Page 1 of Because I Liked A Boy
Prologue
The ballroom is all glitter and lies.
Chandeliers drip light over polished marble. Orchids spill from crystal vases. Every inch is curated to make my father look untouchable.
I’ve played the part enough times to know the choreography— the air kisses, the fake laughter, the unspoken rule: never embarrass the family.
Nathan’s at the bar. My big brother. Twenty-nine, tall and broad enough to stand out in any crowd, tux jacket hanging open, tie long gone. His dark hair is mussed, top buttons undone, posture loose in the dangerous way only whiskey gives.
I know that look—the same one he wore the day he got suspended for breaking a boy’s nose after a comment about me. That mix of protective instinct and absolute readiness to start a fight.
Next to him is Liam.
Nathan’s best friend since they were teenagers, the golden boy to my brother’s chaos. Dark blond hair, perfectly styled. Blue eyes that miss nothing. His tux is crisp, not a stitch out of place. Unlike Nathan, he looks like he was born to be here.
They’re opposites in every way but loyalty. Nathan’s is loud and messy. Liam’s is quiet and calculated.
They share a few low words before Liam’s gaze finds me.
He says something to Nathan—who barely glances up—then peels awayfrom the bar, weaving through sequins and black ties like he owns the floor.
“You don’t want to be here,” Liam says when he reaches me.
I sip my champagne. “What gave me away?”
“That glare you’ve been aiming at the exit all night.” His mouth tilts in a slow, confident smile. “I could get you out of here.”
I set my glass down. “You’re not my type.”
He leans in slightly, voice calm but edged with amusement. “Everyone says that at first.”
My gaze sweeps him once, flat and deliberate. “I don’t need to test the theory. I already know exactly what your type is. And I’m not volunteering.”
His laugh is quiet, almost genuine. “Then maybe I like a challenge.”
“Not this one.”
Before he can reply, the air shifts. Nathan’s glass hits the bar with a sharp clink that makes the stem ware tremble.
I follow his line of sight to the ballroom doors.
A woman I’ve seen once or twice before steps inside—
champagne silk gown, diamond pendant flashing under the lights, posture perfect and eyes scanning like she’s bracing for impact.
Beside her, holding her hand, was a girl—fourteen, maybe fifteen. Pale yellow tulle dress, brown curls catching the chandelier light. She looked fragile in a way that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with the room she’d just walked into. Her shoulders were tight, her grip on her mother’s hand white-knuckled, like she already knew she didn’t belong here.
Across the room, my mother goes still.
She’s standing near the board members, her usual hostess smile fixed in place, her eyes lock on the woman and child for a fraction of a second— something sharp and knowing in them—before she turns back to her conversation like nothing’s happened. Her smile doesn’t slip, but I see it—the flicker in her eyes. She knows. She’s known. And still, she plays hostess, because in this family silence isn’t weakness, it’s survival.
Nathan’s voice cuts through the music, low but lethal. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
The jazz falters. Conversations stumble into silence. Every head turns toward him.
“I’ve never seen her with a kid before,” I murmur to Liam. His gaze stays fixed on Nathan. “Neither have I.”
My brother is already moving, cutting through the crowd with the kind of energy that makes people instinctively step back.
