Chapter 8

The second I heard that voice, my stomach turned.

Beatrice.

I didn't even have to see her face to feel the old anger crawling up my spine. That sing-song tone, sweet on the surface but poisoned underneath—it dragged me straight back to Zara. To her tears. To her brokenness.

To her death.

I clenched my fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. I could still remember the night I found out. The guilt. The grief. The way I swore I'd never forgive the people who drove her there. And Beatrice—she was at the center of it all.

And now here she was, smiling in my father's house as if she belonged.

"Beatrice," my father said smoothly, as though she were an honored guest and not the venom she really was. "Just in time."

I shot him a sharp look. "What the hell is she doing here?"

His gaze cut to me, cold, impatient. "Watch your tone. She's here because it's time you learned to think beyond yourself, Liam. We're building alliances,her father's influence will stabilize what we're trying to secure."

My chest burned. "You can't be serious."

"I'm deadly serious." His voice left no room for argument. "You will treat her with respect. More than that,you will marry her."

The words crashed over me like a wave of ice. My jaw locked, my breath ragged.

Marry her?

I looked at Beatrice again, her smirk widening like she'd already won. My father wanted to tie me,chain me,to the one person I hated most. The one person I still blamed for Zara's death.

I wanted to shout, to curse, to tell him I'd rather die than be bound to her. But all that came out was a low, bitter whisper only I could hear:

"Over my dead body."

Beatrice's heels clicked against the marble as she moved further into the room, her perfume trailing after her like smoke. That same smug smile never left her face.

"My father should be arriving soon," she said, brushing an invisible speck of dust from her sleeve. "He's eager to finalize everything."

Finalize.

The word twisted in my gut like a knife. As if my life was just a deal to be signed off.

I didn't even answer her. My eyes shifted, instinctively, to Lauren.

She hadn't moved since Beatrice walked in. Still, silent, standing at her post like the perfect professional. But I knew her well enough now,at least, I thought I did,to notice the tiny betrayals.

The way her shoulders went rigid.

The way her jaw tightened beneath the mask.

The flicker in her eyes when Beatrice spoke, a flicker that wasn't fear, but something colder. Something older.

And then, for just a heartbeat, her gaze caught mine.

It wasn't the stare of a bodyguard. It wasn't detached. It was raw, sharp, haunted. Like she was remembering something she couldn't shake.

I didn't understand it, but it sent a chill crawling up my spine. Because in that look was something I hadn't seen in years. Something that felt… familiar.

I opened my mouth, but Lauren looked away before I could say anything. Back to stone. Back to unreadable.

And Beatrice, oblivious, kept smiling like she was already wearing my ring.

My father's voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"We can't discuss matters openly here," he said, his gaze flicking to the staff lingering in the hall. "Let's move to Liam's study."

The decision was final, sharp, no room for argument.

Beatrice gave a little approving nod, as if she were already mistress of the house. My stomach churned.

Beside me, Lauren finally spoke. "If you'll excuse me," she said quietly, steady but clipped. "I'll retire to my room."

She didn't wait for permission. She didn't need to. Her boots clicked against the marble as she turned and walked away, braid swinging with each step until she disappeared around the corner.

I found myself staring after her, pulse uneven.

Not because she left. But because of the way she left,quick, sharp, like she couldn't stand to be in the same air as Beatrice.

Something in my chest twisted.

My father's hand on my shoulder yanked me back. "Come." His grip was firm, steering me toward the study.

I went, jaw tight, but my thoughts weren't with him. Or with Beatrice.

They were still with Lauren.

With the look in her eyes when Beatrice spoke.

Like ghosts she couldn't bury.

~~~~~~~~~~

The study smelled of leather and smoke, heavy with the weight of every lecture I'd ever endured within these walls. My father took his place behind the desk like a king settling onto his throne, while Beatrice perched delicately in one of the chairs, crossing her legs with the air of someone already comfortable here.

The door opened again. Her father entered,sharp suit, sharper eyes, carrying himself with the same arrogance as his daughter. They shook hands with my father, exchanged pleasantries like this was nothing more than a business transaction.

And maybe to them, it was.

But not to me.

I didn't wait for them to sit before I spoke. My voice cut through their rehearsed cordiality.

"I'm not marrying her."

The words dropped like stones in the silence. Beatrice's smirk faltered for just a heartbeat before returning twice as smug.

My father's eyes snapped to me, cold and cutting. "Liam." His tone was a warning.

"I mean it," I said, jaw tight. "I won't do it."

His hand slammed against the desk, the sound sharp enough to make even Beatrice's father flinch. "Do you have any idea what's at stake here? This isn't about what you want. This is about family, legacy, power. About survival."

"I don't care," I bit out. "Not if it means tying myself to her."

"You will forget the past," he barked, leaning forward, fury sparking in his eyes. "Those stupid teenage dramas mean nothing now. Do you hear me? Nothing."

My chest burned, the words tearing out of me before I could stop them.

"A drama that led to someone losing her life is not nothing!"

The room went still. Even Beatrice froze.

I could feel the vein pulsing in my father's temple, his fury barely restrained. But I didn't look away. I wouldn't.

Because for once, he needed to hear it.

And for once, I wasn't backing down.

My words still echoed in the room, sharp and raw, but my father didn't flinch. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers, his voice cool and deliberate.

"It is not Beatrice's fault," he said, "that the girl was not strong enough to handle a small joke."

A joke.

The air left my lungs in a rush, like I'd been punched.

Beatrice's lips curled in the faintest smile, and something inside me snapped.

"A joke?" My voice rose, rough, breaking. "You call what she did,what we did,a joke? She was humiliated. Destroyed. We drove an innocent girl to her death. We don't deserve to be happy when we robbed another person of her life. And you sit there and shrug like her life didn't matter."

His eyes hardened, steel behind glass. "Her life didn't matter in the greater scheme of things. Yours does. Ours does. This family's legacy does. That is the reality you need to wake up to, Liam."

I stared at him, every muscle in my body trembling with fury.

Zara's face flashed in my mind—her smile, her laugh, her tears. The memory of the cliff, of how alive she had been for me once, before Beatrice and her venom hollowed her out.

And now my father wanted me to forget. To bury it. To call it nothing.

I couldn't.

I wouldn't.

Not for him.

Not for anyone.

I turned, finally letting my fury land where it belonged. Right on Beatrice.

"You," I spat, my voice shaking with rage. "Do you think I've forgotten? The whispers in the hallways? The rumors you spread like wildfire? The way you and your little court made her life a living hell in the school? You broke her. You killed her."

Beatrice's smirk faltered. Color drained from her face.

"I—" she stammered, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of my words. "I didn't know it would go that far. Liam, I swear, it was just… it wasn't supposed to—"

"Shut up!" I roared, the word ripping from me like glass. "Don't you dare stand in this house and play innocent. Don't you dare pretend you didn't enjoy every second of it."

The silence that followed was suffocating, my chest heaving, blood pounding in my ears.

And then it happened.

A sharp crack split the air.

Pain burst across my cheek, white-hot and blinding.

I staggered back, stunned, my father's hand still raised from the slap.

"Enough," he thundered, his voice colder than the sting on my skin. "You will not shame this family with your childish outbursts. You will not speak to her that way again. Do you understand me?"

I touched my cheek, heat burning under my palm, but the pain wasn't half as sharp as the betrayal flooding through me.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak.

Because my father hadn't just struck me.

He'd chosen her.

Without a word, I turned and walked. Ignoring my father who was yelling at me to come back