Liam sat in the dim light of his recovery suite, the blue glow of his phone reflecting in his hollow eyes. He scrolled with a rhythmic, agitated thumb until a video of Jeff Collins appeared. It was an old interview, one that had clearly gone viral.
"Hmm," Liam sneered, his voice a dry rasp. "So, Tasha likes him because he's 'manly'? Pathetic."
He went to swipe past, but Jeff's voice caught him. The actor looked different on screen—less like the titan in the club and more like a man carrying the weight of the world.
"I became an actor because it was my passion," Jeff was saying, his eyes fixed on the camera with an unnerving sincerity. "But when my parents died, it became about survival. I had two younger siblings who were left with nothing but me. Seeing them happy, ensuring they never felt the cold of the world... that's what pushed me to rise. I didn't just do it for the fame; I did it for them."
The interviewer was visibly moved, dabbing at her eyes. Liam stared at the frozen frame of Jeff's face after the video ended. He felt a strange, uncomfortable pressure in his chest.
"Why was I watching that so intently?" he muttered, tossing the phone aside. "I can't let him off the hook. Alliance or not, I'm marrying Tasha. It's the only way."
Suddenly, his phone vibrated. The word DAD flashed on the screen like a warning siren. Liam's composure shattered instantly. His hands began to tremble as he answered.
"Hello... sir," he whispered, his voice small.
"Liam! Tell me you've done it," the voice boomed—cold, predatory, and devoid of any fatherly warmth.
"Sir... I've been in the hospital—"
"Shut up! Stop with the excuses," his father spat. "For once in your life, act like a man. Why haven't you proposed to Tasha? Are you waiting for her father to find someone with a backbone?"
"I'm waiting for the right moment, Dad. I'll do it. I promise."
"You're weak, Liam. You're as soft as a woman. Do not call me again until that girl has your ring on her finger."
The line went dead. Liam slumped back, pressing a pillow against his chest as if to hold his fractured pieces together. His entire persona—the cruelty, the arrogance—was a suit of armor forged in the fires of his father's abuse. He wasn't a monster; he was a victim pretending to be one.
The door slammed open. Tasha marched in, her eyes blazing. "Liam, you absolute bastard! What is wrong with you?"
"What now, Tasha?" Liam asked, his voice weary.
"You attacked Jeff! He's a public figure, you idiot. You could have ruined everything!"
"Oh, so you're defending him now?" Liam stood up, the mask of the Mafia prince sliding back into place. "He's 'just a friend,' right? Well, listen closely: stay away from him. If you don't, I'll make sure he doesn't have a career—or a life—to go back to."
"You have no right to tell me who I can see!" Tasha screamed.
"I have every right to keep you in line!"
CRACK.
The slap was sudden and violent. Liam's head snapped to the side, his lip splitting against his teeth. The sharp sting of blood filled his mouth. For a second, his eyes flashed with a dark, primal rage, and he lunged forward, catching her wrists in a vice grip.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, the anger evaporating as quickly as it had come. "Tasha, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Leave me alone!" she sobbed, wrenching herself free and fleeing the room.
Days later, Liam was a ghost in the shadows of Jeff's film set. Dressed in a black hoodie and a face mask, he watched from the periphery. He had spent his recovery obsessing over Jeff's schedule, looking for a weakness, a way to dismantle the man who had made him feel so small.
Jeff was exhausted, the strain of eighteen-hour shoot days etched into his face. He felt eyes on him and looked toward the edge of the lot. He saw the masked figure. He knew it was Liam—he could sense the volatility radiating off him—but for some reason, he didn't call security. He just watched back.
"Big brother!"
The tension broke as two figures ran onto the set. Jeff's face transformed, the exhaustion replaced by a radiant, genuine joy. He scooped up his younger sister, Abby, and ruffled his brother's hair.
"You guys shouldn't be here," Jeff laughed, though he held them tight. "It's late."
"We wanted to bring you dinner," Abby chirped.
From the shadows, Liam watched the three of them. He saw the way Jeff looked at them—with a protective, selfless love that Liam had never known. A tear pricked the corner of Liam's eye, hidden by his mask. He felt a profound, aching envy, not for Jeff's fame, but for his heart.
He turned away, unable to watch any longer, and signaled for Ben.
"Take me to the jeweler," Liam said as he climbed into the car, his voice hollow. "The one on the corner of 5th."
As the city lights blurred past, Liam stared at his reflection in the window. He was going to buy a ring. He was going to follow his father's orders. But as he thought of the way Jeff held his siblings, Liam wondered if he was proposing to secure a future, or simply to bury the man he wished he could be.