
“Sophie, please,” I say, my voice shaking despite myself. I take a step toward her, but she flinches. “Please, give me two minutes to explain.”
She looks at me for a long beat, her gaze so full of pain I can barely stand it. Then she shakes her head, the small movement like a blade to my chest. “No,” her voice breaks. “Leave.”
Her tears fall again, hot and fast, and it feels like every one of them is burning a hole in me. She wipes at them desperately, but they keep coming, and my heart shatters further with every sob she tries to stifle.
“ Let me explain.”
“Please,” she repeats, this time softer, almost a whisper. “Just go.”
I’m paralyzed, standing there in the doorway, watching the woman I love fall apart. I’ve ruined everything.
“No. I’m not leaving.” My voice is firm, resolute. The thought of walking away feels impossible. Then it hits me—something else entirely. A wicked sense of protection rises in me as if I weren’t the one who just shattered her trust. But I can’t stop myself. “Where have you been?”
Her face scrunches in confusion. “What?”
“Have you been out?” My voice is sharper now, cutting through the air between us.
“I’ve been walking. I needed to think,” she says, her tone clipped but shaky.
“In the middle of the night? Alone?” My voice rises, the panic I’ve been suppressing spilling over. What if something had happened to her?
She lifts her chin, her eyes narrowing. “You have no right to think or speak this way to me. What I do is none of your business anymore.”
“Of course, it’s my business. You’re my girlfriend,” I snap, my frustration bubbling over.
“Am I now?” Her voice is ice, the challenge in her words slicing through me.
No. She’s not allowed to go there. “Don’t,” I warn, my voice dropping. “Don’t go there.”
“We’re done.” Her words are final, but the way her voice cracks at the end betrays her. She doesn’t mean it.
“No, we’re not,” I say, desperation creeping into my tone. “We’re not close to done.”
“We are.” She takes a deep, shaky breath, her shoulders rising and falling. “You and I don’t fit.”
“Yes, we do,” I reply, a little too forcefully, but I can’t stop myself. The words are there, but they feel hollow now.
She shakes her head, her voice quieter, filled with so much pain that it makes my chest tighten. “I told you about my dad. I told you everything.” Tears fall again, and this time, she angrily wipes them away, as if trying to force them back inside. I try to reach for her hand, but she steps back, the distance between us growing unbearable.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” she continues, her voice hardening with every word. “We live different lives, Liam. And I’m going back home soon. It wouldn’t have worked either way. So why drag this out? Why wait for the inevitable?”
And that’s when it happens. The wall I’ve been trying to hold up crumbles, and for the first time, I feel it all—the ache, the fear, the loss.
“I—” My voice cracks as I try to hold onto the remnants of my control. My hands tremble, and I want to fall to my knees, to beg her to stay, to take back everything she just said. But instead, I watch as she shuts me out, turning her back to me while she opens the door.
“You can’t just walk away from us like this.”
She doesn’t look back. “I already have.”
And that’s when I know—this is the moment. Everything we had, everything I thought we were, is slipping through my fingers, and there’s nothing I can do right now.
But as the door clicks shut behind her, sealing me on the outside of her world, one thing becomes clear: she needs time, and I’ll give it to her. I’ll give her everything she needs, even if it rips me apart in the process because walking away from her isn’t an option. Not for me. Not ever.