AARON WALLACE POV

After about fifteen minutes, the golden double doors opened, and Mom walked in before Dad.

"Aren't you two a pair? Bonnie and Clyde, huh? Honestly, you deserve each other," I let out more gravely.

"Watch your tone," Dad warned. Mom only rolled her eyes and settled into the armchair across from me.

Sensing where the conversation was headed, Keenan stepped out and closed the door behind him, giving us privacy.

"I saw Uncle Steven on TV. You keep tabs on his new family, or am I the only one under heat these days?"

"I think we have enough on our plate," Mom said, raising a brow.

"Then why are you selling impossible dreams to the family's business partners?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. I just needed to hear them admit it.

"They're here on a brief vacation. You'll find a wife among those young girls." Dad sounded confident, moving behind Mom's chair like they were tag-teaming me.

My smirk dropped at the authority in his words.

"I'm going to marry Lively Kelby. I just feel sorry you're out here giving false hope to those poor families." My voice was strained, fists clenching.

"What is this obsession?" he snapped, but Mom stayed composed, studying me from across the room like she was okay with it, and that's the scary part. "You've known her for what, two weeks? You're veering off track just when everything you ever wanted is falling into place."

It was always like this. Anytime I asked for something that mattered to me, there I go "self-sabotaging." They raised me to believe I shouldn't expect what I want, only what I need. But what I needed was always what they wanted.

"Everything I ever wanted?" a frustrated scoffed escaped me, my throat tightening. "I wanted to play football. I'm in aviation now. I wanted to ride a bike, but I got Keenan driving me around. I wanted a casual outfit from a few brands, but I got WALLVCE suits instead. I wanted a normal life, but I'm a Wallace. Tell me, when have I ever gotten anything for myself?"

Dad laughed a genuine laugh. It made me fume. Then he finally asked, "You're whining about having the life everyone would trade for?"

He didn't get it. He never did.

I turned to Mom. Her eyes met mine, but they were detached. She always knew I needed more. But she chose not to care.

"When have I ever complained? I'm turning twenty-four and have done nothing but make you proud. I gave the media nothing to feed on," I said, shaking my head in confusion.

Even a bad kid gets a treat once in a while.

"A Wallace doesn't complain," Dad spoke flatly.

"I love her." What I wouldn't give for them to see that. But even if they didn't, I wouldn't let her go. I wanted something better for Lively. A home where she wouldn't be hated on sight. A world where I could give her everything, even loving in-laws. I just hoped she still wore the ring after what happened earlier. Not that I'd let her leave, even if she didn't.

Nothing could separate a body from its shadow. Not even darkness in this case. The love Liv gave me in the dark. I would gouge out my eyes just to feel it all day, every day.

"I've known her for six years. You keep telling me to man up. So here I am, following the only thing that has ever felt right. I don't care if you never accept her. In my world, there is only her. Your demands are only choking the life out of me."

Mom's expression shifted slightly. She raised her brows but said nothing.

I stood and headed to the balcony for air when silence followed.

After a beat, her steps approached as I braced for the hell she was about to rain down on me.

"Aaron, listen to me carefully,"

My head throbbed.

"Mmm, mmm." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, the size of a planet, but it wouldn't go down.

I made sure to sound sarcastic though, because she couldn't see my pain.

"That little servant of yours has had enough hurricanes in her lifetime. My research says so," she began smugly, and a gutted feeling punched through my core. "A two hundred thousand dollar debt on their heads. An illegal ice business that'll rack up fines big enough to leave her parents paralyzed. At sixteen, they couldn't afford therapy for her delirium, which ended her schooling. Just like they can't afford her mother's untreated fibroids. Or rent for that shack smaller than our horse stable. Or her brother's treatments, whatever he has. They don't have insurance, not even Medicaid."

I spun around, wild glare locked on her as I lunged toward her unfazed figure until Dad's warning voice snapped me out of the red blur. "Aaron, stop."

"Why do you know all this about her?" I choked out, struggling with my voice.

She smiled with satisfaction, feeding off my pain because it entertained her.

"Because when I unleash hell on them, if I don't disappear them first, I'll have both her parents' limbs crushed to splinters, bones and flesh blended like meat. They won't even be able to crawl to a shelter, let alone afford food. And since I now own that little container box they call home, I plan on hiking the rent. I retrieved the papers your confused grandpa accidentally gave that thief. I'm old to the Wallace name. Snapping my finger is all it takes to erase that fragile family you think is good enough for you. If you know what's best for all of us, you'll take that heirloom off the filthy gold digger's finger and find a girl worthy of this name. Otherwise, you'll live a lifetime of regret watching what she becomes, thanks to your selfish obsession with going against our wishes."

She said it all calmly, with a twisted pride. The complete opposite of the tear I only just noticed rolling down my cheek.

I finally breathed. My ears pounded as I stumbled back, my brain still short-circuiting over what I'd just heard.

My eyes shot to Dad. He didn't flinch. He just stood there, leaned against the double doors, hands buried in the pockets of his tailored trousers.

"You're bluffing." They had to be.

I never asked Lively where the country club papers were. I just assumed she had them in her purse.

Don't get me wrong, for Liv, I'd dirty my hands. I'd burn the world down. But right now, I can't even strike the match, because she's in the flames with me. One wrong move and my parents' threats fall on her.

For the first time, I tasted what defeat felt like.

"Robert, make the call," Mom ordered, and Dad pulled out his phone.

The ringing came through the speaker, yanking at my heart like it was trying to tear it from my chest.

Someone picked up.

I shut my eyes, the sting of acid crawling up my throat.

"About that girl..." Dad began, intrepid and guiltless.

He was going to do it.

"Stop."

That was the hardest thing I ever said. I couldn't breathe. I kept exhaling through my mouth, trying to keep my heart from exploding.

"Wasn't that very easy?" Dad smiled. It repeated, far away in my head.

"You should know I only want the best for my son. You're my only one," Mom sighed, wallowing in her win.

I needed to get out of there.

***

For years, I laughed at things and never felt sorry for anyone, least of all myself. I had everything. I was meant to be admired, a walking sample of what others couldn't have. Pain was foreign, or imperfection, or what it meant to go without. I can't even remember having a wound like a normal kid or falling sick.

I was always content because the first grandson of Thomas Wallace, the only son of Robert Wallace, deserved only the best. And so, anyone who talked about suffering around me felt less than human.

My world was perfection. I was the embodiment of it. I felt like a god.

But two weeks after coming back to Lake Oswego, I realized my power had limits. I learned what pain tasted like. My armor was cracked. I discovered what it meant to lack, and they were like a dull axe slamming into my throat.

"Mister Wallace?" I heard Keenan call as he trailed after me, rushing down the stairs.

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

I nodded, but she didn't buy it. I wish she had.

"Is it that bitch that hurt you? I swear to God, I'll kill her," she spat, storming after me.

I stopped suddenly. She didn't have time to react and crashed into me. I caught her by the arms, steadying her.

"The next time you say anything about Lively, you and I are going to find out what I'm capable of," I said through clenched teeth, my face close to hers. "So shut your mouth and do something useful for once."

Her face went pale. Her eyes welled up, looking at me like I was someone she didn't recognize.

I loved her. But they were all driving me insane.

Look at me. Threatening the girl I care about. It was out of my character.

Keenan was nearby, his eyes rich with quiet disappointment.

I let go of Meadow and headed for the front door, regret pounding in my skull.

A gust of wind hit my face just as my phone started ringing.

I fumbled in my pocket, finally pulling it out.

It was Kyle.

I'd forgotten to check on him.

I accepted the call.

"Hey, are you okay?" My voice was tight.

"This is Sidetown," said a woman's voice. "Your cousin told me to call. He's been here since morning, drunk and picking fights. I didn't want to call the cops or throw him out with reporters outside."

"For fuck's sake," I muttered. "I'll be there. Thanks for looking out."

"We're going to a bar called Sidetown," I told Keenan as I moved toward the car, not waiting for him.

I rubbed my temples the entire drive.

The place wasn't fancy. Didn't even look like a bar, despite the name.

We parked in an alley behind it to avoid the pack of reporters swarming the front, ready to jump on anything with the Wallace name. This whole mess was thanks to Uncle Steven, dragging us into the spotlight during what should've been a quiet break in a small town.

Kyle didn't need another scandal with that one going on.

A bouncer stood by the back door, opening it without question and leading us through a few turns like he was expecting us.

Inside was dim. Not packed, but lively. Music played in the background, and some college girls danced under neon lights.

A woman walked over, probably the one I spoke with. She looked like her voice.

"Aaron Wallace," she said with an odd smile.

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

His head was tilted back, eyes shut. Still, somehow, he knew I was there.

"I didn't want to call you. I was trying to sober up and ring Lloyd instead. I couldn't let him see me like this. He would tell my dad, and then that woman and her daughter would know they won. I'm a wreck," he laughed in a bitter, broken sound, and took another swig. I didn't stop him.

Now I knew what pain was. It wasn't funny anymore, watching others fall apart from it.

Dealing with Kyle would take a while. So I slid into the seat across from him.

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

"Don't lie to yourself. Mason told me you gave your girl the family heirloom. I always knew Grandpa would hand it to you. He loved you differently," he smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"That's not true."

"I don't even care what's right or wrong, or who got more love. But don't pretend there's no winning or losing. I've known that truth for years," he said, eyes red as they pinned me.

"I agreed to take the ring back from her because if I didn't..." I hesitated, feeling the bile in my throat.

My parents were using me to hurt Lively.

"So Aunt Cynthia and Uncle Robert won," he read it out for me.

"I guess so." I stared off into the distance where the girls were dancing, carefreely. A luxury we didn't have.

Funny how they said we had everything because we were Wallace, but those girls seemed richer than we could ever be.

Kyle let out a quiet, pained laugh and handed me the bottle.

Screw it.

***

My body felt heavy, legs dragging across the concrete floor. Everything was blurry. It must have been night.

I was helped into the car. Keenan's face came into focus, along with the seatbelt strapping me in. I turned my head and saw Kyle fully passed out.

We had drunk too much. It started with real conversations about our childhood, how I used to be good at math and styling my hair, how he was terrible at math but passed because girls helped him, and how awful he was at taking care of his hair, yet it always looked better than mine. I used to envy that. Eventually, we spiraled into nonsense and drank ourselves to oblivion.

"Oh, Keenan," I pushed at him weakly. "I can do it myself." My hands clumsily fumbled with the seatbelt, and my eyes closed.

When I opened them again, I saw the turn to the estate and that choking feeling returned to my throat.

I wasn't ready to handle my parents.

"Can we not go there, please, Keenan?" I whispered.

"Of course, sir. Where would you like to go?"

"Take me to the hospital. I need to check on Lively. My parents would hurt her. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to her."

Not that I would let them. They would have to go through me to get to her.

"Okay, Mister Wallace," he said compliantly, and I let my head fall back, eyes closing in relief again.

"I want full protection and surveillance on the family. No harm comes to her or anyone else. If something happens, I will hold every one of your men responsible. You do not want that side of me." I heard Keenan saying faintly.

Maybe he was speaking to me or on the phone. I was too drained to voice out anything.