Liam's POV
The mansion felt colder than usual as I stepped inside, the quietness almost mocking me. The vast, empty halls, the pristine furniture, and the carefully curated artwork—it all felt like a museum, a shrine to a life I didn't want. A life I was being forced into.
I dropped my bag by the staircase and headed up to my room, the one place where I could breathe, where I could be myself. My sanctuary. I had been working on a new painting, something that captured the chaos I felt inside. I was looking forward to losing myself in it, to letting the colors and brushstrokes express what I couldn't say out loud.
But when I opened the door to my room, I froze. My father, Richard, was standing there, holding my sketches—my unfinished drawings—his expression one of disdain. The papers were crumpled in his hands, like they meant nothing.
"What is this nonsense, Liam?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.
My heart sank, anger rising in me like a tidal wave. "It's my art, Dad. It's what I love doing."
"Art?" He practically spat the word out. "This is a waste of time. You're not some starving artist; you're the heir to an empire. I've worked my entire life to build this business, to secure our family's future, and you're throwing it all away with this foolishness."
I could feel the heat rising to my face, my fists clenching at my sides. "All you care about is money! How much wealth will be enough for you? You're never satisfied, never happy. Mom died because of you. She went to sign that deal because you forced her to. If she hadn't gone, she would still be here. I hate you!"
The words came out before I could stop them, and I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or just anger. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that cold, calculating look he always had.
"Your mother was weak and emotional," he said, his voice dropping to a low, menacing tone. "She wasn't cut out for this world, just like you aren't if you keep wasting your time on these childish fantasies. If it weren't for me, we'd be on the streets."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My chest tightened with a mix of rage and grief, tears burning in my eyes. "You're wrong. Mom was the only one who made this place bearable. She was strong, stronger than you'll ever be. And she believed in me, in my dreams. But you… you killed her spirit long before that accident."
For a moment, I thought I saw a crack in his cold facade, but he quickly regained his composure. He took a step closer, his voice like ice. "You think you know everything, don't you? You're just a child, Liam. And as long as you live under my roof, you'll follow my rules. That includes behaving properly at school. I want you to start taking Rita out. Her family is important to our business, and I won't have you jeopardizing that."
The disgust in my gut twisted like a knife. "You can't control my life. Stay the hell out of it."
I couldn't stand to be in the same room as him anymore. The mansion, with all its grandeur and luxury, felt like a cage. I grabbed my car keys and stormed out, not caring about his shouts following me.
The night air was sharp against my skin as I drove away, my mind racing. I wanted to scream, to cry, to get as far away from this life as possible. My father, with his endless demands and expectations, was suffocating me. He didn't care about me, not really. All he cared about was the business, the empire that he had built on the backs of people like Mom, people he didn't even respect.
I pressed down harder on the gas, the engine roaring as I sped through the city. I didn't know where I was going, and I didn't care. I just needed to escape, to find a place where I could breathe, where I could be myself. But even as I drove, I knew that running wouldn't solve anything. The weight of my father's expectations was something I couldn't just outrun.
But maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to break free. Even if it meant losing everything else in the process.