A Necessary Liability

Liam's POV

“Divorce or not, she’s still their mother.” My uncle Henry frowned. “Shouldn’t she be breastfeeding?”

I sighed, shutting my eyes for a second. I’d had enough.

“Moore,” I called, waving my butler over.

He was already hovering nearby.

Moore stepped forward instantly, and then he asked, “Yes, sir?”

“Get me something strong. Now.”

Moore nodded and moved fast, disappearing toward the bar. Then he returned with a decanter and a glass. After pouring, I took a long gulp. The burn of the first swallow hit hard.

My grandpa, Arthur, leaned forward, clasping his wrinkled hands. “So, Liam. How did it go? Did she sign the papers?”

I ran a hand through my hair, gripping the glass. “I gave them to her. She’s... resisting. Doesn’t want to let go of the twins.”

Dad scoffed, swirling his own drink. “She has no choice. You’re a Smith. She’s nothing. She'll sign or we’ll make her. You need a real wife. Someone like Evelyn Vaughn. Olivia has outlived her usefulness.”

“Exactly,” my uncle Jackson added. “Olivia was a sweet mistake from the start. She was only a necessary liability we couldn't avoid. You need a woman who can stand beside you, not drag you down. And now that the babies are born, we shouldn't waste any more time moving forward.”

I emptied the glass. “Moore. Refill,” I said, holding it out.

“Yes, sir,” Moore murmured, pouring again.

The chatter picked up again. Photos snapped, compliments flew...

"They are so beautiful!" my cousin Laura gushed as she snapped more photos. "They're all Liam!"

Grandma pulled an old photo album from her bag and flipped open. "Look at this! Liam at three months. The spitting image!"

"Olivia is lucky they look like Liam," aunt Clara said as she smirked. "If they didn't, we would have her in a lab for a DNA test faster than you can say 'gold-digger.'"

Mom kissed the boy’s forehead. “The only good thing she ever did was give us these angels. Two years of her nonsense, and this is her one contribution.”

I stared into my glass and tried to push Olivia’s face from my mind. I had left her broken in the garage. It should have felt final. But that stain on my sleeve wouldn’t let me forget.

“Mr. Smith,” Moore interrupted, though his voice was low. "A moment, sir?"

I sighed before waving him closer. "What is it?"

He leaned in and whispered against my ear. “Security reports Mrs. Smith is outside. At the gates. In the snow. She’s still in her hospital gown. She’s… covered in blood. And she's banging on the gates, refusing to leave.”

I clenched my glass, glaring at him. “And?"

"Sir?"

"Leave her out there. Not my problem. And don't bother me with useless shit again.”

He flinched, but then he nodded. "Apologies, sir."

Moore was about to leave, when his phone buzzed again. He checked it, then he looked at me.

“What now?” I snapped, narrowing my eyes.

He swallowed. “Security says… she collapsed, sir.”

I shut my eyes and cursed under my breath. “Fvck.”

“What’s going on?” dad asked, leaning forward. "What's he saying?"

Moore looked at me for permission. And I gave a tight nod. "Go on."

“Mrs. Smith fainted outside the gates,” Moore said. “She was begging for the twins. Security says she’s... in bad shape.”

My family scoffed.

“What babies?” Aunt Margaret snapped. “Without Liam, she’s nothing. Those are our heirs. Wasn't she told from the start? Why the hell is she acting dumb now?”

“Call her parents,” grandpa ordered, waving a hand. “Tell them to collect their trash. She’s not our problem.”

Moore nodded and slipped away to make the call. The rest went right back to fussing over the twins, arguing names like it was some game.

“How about Alexander Jr for the baby boy?”

“No, James! It's stronger.”

“Charlotte for the girl. It's elegant. Smith-worthy.”

Sophie’s small voice cut through again. “Shouldn’t we get her out of the cold? It's snowing hard. She could actually die.”

Her mom, Clara, shot her a glare. “Quiet. Worry about the babies, not that wretched slut.”

“But Mom–”

“One more word and you’re going home, Sophie.”

The girl shrank back, clutching her bear. Her eyes were wide.

I pulled out my phone from my pocket and stared at my screen. Then my thumb hovered over the security app. Against my better judgement, I tapped into the live feed.

There she was. Olivia. She was crumpled in the snow and her hospital gown was soaked. Blood was on her skin, her face was pale, and her lips were blue. My jaw clenched tighter the more I watched.

And then I saw him. Some scruffy bastard crouched beside Olivia and lifted her into his arms. He carried her toward a cab, its plates was clear on the feed.

“Who the fvck is he?” I muttered, zooming in.

Then I tapped the plate number into my system and ran a quick scan. After a few seconds, a name: "Thomas Russo" popped up. A nobody. A fvcking cab driver.

My jaw locked so hard my teeth hurt. His filthy hands on her made me want to break something.

I fired a quick text to Vincent: “Track this Thomas Russo. Find out where the fvck he’s taking Olivia. Report back immediately.”

“Everything alright, son?” dad asked, his eyes were sharp.

“Yeah. Everything's fine,” I lied, slipping my phone away.

The twins started crying again, my family’s voices were rising around me. But I couldn’t tune out the image burned into my mind: Olivia and that asshole.

The weird part was that I even gave a damn about some nobody touching her. We were finished. Over. I should have been focused on what's real, not this pathetic shit.