Page 2 of Because I Liked A Boy
Our father turns from his circle of admirers just as Nathan
reaches him. His smile doesn’t drop, but the muscles in his jaw flex.
“Son,” he says evenly. “Not here.”
His voice is even, his mask flawless. But I’ve lived under that tone my whole life. It’s the warning before the strike, the calm before he decides exactly how he’ll break you.
I’m already moving, weaving through the press of sequins and tuxedos, the prickle at the back of my neck warning me something bad is about to happen.
By the time I reach Nathan, he’s squared off with our father— shoulders tight, jaw locked in stone, tie hanging loose. I can smell the whisky on hisbreath from here.
“Here’s perfect,” Nathan snaps, voice slicing through the jazz like broken glass. “Going to introduce her, or should I do it for you?”
A ripple moves through the crowd. Heads turn. The woman’s chin lifts. “Nathan—”
“Don’t.” His tone is a blade. “You don’t get to say my name.”
“You’ve had too much to drink,” our father says, wearing that same polished mask he uses for shareholders and cameras. But I see the tension in the rigid set of his jaw.
“I’ve had too much of you,” Nathan fires back, stepping closer. “What’s the plan here? Stroll her in like she belongs? Pretend we don’t all see exactly what you’ve been doing?”
Gasps shiver through the crowd. My mother stands a few metres away, smiling like she’s hosting the perfect party.
“Lower your voice,” our father warns.
“Why?” Nathan closes the space between them, dragging me with him because I’m not letting go of his arm. “Because you don’t want your precious investors hearing how you’ve been fucking your way through your own staff?”
The sound that sweeps through the room is sharp enough to cut skin.
My fingers tighten on his sleeve, nails biting through the fabric. “Nathan—”
My stomach knots, not just from what he’s saying, but from the certainty of what it will cost him. Nobody defies our father without paying. And Nathan? He’s about to hand him the bill in front of everyone.
He finally looks at me—and his eyes are full of fury and some- thing else, something that makes my stomach knot. “That woman,” he says, jerking his chin toward the stranger in silk, “has been in his bed for years. Right under Mum’s nose. And tonight? He parades her in front of all of us like this is some kind of coronation.”
My pulse hammers in my teeth.
“And you want to know the best part, Belle?” His voice cracks around my name. “That girl holding her hand? She’s his. Which means every time he told us this family came first, it was a fucking lie.”
The marble floor tilts beneath my feet. My chest feels too tight to breathe. I glance at my mother and she hasn’t moved. Not even a blink.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement. Liam. He’s pushing through the crowd from the bar, his gaze flicking between Nathan, the woman, and the girl at her side.
While the room holds its breath, Liam steps in beside them, lowering his voice as he leans close. I can’t hear what he says, but his tone is soft and steady. The girl nods, fingers tightening around her skirt, and lets him guide her away. She looks young, fragile, scared—too old to be paraded like this, too young to carry the weight of our father’s lies.
Without another word, Liam steers her and the woman toward the side exit, his broad frame shielding them from the worst of the stares.
By the time I look back, Nathan is nose to nose with our father.
“You’ve said enough,” our father says, voice low, controlled— the way a predator coils before it strikes.
Nathan shakes his head. “No. I’ve been quiet for years. I’m done. You canbuy silence, you can hide behind money and fake smiles—but underneath? It’s all rot. And one day, it’s going to eat you alive.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Someone coughs. A glass clinks. The whispers don’t start again until Nathan turns his
back, and when they do, they feel like needles against my skin.
He doesn’t look at me or anyone else—just pushes through the crowd, shoulders squared, pace unrelenting. I throw one last glance toward our father, but he’s already turned away, murmuring to a board member like the last five minutes never happened.
