AARON WALLACE POV

By the time we got home, I was already familiar with a fierce, simmering rage—the kind that wraps itself around your throat, making it feel like you've swallowed something too big, too heavy to breathe past. Each word felt stuck in my mouth, my tongue tied in knots.

At the bottom of the staircase, just as I was about to climb, I told Keenan to have a plane ready for San Francisco. I was in no state to fly myself. Then I paused, remembering, and handed him the sample of Bubble's hair I'd swiped earlier. He would take it to the doctor when we landed.

In the solitude of my room, I took a shower longer than usual, my thoughts swirling with Lively's words. As I dressed—a burgundy ribbed long-sleeve and black tailored pants—I glanced at the time. Just enough to squeeze in a call with Charles Harrington, Chairman of Wallace Skymaster Aviation & Custom Aircraft Services, and my father's best friend. I asked him for a small favor, and after the call ended, I stepped into the living area and then outside through the double doors onto the balcony, which overlooked the garden. Below in the backyard, there they were—everyone nestled by the roaring bonfire, the annual farewell to summer.

The twins were cozied up with Grandpa on the sofa, singing along to the soft music, while a few couples danced nearby: Uncle Joseph and Aunt Debra, Dane and Emy, and Uncle Steven's new wife, swaying with her daughter. Uncle Steven sat on the lawn, quietly watching his son, who sat across the fire, drained, staring at the grass beneath his feet, lost in his own world. Mason was beside him, cigarette in hand, his mother's head resting on his shoulder. And there were my parents—sitting apart, about five feet but worlds away from each other.

As fireworks shot up from the boat, the twins leaped off the sofa, rushing to join Emy and Dane, who were spinning wildly with excitement. The rest looked on, some entertained, others indifferent. My uncles, Kyle, and my parents barely acknowledged the bright lights and booms. I understood that feeling too well, perhaps even more deeply than they ever could. It was numbness to the spark of joy that once could ignite us.

Happiness is now just a word I can speak of, something fleeting that once lingered for a while before slipping away, just as it had always promised, soiled only memories for me to remember what it felt like while it was with me.

"Summer has come to an end; you will leave soon. It will be as it always has been. You should forget—you've done that for six years," Lively said.

The door swung open, and Keenan's gentle voice reached me from behind as I didn't turn. "Sir, your flight is ready. You may depart whenever you're prepared."

Laughter echoed from the backyard bonfire as the fireworks crackled in the night sky.

Exhaling, I pivoted and moved forward, the tension in my muscles remaining unrelieved.

As I descended the stairs to leave, afar, I spotted a familiar butter-blonde head through the slightly ajar door, lost in thought as she gazed at something in the first-floor office.

"I'll be outside," I told Keenan, and he nodded as I made my way toward the home office.

Ruby's thoughts were fixated on my family from a distance, watching them through the expansive glass windows. She didn't realize I had stepped in and was leaning back against the desk behind her.

"You are supposed to leave," I remarked, and she jumped slightly, her expression quickly recovering from surprise.

She sighed, turning to face me. "I've booked a flight for tomorrow, I promised."

"Ruby, don't come back."

"I just have one question," she said quietly, sensing my unspoken invitation to continue. "Why her, so suddenly? I know we had a deal—I wasn't supposed to fall for you, and no promises were made, but didn't my unwavering devotion did anything to your heart? We've shared so much time together, and you should feel something for me, as any normal person would. That's why I'm here, Aaron." She glanced back toward the windows. "I fell for you, but now I can only observe your world from a distance, while trapped in this cage for strangers."

"Perhaps I'm just a man of my word. I upheld my promise to you, and I fulfilled my vow to her."

"You promised her?"

I promised myself Lively was the most enchanting person I'd ever encountered when I ran toward her in 12th grade, and ever since, no one else has captured my gaze quite like her. I kept that thought to myself though. I straightened up and made my way to the door.

"You'll be flown back on Wallace's plane tomorrow."

"Is that to ensure I leave?"

"Maybe it's to express my apology that we didn't work out."

Ruby fell silent, so I walked away.

The flight to San Francisco, which spanned roughly two hours, felt like a blur. After Keenan, Allen, and Greg departed my place, I found the night in my penthouse slipping by in a similar haze. I couldn't bring myself to enter my room; the entire space was filled with echoes of Liv's presence. She had been there just a few weeks ago, in my shirt, on my bed, at the dining table. I lingered by the glass walls until I could bear it no longer, watching as dawn broke.

At precisely seven, I showered and dressed sharply in a black suit, heading to the garage with the guards. Keenan informed me that the DNA sample had been received the night before, and I climbed into one of the cars that would escort me to the office.

Wallace Skymaster Aviation & Custom Aircraft Services Corporate Headquarters is distinct from the Service & Delivery Center, lodged in the bustling heart of San Francisco. The 65-story building looms over the San Francisco skyline, standing tall above the rest, exclusively occupied and operated by Wallace Aviation. It's sleek and modern, crafted from glass and steel, featuring a stunning 20-meter aircraft sculpture prominently displayed at the front, nestled between a reflecting pool and the company name, which gleams after my recent merger announcement in France.

Inside, everything is impeccably organized and well-maintained. I walked past various greetings and entered the elevator, which whisked me up to the 55th floor and the first wing conference room. The design of the room marries technology with an elegant aesthetic, boasting a large touchscreen display and nineteen chairs arranged around an expansive table, all embellished with conceptual sculptures of Wallace wings.

Charles Harrington and the rest of the board rose. He had orchestrated the meeting I had requested.

"Mister Wallace," he greeted warmly.

We exchanged firm handshakes, and refreshments were elegantly served by a team of polished professionals.

After a concise forty minutes, I secured the board of directors' enthusiastic support for my proposal.

On our way home, I asked Keenan to make a brief stop at a chic bar near my penthouse, where I enjoyed artisanal cocktails and relaxed for a few hours. However, I ensured we returned to Lake Oswego in time for the much-anticipated dinner.

Once in my room back in the lake house, I learned that Mom and Dad were at the country club for evening games. I settled thoughtfully into the armchair, eager for the dinner and curious about my father's reaction to the news I had for him, recalling the way he had looked at me last week while he lied to my face.

The dinner gong resonated at precisely 6:55 PM. I made my way to the dining room, joining everyone as they arrived from various directions. With only a minute left until seven, we all took our places at the table. Dad occupied the seat on the left, adjacent to the head of the table, which was meant for Grandfather. His wife followed, and Thomas's second daughter was seated after her brother's wife, with her husband beside her. Uncle Joseph, the third son, sat next to his sister's husband, while his wife settled next to him. Lastly, Uncle Steven, Thomas's youngest son, and his new wife took the end of the table.

I was positioned immediately to the right of the head of the table, facing my father, with my cousins following in order down to Uncle Steven's bonus daughter, Isla, who faced her mother.

The table was exquisitely set with fine china, polished silverware, crystal glasses, the candelabrum flickering warmly beneath the radiant chandelier, and embroidered linen napkins. Grandpa joined us, escorted by Bernard, in the hushed room where only Meadow and Mallory were engaged in light conversation.

"What's with the long faces? Don't tell me you're all already feeling blue that the holiday is over," Grandpa remarked as he settled into his chair.

"Grandpa, there's always Thanksgiving, and we'll make sure everyone comes to see you in New York this year," Mallory replied excitedly, and he hummed in agreement.

"Bernard," he signaled, and Bernard clapped to summon the trained staff, who began pouring drinks and serving appetizers.

"You weren't at the country club. Where have you been hiding?" Emersyn asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

"San Francisco."

"I almost bet you were with Lively," she said with a playful smile.

Okay, I guess the conversation has come to an end. I wrapped it up by downing a glass of water, prompting an immediate refill from the waitstaff.

"You're so quirky. What happened? She's not upset with you, is she?" Emy pressed, taking a delicate spoonful of her lobster bisque.

"Why can't I travel to my own house?" I countered defensively.

She scrutinized me with a raised eyebrow.
"Alright," she nodded, and we returned to our meals.

As the appetizer plates were cleared amid casual conversations I felt distant from, the waitstaff gracefully moved about, serving the next course: salad. Following that, they presented the main course, which I barely acknowledged, just like every dish that had come before it.

When my third untouched plate was taken away and it was time for dessert, I caught Grandpa chatting with Bernard about something that became clear only when everyone was presented with gold-dusted chocolate fondant. He and I received a plate featuring three petite ramekins of crème brûlée, each adorned with unique toppings, arranged in a charming triangular formation.

I looked at him, perplexed.

"My favorite when my appetite vanishes," he remarked simply, his smile radiating warmth.

Still a bit taken aback, I responded awkwardly, "Oh."

"Take a bite," he urged, his voice encouraging. Politely, I acquiesced. "How did you find it?" he inquired, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

"Not bad," I replied.

His smile broadened, and he sighed contentedly, redirecting his gaze to the rest of the table.

That was the only spoonful I managed, as my nerves surged. I downed my entire glass of champagne and had to get a refill for that as well.

"Grandpa, I have something important to share," I announced after a few moments had elapsed. The curious table fell into a hush, all eyes drawn to me.

"Proceed," Grandpa urged.

Settling back comfortably, I tilted my head, chin slightly raised as I began. "My entire life, you've prepared me to take charge for this pivotal moment. I am certain I am ready. Now that Wallace Skymaster Aviation and Custom Aircraft Service is under my administration, I intend to chart my own course." I asserted, observing there was no flicker of dissent in his gaze. My attention shifted to the one who would oppose me: my father. "The company doesn't require two leaders. Thus, I've officially retired my father from the firm, ushering him into a well-deserved rest."

"What?" His expression mirrored that of a man who had just discovered his fortune had powdered. Yes, that look provided a small solace, despite the lies and betrayals he had cast my way. I brushed off the gasps from the surrounding table. "What?"

Grandpa remained silent as I turned to him, scrutinizing me with a keen interest in my intentions.

"Are you out of your mind?" Dad exclaimed, his voice sharp. That brought me an unexpected thrill; I couldn't suppress a smile, no matter how hard I tried.

"Dad, you can choose a year-long vacation anywhere, and the company will cover all expenses to honor your contributions during your tenure."

He was fuming, and Mom, holding him while casting glances that pierced like daggers from across the table as if I were a betrayer. I guess they didn't like my strategies; I didn't like theirs either when they decided to obliterate the only direction I wanted to pursue.

"To hell with your damn honoring." He slammed the table, prompting me to take a sip of the champagne. "You can't dismiss me. Who are you? I gave you life."

I was all too aware of that, as he constantly reminded me through the way he exploited me for his dirty family competition. But I was done now.

"I conceptualized the aircraft; I am the CEO," I responded languidly, fixing him with a defiant gaze, waiting for a comeback that never came.

Seeing I had Dad stumped and speechless, Mom chastised, her disappointment palpable, "Aaron, get up. To our suite."

There was no child here to control. I didn't get to start on her because I truly wanted to, but Grandpa interrupted, raising a finger in their direction, "No, I want to hear the reason behind this bold move. You know, in the history of this family, no one has ever done this. So I am curious, Aaron, what compelled you to pursue this idea?"

With the opportunity he had given me to explain myself, I took a deep breath and chose words to pierce my parents' defenses. Two could play this game.

"I wondered what he would bring to the table, surely old-fashioned ideas that this generation doesn't need. We are in a new era; the company needs fresh Wallace hypotheses," I said to Grandpa, who looked proud. On the other hand, I added for my seething parents, "Dad, you could buy a home at—where is it Mom always talked about? In courtesy, the company will cover those expenses, too."

"I like the idea," Kyle chuckled enthusiastically. My rebellion was in his favor, making the rest of my cousins barely hold back their laughter.

Furious, Mom huffed, "Your father is not retiring. What's gone into your head?"

"No, I genuinely like this idea," Grandpa interjected once again, this time lending his approval, which ignited a satisfied smile on my face as I exchanged glances with my parents. "Grandpa is on board, Mom," I pointed out, noticing how my mother's eyes longed to connect with me, but I refused to give her the opportunity.

This is what public humiliation feels like, since they wouldn't get Anthony to share his perspective on it.

"I have projects I'm immersed in..." Dad shot me a glare that could freeze fire.

"It's not any critical that we need to worry about losing sales over. Bear in mind, that I'll have whatever it is sent to the coordinator; we'll figure out someone to take over the work. We have adequate employees with that skill set." I nodded reassuringly.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Emy whispered, leaning in with concern.

"Uh-huh," I affirmed, playfully holding Dad's gaze with defiance.

"It's my research; it can't be compromised." Now he was grasping at excuses.

"Your research, I assume, is for the betterment of the company? You don't need to fret; it will be in the capable hands of trusted, diligent staff at Wallace Aviation."

"We have an agreement then." Grandpa beamed at me. "This is fantastic, my fierce grandson. Aaron, your rise to prominence will set a precedent and ignite public discourse. Well done! I've never doubted your ability to think critically."

"It's in our DNA; we are who we are," I replied, returning his proud smile. After all, I was taught to navigate this game, and there's nothing wrong with employing a different strategy.

"I refuse to retire; I've poured my heart and soul into this company," Dad lamented.

"Get a grip," Grandpa interjected. "You should take pride in the man Aaron has become. Are you feeling threatened by your son? He has achieved something none of you managed during your years in management. He designed Wallace Wing from the ground up. All you've done is uphold the legacy of your ancestors. Aaron has ground out a new path for us and demonstrated he can handle any challenge that comes his way."

Okay, that might sound a bit boastful, but he's undeniably right: I made history in this family.

The boys shot me a 'Seriously?' look. Do I care? Not in the slightest.

"Father, Aaron is still young; he's just 23. He needs guidance," Dad said, his voice strained with frustration.

"Twenty-four in a few weeks. And I have Harrington's mentorship," I pointed out.

"You're unbelievable! Now you're looking to that man for guidance in your family's business?" Dad snapped.

"That man? The one you chose to be my godfather? What's wrong with seeking his advice?" I replied, genuinely puzzled.

"What's wrong? What's wrong is that I'm not dead for you to replace me with your godfather. I'm very much alive—damn it, I'm too young to step completely aside from the firm!" His outburst, especially his focus on age, was so ludicrous that I couldn't hold back a satisfied chuckle, only aggravating Dad further. "You think that if your success weren't driven by nepotism, you would have achieved what you boast about?"

"Robert, enough," Mom interjected, her tone firm, but he remained oblivious. Honestly, I was intrigued by the musings swirling in his mind about me, so I let him vent.

"There are younger people than you, smarter than you, who have achieved so much more—"

So now it's nepotism? What happened to this grace bestowed upon us that we must seize? He certainly has capitalized on it.

How typically parental.

"Spare me the statistics if you're merely going to assert that they've accomplished more than I have. I don't see you making any history. Come to think of it, Dad, Grandpa might be onto something; are you envious of me?"

"What are you yammering on about?" He raked a frustrated hand through his hair, his face flushed like embers as if he had spent a day in an oven.

"Just observing your descent into retirement," I shrugged casually.

"Bullshit," he retorted, springing up from his chair, with Mom trailing behind him, silently pleading with her eyes for me to stop.

This image of them is worth drifting off to sleep with tonight.

I dabbed my mouth with a napkin and stood, kissing Grandpa gently on the head. 
"Goodnight, Grandpa. I need some restful sleep to prepare for the announcement speech tomorrow."

As I made my way to my room, I poured myself a drink on the balcony that overlooked the lake, settling onto the sofa, aware that soon the door would swing open and my parents would enter, seeking explanations.

"Aaron?" Mom called, her footsteps approaching as I expected.

"What are you doing? What is this nonsense?" Dad demanded, exasperated, held back by Mom, who regarded me with disbelief as she asked, "Do you realize what you've done?"

Everything they were saying dispersed like a gust of smoke, and all I needed was a straightforward answer, so I hit the nail on the head. "How can you harbor such intense hatred for someone that you're so devoted to witnessing their downfall?"

Their expressions faltered, Mom scoffing and sarcastically retorting, "Of course, this is about Lively."

"Glad you're catching on," I sighed equally sarcastic.

She shook her head in bewilderment as if struggling to understand why I was so invested in this. I wanted them to pay for what they did to Mister Kelby, of course. "So you're in this mood because of this girl. What has she done to you? Look, we're on the same side. We're your parents, my love. I'll make sure she pays for it."

Really?

"You won't do a damn thing. It's more about what you've done to her." My voice morphed into a wrathful growl, my patience fraying.

Their faces drained of color. They couldn't possibly think I wouldn't see this coming. "What?" they echoed in unison, disbelief etched in their voices.

"START TALKING..." I shouted, my frustration boiling over. No, no, no. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling a headache bloom at the back of my skull. "You have no idea how excruciating it is to sit here and maintain my composure." My voice trembled as I struggled to keep my calm.

"I don't know what you want to hear," Dad stammered, his body language betraying guilt.

"I know everything. I know you've tormented Lively's family." I laid the truth bare, leaning forward, my hands clasped tightly as I fixed my gaze on Dad. "What do you think Grandpa would do if he found out you lied to him about Mom bringing Beaumont to the event? You should be grateful that retirement is all you've gotten."

He fell silent, his eyes wide as he processed my threat.

"Wow, so it's you against us now?" Mom's voice sliced through the chilling silence.

"We stood by you. We are your support system," Dad began, trying to drill his message into my head.

But it wasn't working; I knew their words weren't grounded in truth.

"Lies. Set Liv aside because she's at the top of the hierarchy. I have Keenan—he's been more of a parent to me than both of you combined. And then there are my cousins, who I refuse to compete against because they've always lifted me when I've fallen. So your attempts to school me now are futile. I know better, and that's all thanks to Lively. You were so envious of her that you couldn't contain it." My eyes narrowed at Mom, who appeared unfazed.

Her lips twisted into a tight line as she swallowed, her brows arching in mock satisfaction, indicating she was about to unleash something diabolical. "This girl you so admire and are so eager to embrace while casting aside your real family—the golden bird who set the bar higher in caring for you than we could ever dream of—" She let out a small laugh at my incredulity as I glared fiercely at her. "Did she tell you that she begged me for 3 million in exchange for this so-called love story that only you seem to be under the spell of?"

A heavy thud reverberated in my chest as I forced out a defensive retort. "Lies. You spin so many of them."

Mom frowned, moving closer and taking a seat next to me, running her fingers along my jaw gently. I jerked my head away. 
"Oh, my poor boy. As a mother, I've always wanted to shield you from heartbreak, but you see it as me meddling in your affairs. But there's proof—the money was transferred into her account. She's a liar; she only wanted something in return. When she sensed that the marriage was in jeopardy because of what Beaumont did to us, her true colors emerged."

"That's not true." A lump too large to swallow clogged my throat. I stood up, distancing myself from her. "You must have done something; you always do. She wanted Bubble to heal. I had the doctors—that's a valid reason. I don't believe you; Lively would choose Bubble first." Yet, I pondered again, that could be a good excuse to take from me.

"Can't you see? You're so naive. Her brother likely had no illness; it was all a scheme to siphon your money. Look around: when you offered the services of specialists to help them, she suddenly refused and tossed your ring for 3 million." Dad chimed in, holding out the family heirloom.

The endless pounding in my chest felt overwhelming; my vision blurred, and my knees trembled with weakness.

"No," I stammered, almost losing balance of my footing.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Mom stood up impulsively but halted when I shot her a warning glance.

"Aaron, people from that world only want something from those like us. They resent us and blame us for their circumstances. Don't be naive enough to think she'll genuinely love you when your name carries so many opportunities for anyone who associates with you. What you truly need is a girl who seeks nothing from you because she already has it all." Dad's words scraped through my mind like sharp claws, amplifying my headache.

"I—I don't believe you."

"Aaron," they both called out.

"Don't touch me." I pushed him away and sprinted out of our suite, racing down the stairs.

I have to escape this godforsaken place.