Kapitel 11: Tangled Fates

I reached home, all shy and giggly, still replaying the moment in my head. Ava's face, the way she smiled, the softness of her kiss—it all felt like a dream I didn't want to wake up from. My heart was racing as I walked through the door, the excitement bubbling inside me, but I knew the moment I stepped in, that feeling would be drowned by the cold reality that awaited me. The villa stood silent and foreboding, its sharp angles cutting into the night like teeth. Stepping through the heavy oak doors, I felt the warmth of the evening dissolve into the villa's cold, suffocating air. My mind was still on Ava—her smile, her laugh, the kiss we'd shared. For a moment, I let myself revel in it, a fleeting happiness I rarely allowed.

Then, as always, reality crashed back in.

She was waiting for me.

My mother stood in the living room, her arms crossed and her expression carved from stone. The faint light from the chandelier softened the room, but not her presence.

I sighed, rolling my eyes as I made my way toward the stairs.

"Liam," she called, her voice cutting through the silence. "Is that what I think it is? Won't you even greet your mother?"

I stopped, turning my head slightly but not enough to look at her. "My mother's dead," I said flatly. "She died the day she killed my father."

Her response was immediate. A flick of her wrist sent a stack of photos flying toward me. They scattered midair before falling, one grazing my cheek. A sharp sting followed, then the warmth of blood trailing beneath my eye.

I didn't flinch. Instead, I glared at her. "What now?" I muttered, stooping to pick up one of the photos.

"Explain this," she demanded, her voice laced with venom.

I glanced at the picture in my hand, my chest tightening. It was of Ava and me—walking together, laughing, her hand brushing mine. The rest of the photos on the floor showed more of the same, each one an invasion.

"You put a spy on me again?" I growled, my fists tightening around the photo. "What's your problem? I told you to stop this!"

She stepped closer, her voice low and sharp. "Lower your voice," she said coldly. "Is that how I raised you to behave?"

I laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty space. "You didn't raise me. You trained me. To lie, to cheat, to kill. You're nothing but a murderer."

Her smirk was cruel, a weapon she wielded effortlessly. "And you're no better, my son. Don't act so self-righteous—you've spilled blood too."

My temper flared, and I took a step closer, glaring down at her. "You made me," I hissed. "Every single time—it was you! You told me to do it!"

She tilted her head, her expression mocking. "But you still did it, didn't you? And now, you kiss his daughter? What are you trying to do, Liam? Redeem yourself? Undo your sins with a little romance?"

I clenched my fists, trying to suppress the urge to lash out. "Stay out of my life."

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Your life is mine to control, Liam. Or have you forgotten?" She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a mocking whisper. "You're engaged."

The words hit like a punch to the gut.

"What?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

She smirked, clearly enjoying my reaction. "You're engaged to Veronica Langley. You remember her, don't you? Daughter of the Langley family—one of the wealthiest in the city. A perfect match."

"The arrangements were finalized years ago. You've been engaged since you were children, Liam. You know this."

The memory hit me like a cold wave, one I'd tried to bury. I remembered the event—dressed in an ill-fitting suit, standing stiffly beside a little girl in a frilly dress who barely reached my shoulder. I hadn't understood the implications then, only that our families had insisted we'd be "partners" in everything.

"You did this for the business," I said, my voice low and seething.

"Of course," she replied smoothly. "The Langley family's assets and influence are vital to our plans. Veronica is an investment—and your role is to secure it."

I felt my fists clench, my knuckles whitening as the anger boiled over. "You forced me into this," I said, my voice rising. "You didn't give me a choice. I was just a kid—she's still younger than me!"

"She's old enough now," my mother replied coldly. "And that's irrelevant. This isn't about what either of you wants. This is about what's necessary."

Her words hung in the air, cold and unfeeling.