AARON WALLACE'S POV

After about fifteen minutes, the golden double doors open, and Mom steps in before Dad does.

"Aren't you two some Bonnie and Clyde? Really you two deserve each other," I laugh amusedly, then add the last part gravely.

"Watch your tone," Dad sternly warns, while Mom rolls her eyes and takes the armchair opposite me. Keenan steps out, closing the door after him.

"Why are you selling impossible dreams to the family business partners?" I curiously ask them. I just need them to admit it, actually.

"They're here on a short vacation with us. As I said, you will find a wife among those young girls during this time," Dad boldly states, circling to stand behind his wife's armchair, collaborating against me.

He's getting on my nerves. My arrogant smile is wiped away by a fatal barrage of shots on my chest at his insinuation.

"I have already found a wife, Dad. I will marry Lively Kelby. I just feel sorry that you have to give false hope to those poor families," I emphasize, my fists tightening.

"What is this obsession?" He spats, while Mom remains collected, examining me from her side of the room. "You've only known this girl for not even two weeks. You are getting off track just when you are about to have everything you've ever wanted," Dad storms out, his veins popping out.

We've been like this every time I come with a request for what I want, so I stopped asking and became the compliant son. They raised me to know I shouldn't expect to get what I want but what I need. But what I need is typically what they want for me.

"Bold of you to say everything I ever wanted. I wanted to play football, but I am an aircraft businessman now. I wanted to ride a bicycle, but I only got Keenan to drive me around. I wanted jeans and T-shirts, but I got tailored outfits. I wanted a normal life, but I am a Wallace. When have I ever gotten anything for myself?" I scoff, feeling a gravel in my throat.

Dad rolls his eyes and casually remarks, "You are whining for having the world everyone will trade places for?"

He has no sympathy for me. My burning eyes go to Mom, and she holds my gaze with a callous expression on her complexion. She knows I am suffering; she sees it. How can a mother be this uncaring to her only child? They are both apathetic.

"When have I ever complained? I am going to be 24 and have only listened to you. I have done nothing but serve you, and made you proud all the way. I gave the media zero meal to feed on," I shake my head.

"A Wallace doesn't complain," Dad coldly says.

"I love her." What I wouldn't give to have them see. But even if they don't, I won't let go of her. I only hope for a better home for Lively, a world where I can give her everything, including loving in-laws. I don't want it to be hell for her at my family's automatic hatred, of course if she still keeps the ring after earlier. Not that I will let her leave me even if she did, nothing can separate a body and its shadow, not even darkness in this case, because the love Liv gives me in the dark, I will gouge out my eyes to be able to feel it all day every day. "I've known her for six years. You ask me to man up, isn't it? Therefore, I am going with what my heart stretches towards. I do not care if you don't accept her. In my world, there is only her—a resonant circuit to life and air. And in the world, you are endeavoring to box me within, there is stillness, your iron demands wringing my neck."

Mom's face changes, and she nods her brows. I rise and head for the balcony for air.

"Aaron, listen to me carefully," she composedly started, her footsteps trailing behind me as I braced for the worst to come.

My head hurts.

"Uhm hmm." I tried to swallow the lump the size of a planet in my throat, but it wouldn't go down. However, I made sure to sound sarcastic because she couldn't see my bitter pain. I had my back to her, controlling my breath to not appear tense and give them the benefit of having leverage over my weakness.

"That little servant of yours has had enough hurricanes in her lifetime, my research says," she started smugly, and a gutted feeling punched my core. "With a debt of two hundred thousand on their heads, running an illegal ice business in the neighborhood that, when reported, will be fined for an incredible amount that will leave her parents paralyzed by shock. At age sixteen, her parents couldn't afford her therapy treatment for her delirium which ended her studies, just as not enough for her mother's fibroids growth that's still unremoved, then there's their house, which is not bigger than our horse stable they struggle with paying rent on time or her brother's treatments for whatever it is, they have no insurance for anything, not even on Medicaid."

I spun instantly, my wild glare aimed at her as I lurched toward her unfazed figure until Dad called me warningly, snapping me out of the red vision I saw. "Why do you know all this about her?" I struggled with my voice.

She smiled, deriving pleasure from this, and pressed her lips together. "Because when I unleash hell on them, for instance, if not disappear but have the limbs of her both parents crushed to tiny bones blended with flesh so they wouldn't ever see the light of day to have pennies for daily food, which depends if they still could pay rent in that state because I've bought the little container dog house they live in and plan on increasing rent, so that, and then have your Juliet fired from the clubhouse which, by the way, I have retrieved those papers from her that your confused grandpa displaced to the thief. I am telling you I am a Wallace, old to this name, I can ruin that fragile family you claim fit for you with just a snap of a finger. If you know what's best for both of us and them, you will take that heirloom from the dirty rag piece of disgust gold digger and bring a worthy girl to represent this family, or you will live years of regret for what she will become, all because of your narcissism drive to compete against our wishes."

She said all that calmly and organized, with self-satisfaction that's the polar opposite of the tear rolling down my cheek which only now I noticed.

I finally breathed, feeling a pounding in my ears as I stumbled back in disbelief at what my brain was still having difficulty fathoming.

My heavy gaze leaped to Dad, but he looked equally resolute, leaning against the double door frame with his hands in the pockets of his cultured trousers.

"You don't mean that. You are bluffing," they wouldn't.

I didn't ask Lively where the papers to the country club were, I automatically thought she had them in her purse. Mom talked of Grandpa being delusional about the gift when she was exactly entrusted with a part the family business too upon being a Wallace.
What else had they done to the girl that had her running away from me in tears? What did she have to endure? It was all my fault. I left her for a minute. I needed to make it up to her.

For Liv, I'd make my hands dirty, I'd take a life, neutralize a world to flame, but in this infected world I stand—I can't torches because she is right in it with me. How can I give her the world when my world is harmful to her? Why do I feel ineffective? A hole drilled in me, making a void, like nothing is left of life. My body was here but my mind was floating in space, lost control of direction and the gravity was taking me places I didn't wish, bumping through asteroids and comets without navigation. So this is what defeat feels like, what hopeless tastes like?

"Robert, make the call," Mom snapped her fingers at Dad, and his hand pulled out from his pocket with his mobile phone.

And a ringing started from the speaker, counting in my heart with cruel jerks, trying to rip it from its sockets.

It was picked. I closed my eyes, painfully tasting harsh acid burning my throat.

"About that girl..." Dad began, intrepid and guiltless.
He will do it.

"Stop." That was the toughest call I ever made. I couldn't breathe, I kept breathing out from my mouth to keep my heart from bursting.

"Wasn't that very easy?" I heard Dad say. It was distant in my head.

"You should know I only want the best for my son, you are my only one," Mom added, reveling in her victory.

I need to leave.

***

For years, I laughed at things and felt sorry for no one, much less myself. I had everything. I wasn't for pity; I was for attracting, a trophy of sample to others who couldn't be me. I knew no pain, no imperfection, I knew no lacking. I can't remember the day I had a wound like any ordinary kid or fell sick. Even as a child, I never cried. I was always pleased because the first grandson of Thomas Wallace and the only son of Robert Wallace deserves only the best things life could offer, and so those who spoke of their suffering around me came off as less human. My world was perfection, and I was the embodiment of it in others' worlds. I felt like a god, but just within two weeks after my return to Lake Oswego, now I knew I had a limit to power. Now I know the taste of pain, I feel the imperfections within me, I now know of lacking, I can tell of wounds even if not physical because this one hurts worse than a blunt axe hitting my throat.

"Mister Wallace?" I heard Keenan calling as he followed suit while I rushed down the steps.

"Aaron, are you okay?" Meadow asked, her concern evident as she crossed paths with me on the first floor.

I nodded to the girl, but she didn't seem satisfied with it. I wish she did.

"Is it that bitch that hurt you? I swear to God I will kill her," she spitefully continued, going after me as I added speed to escape her. I halted instantly, she didn't have time to process and stop, she bumped into me, and I grabbed her by the arms, steadying her in the process.

"The next time you say a word about Lively, you and I will not want to know what I will do to you. So shut your mouth and go do something productive in your life that's not whining," I gritted in her face, which now paled. Her eyes welled up, watching me like I was a stranger.

I love her, but they are all driving me mad. Look what I am doing. Threatening the girl I care for.

Keenan watched me sadly, his eyes conveying words he held back.

Yes, I was going crazy. I can't control it. This is not me.
Releasing her, I turned and dashed to the front door, regret adding to my headache. A fresh wind blew against me, and my phone went off at that moment.

I fumbled in my pants pocket for a while, and when my eyes read the screen, it was Kyle calling.

I totally forgot to check on him. I slid on accept.

"Hey, are you okay?" I asked.

"This is Sidetown," a strange voice of a woman responded instead. "Your cousin said to call you. He's been here since morning, drunk and picking fights. I didn't want to call the cops or throw him out because there are reporters outside the bar."

"For fuck's sake," I cussed under my breath. "I'll be there. Thank you for looking out."

"We're going to a bar called Sidetown," I informed Keenan as I headed for the rear side of the car without waiting for him.

I rubbed my temples and forehead the whole drive there. The place wasn't fancy, nor did it look like a typical bar as its name implied. It was somewhere around the middle class. We parked at the back, in an alley, avoiding the pack of reporters at the front waiting to pounce on one of the Wallace family—a problem Uncle Steven had brought to us for what should have been a calm vacation in a small town. All I knew was Kyle didn't need another scandal in his name.

A bouncer stood by the single door, opening it for us and guiding us through some turns and corners like he knew of our visit until we reached where the magic happens. It was dimly lit and not too crowded, with popping music playing in the background and probably college girls dancing on the floor.

A woman approached me, likely the one I spoke with on the phone earlier, she sounded the same.

"Aaron Wallace," she smiled oddly.

"Keenan," I gestured for him to settle her as I headed towards the booth Kyle was in.

He had his head back and his eyes closed; it was a surprise to me that he knew of my presence.

"I didn't want to call you. I wanted to sober up and call Lloyd. I didn't want him to see me like this. He'll tell my father, and that woman and her daughter will know they won. I'm a wreck," he laughed sadly, sobering up as he took a swig of his drink, and I didn't even stop him.

I now knew pain. It was no longer funny watching others held by it.

This was going to take a while. I took a seat opposite him.

"There's no winner in this, Kyle," I told him, hoping he'd see it from this perspective.

"Don't lie to yourself. Mason said you gave her the family heirloom. I always knew Grandpa would give it to you. He always loved you differently," he smiled.

"That's not true."

"I don't even care what's right or wrong, who gets more love or less, Aaron. But I want you to admit there's winning and losing. I've known that for years," he looked at me through his red eyes.

"I agreed to take back the ring because if I don't..." I trailed off. My parents are using me as a source of pain for Lively.

"Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Robert won," he finished for me.

"I guess so," after admitting this, I looked into the distance where the girls were carefreely dancing to the beats. Luxury we don't have, ironic how we are told we have everything.

Kyle let out a small painful laugh and held out the bottle.

Screw it.

***

I felt my body being supported, my legs dragging against the ground on the concert floor. The foggy alley in my hazy vision was dark. It must be nighttime. I was helped into the car and I recognized Keenan's face and the straps holding me in place. I turned my head to the side and saw Kyle completely passed out.

We had drunk a lot, starting on sensible conversations about our childhood, how good I was with math and making my hair, how bad he was in math and still passed because girls did it for him, how bad he was with caring for his hair, yet it managed to look better than mine, which I had always envied. We chatted rubbish to oblivious.

"Oh, Keenan," I shoved him back. "I can do it myself." My hands fumbled with the seatbelt, feeling numb and ineffective.

Sighing, I closed my eyes.

The next time I opened them, I spotted the turn to the lake house, and that strangling feeling returned to my neck.

"Can we not go there, please, Keenan." I hopelessly begged.

"Of course, sir. Where do you want to go?"

"Can we go to the hospital and look out for Lively? My parents will hurt her badly, and—I—I won't be able to live with myself if any harm went to her."

"Okay, Mister Wallace," he agreed, and my head rested back, my eyes closed in relief.

They have to pass through me to reach her.

"I need more protection and heavy surveillance on the family. Make sure no harm comes to her and the rest of the family, or I will hold all of your men answerable. You do not want that side of me."

I heard distantly. Was he speaking to me? I was too spent to respond.

Maybe if I rested through the drive, I would be able to regain full consciousness and keep an eye out for any suspicious activity outside the hospital.