Liam's Pov
The cavernous bedroom felt suffocating despite the high ceilings. Karen, a vision of sculpted blonde perfection in her mourning dress, stood by the window, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside me. Today was my father's funeral, and the carefully tailored suit I held in my hands felt like a costume for a poorly-written play.
"Karen ," I began, forcing the words out through gritted teeth, "you should have come back with me when we got the news."
I continued, "Two weeks in London , surrounded by the uber expensive glittering lives of your posh friends, spending money like it grew on trees. Now you fly in on your private jet like nothing ever happened."
A flicker of a smirk crossed her lips, quickly masked by a practiced frown. "Darling," she drawled, her accent sharper than usual, "you know I can't just abandon my life on a whim."
"Two weeks, Karen? You talk like you have lived your whole life in London " I shot back, the accusation hanging heavy. "Did your 'life' suddenly become manageable? Or did it have something more to do with that ever present Harry?"
Her icy blue eyes met mine for a fleeting moment. "Liam," her voice clipped, "we've had this conversation many times before. Harry is a friend and an associate, nothing more."
I wanted to believe her. But the memory of late-night whispers and hushed phone calls gnawed at me like a persistent itch.
Deciding to retreat from the fight, I opted for a mental escape. But my sanctuary, the place I used to find solace, was now occupied by a beautiful blonde bombshell named Vanessa. Ever since that unforgettable night, her laughter, her cascading red hair, the way her body moved - it all played on a loop in my mind.
The truth was, even in the face of grief, I couldn't stop thinking about her. Here I was, about to lay my father to rest, and a part of me wished I could be chasing a different kind of dream. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the life I wanted anymore.
Karen 's voice snapped me back to reality. "Hey! How do I look?"
My gaze flickered across her, a hollow compliment forming on my lips. "You look great," I mumbled, the words lacking conviction. "Everyone would think you're actually mourning."
She glided towards the mirror, her silence louder than words.
"Will your father grace us with his presence at the funeral?" I asked, the question laced with a bitterness I couldn't quite explain.
Karen's reflection in the mirror stared back at me, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. "Yes, of course. Daddy will be here soon."
Elliott Mason, Karen's father, is another person I detest but must impress and even kiss his ass, as he is the second-largest shareholder in my father's real estate empire.
I looked at my watch. Five minutes. Just five minutes till the damn funeral began. All I wanted was to get this over with, to bury my father and finally have some space to breathe.
A knock on the door startled me, the sound almost too coincidental. With a braced breath, I opened it to find Richard, my childhood friend, standing in the doorway. Years had passed since we last spoke, and an awkward tension hung in the air.
But what truly stole the air from my lungs was the woman standing beside him. Vanessa.
It was like a scene ripped straight out of a bad dream. There was no way. No way she was actually standing there, her eyes wide with a surprise mirroring my own. This couldn't be real.
My heart nearly hammered out of my chest. The one-night stand that had become a constant, burning memory in the back of my mind. This couldn't be real. It had to be some twisted dream.
"Vanessa," Richard began, oblivious to the storm brewing inside me, "This is my friend, Liam. Liam, this is my girlfriend, Vanessa." He offered a sheepish smile.
I reached out, my hand finding hers in a handshake. Her fingers were slick with nervous sweat, sending a jolt through me. Karen materialized beside me, her perfectly manicured nails tapping against her purse. She scanned Richard with a disdainful air, for whatever reason they have never been on good terms, then again she isn't on good terms with many people, including my easily charmed mother.
"You must be..." she drawled, the question hanging in the air, "Martin, right? The family chauffeur?"
Richard's jaw clenched. "I am not Martin," his voice clipped. "My name is Richard. We met at your wedding, and even before that."
Karen scoffed. "No need to get your knickers in a bunch, dear. That was ages ago." Her icy blue eyes flicked to Vanessa . "And who might this young lady be?"
Richard, before Vanessa could react, interjected, "This is my girlfriend, Vanessa ."
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. I cleared my throat, the sound grating. "Perhaps we should all head to the sitting room. We can offer our condolences and then to the backyard, where the funeral will take place."
"Oh, man," Richard blurted, finally seeming to grasp the situation. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Liam . He was a great man."
Before I could respond, Vanessa's soft soothing voice broke the silence. "I'm so sorry for your loss," Vanessa murmured, her gaze avoiding mine. A pang of something akin to tenderness shot through me.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice hoarse. "You guys presence means a lot to me."
Plastering a smile on my face felt like trying to hold back the tide. Each forced step across the polished marble floor echoed the hollowness inside me. Reaching the sitting room, I grasped my mother's hand, its fragility a stark contrast to the steely resolve in her eyes.
Stealing glances at Vanessa as we shuffled towards the backyard, the carefully planned arrangements felt like a cruel parody of grief. Every time Richard's hand brushed against Vanessa's, a jolt of jealousy shot through me, hot and unwelcome. I longed to speak to her, to escape the suffocating weight of propriety and explore the connection that crackled beneath the surface.
Just as the tension threatened to crackle into something audible, a high-pitched squeal shattered the silence. Anna, my chaotic younger sister, materialized in the doorway, a whirlwind of tear-streaked mascara and barely contained energy.
Her return from rehab was as unexpected as it was unwelcome, but Mom's voice, laced with tired resignation, stole the breath from my lungs. "I'm so sorry, honey," she said, her eyes pleading for understanding. "I had to invite her, it's her father's funeral after all."
A fresh wave of frustration washed over me. Anna at a family gathering, especially one so emotionally charged, was a recipe for disaster. Yet, denying her a chance to say goodbye, however unconventional, felt equally wrong.