AARON WALLACE POV

When I arrived, the men had already cleared the debris and unboxed the pool kit, so the progress was impressive. I took off my jacket and joined them in assembling the frame and securing the liner, while another team worked on putting together the ladder and fence. At the pace they were going, the whole setup might be done and ready before Bubble arrived.

The convenience of the water truck service and the speed they were transferring the water were remarkable. They finished in no time and said their goodbyes, and there were still about fifteen minutes before I could head back to the lake house.
Leaving the event wasn't solely to meet with the doctors—though I did stop by and see them settling in at the country club apartments—but during the event, I received approval and the key to Kelby's home from Anthony so that Bubble's surprise pool could be set up.

With limited space, the pool wasn't as big or perfect as I'd want him to have, but knowing he would have that very soon, was my consolation in all this. Our home is already under construction. After the marriage, he will live with us, and we'll have three pools of different shapes and forms and perhaps travel to islands too when he's cured, with his very own beach.

"You'll use the bolts and screws to securely fasten the panels," one of the men assisted me while I was squatting by the poles. I grabbed the tools offered and helped with the work to speed up the process.

In no time, everything was coming together. We had the pool covered and finally installed a fence and gate, of course, for safety, because even though the above-the-ground pool was small, it was five feet deep, way above Bubble's height.

Coming home to this will make Lively delighted; she'll be so happy for Bubble. And I will take contentment in seeing that in her.

At this point, I was smiling like an idiot to myself. Doing labor work has never felt so pleasurable. Not that I can recall a memory where my physical effort was so intensely required, but if gyming, hoisting sails, hunting, polo, and other things like that are considered physical work, then we can say that doing this, knowing the joy it will bring to a few people, felt easier and more exciting to the mind than those hobbies.

"Mister Wallace," it was Keenan. He hadn't altogether reached where I was, but he was speaking with urgency.

He's likely going to remind me the fifteen minutes were over. It's getting late, and my absence is being noticed at home.

"We can go back to the event. But have your men wrap this up before the Kelbys return." I started while dusting off my hands as I stood.
Turning to find him on the phone, a frown contorted on my face at his weirdness, which could be assumed as disrespect or emergency.

He was quietly listening, keenly nodding at whatever he was hearing.

"Keenan? Should I wait for you to finish your call?" I said sarcastically, holding down my intolerance for small things like that at thinking back to my conversation with Liv on the yacht.

'Politeness,' my soon-to-be wife said, and as you can see, anything for her.

Keenan won't insult me; whatever it is, he's doing it for my sake. That belief dilutes my ego in this stance.

However, at my utterance, he has already gone pale. He puts the phone down and looks at me like he shouldn't say it, but he has to. It's the same look he gave me growing up, when my parents had him deliver the excuse for their absence at family holidays, my school events, or anything, basically, that parents should be present for.

I do not like the look.

"What is it, Keenan? Air it out," I demanded, now unable to restrain my impatience.

"There was an incident at the house," he informed.

For a second, a force ripped my mind into an abyss. The next second, I rush out the question that gnaws at my knowledge, "Lively?"

"They've left the venue," he spoke up.

I don't get it. I freeze in puzzlement. No matter how hard I thought of what could go wrong, I couldn't place it. Everything was fine when I left. The twins and even Aunty Kathleen were warming up to Liv. My family was anything but self-sabotaging, so what happened?

"Mister Kelby was attacked by his debtor..." He proceeds to explain the details, while the elements of the situation flood my mind and crush my sanity.

I didn't see that coming. Who the hell is the debtor? And how were they invited?

My jacket is handed over as I hastily advance to exit the house. The rear door of the car is opened when a thought strikes me, and I halted in my tracks, facing Keenan.

"If they left, then that means they're coming back here. We're staying. Have the men leave now," I thoughtfully ordered, lowering myself onto the steps at the front of the house.

"Okay, sir."

Phone calls and text messages weren't helpful. Liv was definitely ignoring me, and it was punishing for me here in a haze, not able to clarify any doubt she may have about the invitations. I resorted to waiting another ten minutes. If they weren't here by then, I would start hunting for her.

Five minutes passed of anxiousness, accepting calls from family, and totally clueless about Liv's situation. Then ten minutes came, and at that moment I was done listening to my thoughts—we'll do it my gut's way.

I trickle down the steps and into the car. During the drive, Keenan stayed on the phone with our men, searching for the car Lively took off in.

How could this happen in the safety of the lake house? Who is Charles Beamout with a death wish, putting his hands on my fiancée? Where does a man find that kind of courage?

"You've found her?" I asked when he ended the phone call.

"Yes, they're at the hospital."

"Of course, they are. How did that slip my mind? Anthony was goddamn beaten up," I let out, frustrated, slamming the passenger seat in front of me, as my head was being to throb.

"They're admitted for a different reason."

What?

Everything after learning Bubble was critically sick felt deafening, like an instilled silence in my brain for the rest of the journey to meet them.

Hell were the hospital rules when we arrived.

"Bubble Kelby?" I urgently asked the woman at the desk, and she looked through the computer in front of her.

"Yes, Aaron Bubble Kelby was admitted here and is in emergency care. Mr. Wallace, are you family? Only family can go in at this moment."

Wait what?

My mouth hung open, but no words came out. I stumbled back from the desk, feeling a hand on my back as Keenan took over the conversation.

Air! All I could understand was that I needed air or I would pass out here.

My legs rush out of the reception and descend the steps to where cars are parked.

No way. This is some funny joke of a dream. No fucking way I heard what I heard.

My hands tug at my hair from the scalp, but it isn't therapeutic to the pain radiating from every part of me. There's no air even out here. The buttoned collar felt choking, and my shaking hands fumbled to undo it. 

"Aaron, son," I hear distantly, startling me.

Staggered, I spun in the direction of the voice. Keenan is approaching with Anthony. The man has untreated bruises on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concerned thick in his voice.

How terrible must I look? God, I should be the one asking how he is.

My hand ran across my face, rubbing the headache blooming from my forehead.

"I apologize for what happened, Mister Kelby," I force out through a clogged throat.

"It is not your fault, Aaron."

Aaron... the first name of Bubble.

"Uhm—Bubble... how's he?" My voice was a whisper.

"He's still in treatment. I'm sorry, Lively is a wreck right now," He said sadly.

"It is okay." My head nodded as if overworked.

He smiled at my understanding and patted my shoulder before turning towards the building.

"Bubble's first name is Aaron?" I call out, unable to hold back the disarray I was absorbed in.

Anthony stopped for a moment.

When he turns, there's a nostalgic smile on his face. "When we had him, Livy got the big sister honor of choosing a name. She chose Aaron. Now she has you, another Aaron for herself. Fate is a funny thing."

I nod mechanically at the excited man, letting him continue ahead. But now I don't believe him.

"Keenan?" I called, my body weak as I stood facing Anthony's car distancing away.

"Yes, Sir."

"Do you know about this and thought it's irrelevant to inform me?"

"It's in the files in your home office, Sir."

He knew I was here on a goddamn holiday. How will I know? But I should've known. I had men investigating the Kelbys and the missing pieces from the six years of my absence, but then I stopped them. I didn't want to be like my parents, like the kind of man who doesn't trust the one he loves. Liv didn't deserve to have her privacy transgressed. I could've known about these small details  but I refused the files and had them sent to San Francisco. 

"YOU DIDN'T LET ME KNOW."

"I am sorry, Aaron."

Screw this, it hurts.

"Arrange for the DNA test."

***

The lake house was too quiet—no orchestra, no cars coming in to be taken by the valets, no more guests, except the consistency of reality. The feeling was chilling.

All the security and in-house staff were lined up outside, being chastised by Harold. This only happens when something really goes bad.

Keenan opened the door for me, and I walked in. From the foyer halls, Grandpa's labored yelling echoed.

I slowed down, my chest pounding. The last time this ensued was because of one of Kyle's idiocy, but today for the first time, it was related to me.

"I WILL NOT LET THIS GO UNPUNISHED. WHOEVER HAS A HAND IN THIS WILL PAY GREATLY. I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF YOU'RE MY BLOOD."

"Father, we are working to ensure the news doesn't see the light of day," my dad said quietly to calm Grandpa.

"SHUT UP. YOU DON'T TALK WHEN I TALK, ROBERT. IF YOU HAD ANY USE, YOU WOULD HAVE HANDLED THIS BETTER IN THE FIRST PLACE. YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF THE DUTIES I ENTRUSTED TO YOU. HOW MANY YEARS—JUST HOW MANY YEARS—AND YOU'RE ALREADY PUTTING MY REPUTATION UNDER THE TIP OF THE SWORD? ALL OF YOU ARE A DISAPPOINTMENT TO RELY UPON."

Okay!

Rubbing the tense muscles in my neck, I stretched it side to side, but it wasn't relieving.

With all the composure I could muster, I walked into the living room, drawing all eyes to pin me in an instant.

"You." Grandpa started, pointing over. "YOU. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHAT FOOL LEAVES HIS OWN ENGAGEMENT CEREMONY?" he growled.

Mom got up—I don't know her intention—but Grandpa's warning stopped her. "SIT DOWN." His angry eyes snapped back to me. "DO NOT JUST STAND THERE LIKE A DOLL WAITING TO BE DEFENDED BY YOUR MOTHER. SPEAK LIKE THE MAN I MADE YOU."

"I am sorry."

"No. YOU. WILL. NOT. APOLOGIZE. You will explain where the fuck you were like a man! YOU SAID YOU WANTED THIS GIRL, I AGREED. YOU SAID TO WELCOME HER INTO OUR FAMILY, I AGREED. I TRIED TO LISTEN TO YOU, TO GIVE YOU AN OPPORTUNITY FOR YOUR VOICE AND CHOICE," he screamed. "Now, tell me, how will I ever let any of you make your own decisions? You've proven incapable of standing as a Wallace."

"He has tried; he has worked hard for this family," Mother quickly defended, while Dad worked to shut her up, to not spite Grandpa.

"THE NEXT TIME YOU INTERRUPT ME, YOU WILL TASTE THE UPSHOT OF MY ANGER. I blame Anthony; he couldn't even handle his family. How did I trust him with all of this?" His hands flailed. "But I know what to do."

"Dad, please—"

"You. Do you hear me?" He firmly pointed at me again, and I nodded. "You will fix this mess on your own." With that, he turned and left, Bernard following him.

"Aaron, Aaron..." Mom chased after me while I spun toward the halls from an intense palpitation in my head.

"What?" I exclaimed, her heels clinging to the floor, too loud for my brain to put up with.

"For goodness sake, let this girl be. This is too much for you. You heard your grandpa; this is threatening your father's place in the family. Your place to inherit, Aaron."

Of course, that's what she had picked and chose to worry about.

I stopped so abruptly that she almost collided with me.

"If you have a hand in this... Mom, know I will hate you," I warned her.

She paled up, her eyes thinning.
"What?"

I don't trust her.

"You've always hated Lively. If this was your doing, count me a stranger."

Her complexion had long changed. I didn't let her speak; I took off, heading towards the stairs.

"Get the money ready," I instructed Keenan at the entrance of my family's part of the house and pushed the double doors aggressively without waiting for an answer, heading straight to my room for a change of clothes that matched the dark immorality I was about to commit.

While dressing into black trousers, a black button-down shirt, fastening a belt, a black tie, and a vest, the incident at the hospital replays in my clouded thoughts.

It's no coincidence that Bubble's first name is Aaron. There must be some missing piece about Missus Kelby's pregnancy that I don't have.

If Kyle was right all along, then Lively must have a reason to lie to me. It hurts, but I won't be mad at her as she may think. I just—I could have a child. A child of my own. What could be any better than this possibility, even though it's wishful thinking?

"Aaron?"

It's my father's voice from my bedroom.

Inhaling, I stare one last time into the mirror, then turn and emerge from the dressing room.

He was sitting in one of the armchairs, legs crossed, waiting for me, but he rose the moment he saw me. "What's this outfit?"

"You heard, Grandpa. I'll fix it."

"Fix what? I have it all covered. You're not getting involved," he yelled.

I scoffed at his exaggeration. "Last time I heard, you were supposed to prevent this from happening. The whole family depended on you. Look where we are now. And you know it's not my fault—it was your negligence."

Enraged, he clasped my arm. "You're not stepping foot out of here."

"Watch me leave." I yanked away with force, adjusted myself, and towered over him with a challenging snarl. "He laid a hand on my Liv, so there's no more right or wrong."

"Do you know how filthy that man is?" He started again with the same boring tactic. I swerve and dart out of our suite.

"I didn't know there were people we were supposed to be scared of," I mocked as I marched ahead. I was told, no one can defeat a Wallace, so what's this bitching out now?

"He's nothing," Dad retorted furiously, clearly taking offense at the comparison to a mere local businessman.

Thought so. Of course, Beaumont is nothing. And I'm going to make sure he remembers that tonight.

"Then I'll give him his goddamn money back and kill him."

"Your hands aren't dirty, son. A filthy man like him isn't the reason to take that path," Dad kept going. He makes sense, but I don't give a damn—I'm not in the right state of mind. All I want is to break the door of hell and shove that asshole where he belongs.

"Aaron!" Dad yelled again, stopping me in my tracks. I shot back, just as loud, "Didn't you hear me? He put his hands on my Liv."

Dad sighed, taking a step closer and patting my heaving chest with a rub. "I know you're angry. But for your mother—not for me, Aaron—let my orders work. I'll give you the revenge you want. But do not get involved, we can handle this smartly."

I leaned in, shaking my head, and whispering, "I won't be satisfied."

"You ready?" Dane called from behind me. I straightened, looking over my shoulder. He stood next to Mason and Kyle, all dressed in black for Beaumont's funeral. They knew the drill.

"What the fuck is this?" Dad exclaimed, eyeing them. I shrugged silently, turning to leave with the boys.

Outside, cars lined the driveway. Keenan dropped the bag of money into the truck, and it closed with a soft thud.

When Mom and Dad mentioned the debt—hell, the whole Kelby situation—I should've paid more attention and taken care of it all. At the time, I was so wrapped up in the fight about denying my feelings for Liv that I forgot. Now she's hurt and embarrassed because I couldn't fucking pay attention to her problems.

Fucking dumb me.

I hopped into the car, my head falling back against the headrest angered at myself, eyes closed until I heard the alert: "We're here."

When I look through the window, Keenan continues, "Our men have surrounded the house and captured Beaumont's guards. He's in there waiting for you."

I'm not a killer, but I don't know what will happen in there.

***

The sunrise spewed through the tinted windshield past 6 a.m. I couldn't sleep through the night; there were too many things to worry about for my mind to quieten. I sat here, just as I had before, watching the tall building, feeling an invisible boundary I couldn't cross.

"Good morning, sir," Keenan greeted from the rearview mirror. Guilt flashed in his eyes as he stirred from his sleep, having passed out at some point during the night.

I didn't care.

I nodded, realizing I was even more at a loss for words today than I was last night.

"Do you need anything, Mister Wallace?"

"No, Keenan. Thank you."

His eyes lingered weirdly on me through the mirror.

Feeling confined and stuffy, I pushed open the door and stepped out for some fresh morning air, stretching my legs and neck.

Last night, I didn't get to kill Beaumont. I was halfway through messing him up when my father arrived, furious that the man's face wouldn't be able to see the media that he planned to do so today—blaming me for ruining his chance to have Beaumont publicly correct his mistake. I'm just glad the message to stay away from Liv's family was received through the amount of splashing hot water over his face and the beating Beamout received from the guards.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw it was the doctor responsible for Bubble.

"Mister Wallace, I hope I didn't call at the wrong time," he started as I accepted the call.

"No, proceed."

"We received a termination notice for the treatment shifting from Bubble's hospital. I don't understand."

What?

"When?"

"This morning."

God, Liv. If only she listened to me.

"I'll get back to you." I ended the call and checked my messages for Liv, but at the first flick of my eyes, I spotted Anthony coming out of the hospital and heading towards his vehicle.

My legs moved, following after him.

"Mister Kelby,"

He stopped at the call, his gaze finding me before inspecting behind me, to Keenan, who was leaning against the car and watching us intently.

"What are you doing here?" Anthony asked. The wounds on his face had been tended to.

"I have your key with me." I walked over and handed it to him. He took it, scrutinizing me. His expression was different from how it had been last night, even when the bruises were fresher.

Something was wrong.

"Go home, Aaron," the exhausted man said, pulling open the door to his car.

"Uhm... how's he?" I blurted out, my voice betraying my desperation.

Anthony paused, his back to me for a moment before he turned around.

"What do you want from us? Why are you really here?"

What happened?

"I don't get it," I shook my head.

"Leave, Aaron. Please," he grumbled, getting into his car, starting it, and driving away.