LIVELY POV

"How do you do this every day?" I asked the man next to me, whose thumb was now caressing the back of my hand, but his mind seemed a bit clouded with thoughts.

He shook out of it and looked over at me with narrowed eyes.

"Don't get me wrong, it's fun, but it can be overwhelming." I warmly smiled.

"I mean, we don't, or at least I don't." Oh, exactly, that schoolmate of his said something similar too. "The family clothing brand is managed by Uncle Steven, the concept there focuses solely on maintaining the touch of archaic, formal designs since it was founded by our ancestors, selling them exclusively to a limited lineage. So we don't host runway shows, but Kyle wants to change that policy—not exactly the style, but to expand the collection's reach to a wider audience, making it accessible to anyone who can afford it, reflecting the freedoms of this era. It's a productive increase for Wallace's monetary revenue. Hopefully, this year he'll organize the first Wallace runway show. He's informed only me and the boys; our parents and grandpa are yet to be told. Today, he was meeting with other needed designer founders, and we supported him while having a good time."

Smiling at him, "You all are doing something; I'm sure your families are proud of you."

"The opposite, rather," he chuckled, lowering his eyes, and my smile fell like the unpredictable collapse of a healthy man.

"Aaron, you built an aircraft in your name. God knows I'm still fascinated by your intelligence. Kyle is working to change the monopolization entrenched in the elitism of our family business," I told him, and he smiled faintly.

"That's the problem. Do you know why he couldn't tell them?" His eyes came to me, and my heart lodged in my throat. "There will be no celebration; he will just set a path for my parents and everyone to sabotage him."

"But it's a reasonable idea; your family will benefit from the new potential earnings. For a family involved in mighty businesses, how isn't that good?"

Aaron looked at me like I was naive, and I could feel that I was.

"I delivered an aircraft in Wallace's name because I'm expected to live up to the ideal grandson of Thomas Wallace, an instruction and demand from my parents since I was little. You once asked if I enjoyed it," he shook his head, the sad expression in his eyes striking a jab to my chest, and tears pricked my eyes. "I didn't. But I'm supposed to best my cousins, and their parents expect the same from each of them. So yeah, we were born on the running tracks, each house building bridges and roaring for their kin to race ahead, while strategizing for the fall of opponents they made us to be."

What? Words escaped me.

Those boys have nothing but love for each other. Isn't that what every home should want to have? A bond unbreakable between brothers, where everyone serves as a lift at elevating each other. Why would middle-aged people who are blood-related want to deform this unique relationship that is hard to find? However, when it comes to Thomas Wallace's children, the question of 'why' at all their behavioral decisions seems to be customary.

"Liv, my family is a python hole. It is not just you they plot against," he said, looking down at my hand as his digits subtly traced every joint.

That is fucked up, so so fucked up.

"Enough of me, how are you? Did you have fun?" He asked, his head still down. He had his body now slightly tilted to me, leaning both hands on the rear center console between us.

"I've stood by my best angles for the photographers, so there will not be terrible pictures of me in the papers tomorrow," I tried to lighten the mood with some wit.

He looked up at me at that, his earlier expression nowhere in place, eyes narrowed now only in bewilderment.

"What certain best angle are you talking about? You could be startled by the alarm in the morning or rolling in a puddle of a farm and still slay a cover of a magazine." His face was near, dangerously near, his breath brushing my heated cheeks.

"Of course you will say that," I rolled my eyes, feeling warmth burst to a quake in my stomach at his stare that I had so desperately longed for, and now that it was given to me, a few seconds in, I was stilled in my position, like a constipated child who forgets to use the toilet paper.

"But I am only being honest with you," he deadpanned, hair falling in his eyes. I fought the urge to bring my hand to them, feel them, and enjoy them.

His piercing gaze, raiding scent, and proximity are not exactly giving me a chance to find the courage to move. I felt myself turning an embarrassing shade of red that I desperately hoped he wouldn't notice. But even if I lowered my head, he would still have a clear view.

Aaron's lips quirked up as he observed my face.

"Keenan, isn't Miss Kelby the most beautiful human to ever exist?" he boldly asked without breaking eye contact, and mine widened at his audacity.

"Do not bring Keenan into this," I muttered rashly, and the sound of the amused chuckle that escaped his slutty lips, which he bit to suppress, was like a tornado in my stomach, causing my heart to palpitate.

"I must say, Mister Wallace, you do have great eyes," Keenan replied.

Damn it.

"You see?" Aaron raised his brows at me, and I awkwardly pressed my lips between my teeth, trying to contain my already intense blushing. "That night at the game, I found you because you stood out among everyone. No matter how much you wanted to remain unseen, you were under an invisible spotlight that followed you everywhere. You couldn't outrun it," his voice was just above a whisper, doubtless unheard by Keenan. Perhaps the privacy of his words was why I began to relax, struck by the sincerity in his eyes that matched his words. It was exactly how he saw me.

I had often wondered how the guy from my dreams, the one my mind chose despite knowing he was out of my league and impossible to have, ended up leaping over barriers at a football game and giving me my first kiss rigorously as I had always wanted it. Sometimes I marveled if it was unreal until reality hit with Bubble, and every day he was there, reaffirming the actuality of that night for me.

"You looked so damn pretty," he said quietly, his eyes trailing down my cheek to my parted lips as I watched and listened to him in comforting shock. "I couldn't concentrate on my coach telling me I could go pro if I wanted. I just needed to come to talk to you before I lost the chance and someone beat me to kiss you," he said slowly, his free hand tracing up my bare knee again, it was a sweet torture, taking half of my attention. "I knew you were exceptional," he added, and I awkwardly cleared my throat.

"Then why did you let me go?"

"I was high, Liv. All the choices I made that night drove me to stop drinking, smoking, and everything that would contaminate my sanity. The next day, when I woke up, I searched for you around the apartment and almost thought I had imagined you, thinking there was no way you could be real. But then I went to the bathroom and found evidence in the tub that I wasn't delusional." I also had many imaginations similar to that after our night together. "My parents had men escorting me around with the team, there was no way they would let me out of their sight, or listen to me if I tried, and we had to leave for Portland that day," he said sadly and thoughtfully. "There was no option to flee to go anywhere my parents weren't aware of. I couldn't go back to Lake Oswego to find you, but I swear I tried with the capacity of what I have available. Uhm—I found someone online from your school a few weeks later and had them ask for your phone number. They reported back that you didn't have a phone, so you had no social media or anything for me to reach out to. I asked for your home address to deliver you a phone; they said they didn't know where you lived. I inquired of a friend of yours, someone close to you, and I was told you were mostly a loner. I was scammed multiple times. It was so fucking hard, Liv," he sighed, frustrated with himself, running a hand through his hair, though the locks fell back into place as soon as he withdrew his hand, joining his other hand that was holding my wrist. I just watched him, absorbing this newly learned information, unsure of what to do with it. "It took me three months to find your address, and even then I was told you no longer lived there. You had left school and—no one knew where you had gone. I couldn't make decisions; I didn't have the resources or power I have now to get things done. But I didn't stop searching; that summer, I was going to scour the whole town for you. And when you showed up at my doorstep, Kyle was laughing because I had just been plotting a mission with my friends to find you. Then you said something unexpected, and I blanked—" his voice cracked, and he stopped, the pause swallowed by the silence in the car.

He sat back up, releasing my hand, and we faced forward like two strangers on public transportation. My heart pounded, my stomach churned, and I pressed into the seat, rigid in shock.

No one spoke.

Gradually, I felt myself being moved in strong arms. The familiar sharp jaw blurred in my peripheral vision before my eyes closed completely.

When I next opened my eyes, I slowly recognized my surroundings—the blue sky and birds flying outside the wide window of the yacht. It was refreshing to watch.

Remembering how I got here was hazy; I assumed I had fallen asleep during the ride back from the event, and Aaron had brought me here.

Aaron. I turned towards the side of the bed where he should have been, but I found myself alone in the room.

Okay, I'll go to the bathroom and then find him, I mentally told myself. I swung my legs off the bed, but an eerie feeling settled into the pit of my stomach like a brick in a pool.

The black and white houndstooth-patterned miniskirt wasn't on me, nor the top. Instead, I was wearing a black lace hem and navy blue satin pajama shorts.
No!

My heart constricted in my chest, making it hell to breathe, not that I really wanted to right now.
A spaghetti strap silk crop top matched the shorts.
No!

Tears welled up in my eyes. Of course, that's why he wasn't here.

He had no right to change me. He knew it.

Anger, humiliation, and fear captured my soul, propelling me forward as the only fuel to defend myself right now. A robe similar to the revealing nightwear lay on the dressing mirror stool. As I stood before the mirror, the vertical scar on my stomach was exposed by the skimpy lingerie.

No no no no! He saw it.

Stupid me, I had to fall asleep. I knocked on my head repeatedly with my knuckles until I learned it wouldn't change anything.

More pain swelled within me, threatening to burst out. My mouth filled with acid. I quickly grabbed the robe and slipped into it, hiding my scarred body and storming out of the room to find the pervert, whom I discovered in the living area of our cabin as I turned around. He was seated, and being served breakfast by the stewardess, so I froze gripping the doorknob in my hand. His eyes flew to me; a smile began to form on his lips until he discerned the look on my face.

His throat shifted under my betrayed gaze, and in silence, we waited for several seconds until the woman left.

"Why was I changed? Did I give you permission?" I started coldly, feeling exposed before him.

He looked at me as if the room were hazy and he couldn't see clearly, then stood up.

"I don't understand."

"Answer me. What right do you have to undress me? Did I give you permission?" My voice broke, trying to sound strong, but it was impossible.

"Is it so terrible for me to see you?" His eyes reflected pain, but what did he know of pain? I had worn that for years, so he was only irritating me.

"Aaron, you have no right to undress me," I raged, my voice echoing loudly in my ears, my hands slightly shaking.

His pupils dilated in shock at my reaction.

After a pause, while he processed my words, I waited for him to answer. He pressed his lips together thoughtfully, then opened them again.

"Uhm—" Seemingly at a loss for words, he looked down with perplexed thinned eyes. "I thought those hard fabrics would be uncomfortable to sleep in. I had one of the female staff help you change because... I didn't have all of you." He accentuates the last line. 

Damn it!

I couldn't look at him.

"I need air," I said, rushing past his stilled figure and out through the massive sliding doors, not caring that I had no shoes on. I hoped that wouldn't disgust him even more.

He might not have done it himself, but someone, with his permission, had seen my scar without my consent.

Avoiding any chance of encountering him after my outburst, I followed the stairs down and down, walking closer to the rail of the second deck but not close enough to risk my life. It was then that I spotted what was happening on the beach deck below me.
My soul left my body.

Isla was being harassed and pushed towards the swim platform by those mean twins, and what was worse, Kyle and his possible girlfriend were on the daybed, cuddling and not intervening.

Wasn't she sick just yesterday?

Before I knew it, my legs carried me down the last staircase to stand between the girls and their target.

"Leave her alone!" I yelled at them, and Kyle, beneath his half-naked girlfriend, adjusted amusedly to watch the scene.

He was bitter because Isla was his stepsister whom he never wished for. But he's not a child, I do not understand this daddy's boy behavior.

"Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?" I spat at them, and Kyle smirked, blowing me a flirty air kiss with no respect for the girl whose ass he was touching.

Argh!

Ignoring him as he was probably drunk again, I rushed over to Isla and pulled her away from the girls.

"Let her go," I warned sternly.

"Or what?" Mallory smirked maliciously. "Are you going to attack Thomas Wallace's granddaughters? Imagine the headlines."

"It's going to be the ex-convict who held Aaron Wallace hostage with threats to his life, attacked his cousins, and now she's thrown into the doghouse where she belongs," Meadow spelled out as wind blew her hair, prowling towards me as I backed away from their menace. But then, I knew I had to stop as I felt cold water under my foot, just a step or two before I would fall into the dark muffling nightmare. Among anywhere, not there, please God. If I were to find myself in a house coming down from fire, I might have a better chance of survival. But on the side of this bottomless abyss, rolling in waves that would press you down as the yacht moved on, I knew I would choke on dirty water and die instantly.

I attempted to step to the other side and get back onto the deck area, but Mallory stepped in front of me, obstructing my way.

What game are they playing? I do not like it.

"It's baffling how you don't have any sort of dignity. Can't you see no one wants you around? You're nothing but the slut Aaron slept with in high school. If you dare insert yourself into this family, know that every breath you take will be worse than what you imagine agony to be," she bit out, none of which scared me over the water gently hitting my ankles from behind.

"Move. I need to get away from here," my voice shook as I shoved them to step away, but they wouldn't. It was two against one.

Maybe they read through my anxiety and saw my terror.

"No," they laughed.

"Get away from her, you psychos," Isla yelled from the safe side.

"Why? She has some fetish with torment anyway," Mallory drawled. "Don't worry, we will rain hell down on you. You'll learn the difference between a cat and a lion."

"Move." I can't breathe.

"Advice, darling, if you're trying to break us as a family, it's you who will drown," Meadow weirdly let out, my eyes narrowed in confusion, listening to her. As her lips closed, she pulled my robe; it slipped open, and all my recently buried terror came around to join the present dread, I went to cover my scar again but there was no more step left behind me.

The first three stages of fear initiated within me: recognition, assessment, and response. I let out a scream, calling the only person here who wouldn't want me dead when I realized there was nothing to hold onto for support. The water was pulling me down with a power I couldn't fight against, belting my face, nose, throat, and ears. I was drowning, battling to keep my head on the surface. The robe slipped off.

I really can't breathe. All I can think of is Bubble at this point.

Oh my god! I screwed up coming here.