Emma knocked softly before stepping into Liam's room.
The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and lemon. Liam sat slouched on the bed, pale under the soft afternoon light streaming through the blinds.
A blanket was draped loosely across his legs, his usual energy subdued.
"Hey," she said quietly, holding a small bag of snacks.
Liam didn't look up. "Don't bother. I'm fine."
Emma frowned. "You're sick, Liam. Your parents are out of town. I'm allowed to check on you."
He finally turned his head, eyes cool, distant.
"No need for company. And I don't want—" he hesitated, "…I don't want anyone fussing over me."
She stepped closer, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm not fussing. I just… care."
His jaw tightened.
He looked away. "Emma, listen. I'm… I'm a heartbreaker. A playboy. I don't—don't get attached. I don't love anyone. I will break your heart if you stick around."
Emma blinked, surprised by the harshness in his tone. "Why are you acting like this?"
Liam's fingers clenched into fists, hidden under the blanket.
"Because I've been hurt. Because…" He stopped himself, swallowing the words.
His pain lingered behind his gaze but didn't reach her. "Because I can't let anyone care about me and get hurt."
Emma's eyes softened.
She glanced at him carefully — the slight curve of his lips, the tension in his shoulders, and then… the small, heart-shaped birthmark on his cheek catching the light.
A detail so personal, so human, it made her chest ache.
"I… okay," she said finally, voice low.
She exhaled, forcing herself to step back. "I'll leave you to rest."
She turned, tugging the cardigan around her, and walked out quietly, the soft click of the door echoing in the empty hallway.
Liam watched her go, chest tight. The second the door shut, his anger turned inward.
Why did I say that? he thought, pacing the small room. Why did I have to be such a… stupid, harsh idiot?
He sank back onto the bed, face in his hands.
Emma deserved better than this.
She deserved someone who didn't hide behind walls.
And yet, the guilt gnawed at him as sharply as the headache pounding behind his eyes.
Because he already knew — letting her care for him, even for a moment, had made a crack in those walls.
And he hated himself for it.
---
Tomorrow came way too fast.
We were standing outside TechTech Innovations, the glass-and-steel building towering above me like it was daring me to step inside.
Ethan was on my right, Mark on my left — both silent, both impossibly calm.
"Wow," I said, squinting up. "It's… huge."
"Functionally impressive," Mark said, glasses slipping down his nose.
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean… fancy?"
He ignored me. Ethan smirked faintly. "I prefer huge."
We walked inside, and the lobby nearly swallowed us. White walls, chrome floors, holographic displays flashing stats and stock prices. Robots zipped by with packages like they owned the place.
I half-expected one to bow and ask for my name.
I spotted a staff member nearby, typing furiously at a counter.
"Excuse me," I said, stepping forward, trying to sound confident.
He froze.
Looked at me like I had just materialized out of thin air. Then, with the kind of dramatic flair only a corporate ghost could muster, he shouted,
" MR. PIKE!"
I blinked.
Ethan and Mark looked at each other, trying not to laugh, though Ethan failed just slightly.
"Uh… okay," I muttered.
The staffer practically dragged us down a maze of corridors, muttering under his breath as if dragging three potential disasters.
Mark whispered quietly to me, "Remain calm. Observe. Humor is acceptable if stress levels peak above safe thresholds."
Ethan whispered back, deadpan. "Or just don't get in his way."
The hallway felt endless, filled with engineers typing at screens that looked like spaceship controls.
Every surface gleamed like it had been polished by obsessive robots.
Finally, we stopped outside a massive door.
The staffer knocked and pushed it open.
Mr. Pike didn't even glance at us as we stepped in. He was leaning back in that massive leather chair like he owned the building, black-and-gray hair slicked back perfectly, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.
His fingers drummed on the desk in a rhythm that made me want to flinch.
"So," he said slowly, like he was chewing on each word, "you want to meet Mr. Ronson."
"Yes," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's important."
He leaned forward suddenly, eyes sharp and calculating. "Important? You think you just walk into my office, demand to see the CEO, and call it important?"
I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but Mark's hand landed lightly on my shoulder.
Calm. Observe. Don't provoke.
Ethan didn't bother with subtlety.
He leaned slightly forward, voice cold but low. "Take us to him."
Pike's lip curled. "And if I refuse?"
"You won't," Ethan said. Flat. Controlled. "You can't."
Mark tilted his glasses, voice calm and sharp. "Resistance is statistically unwise, Mr. Pike. Please reconsider your position."
I tried not to laugh at how calm he sounded while we were basically being threatened by this guy.
Statistically unwise. Really?
Pike let out a sharp huff. "Fine. You'll get your meeting. But don't think this means anything."
He got up, massive, commanding, and started walking toward another door.
We followed silently, Ethan on one side of me, Mark on the other.
My heart was hammering, but I had to remind myself — I wasn't alone.
I couldn't help whispering under my breath to Mark, "This place is insane."
He glanced at me, deadpan. "Observationally accurate."
Ethan didn't say anything, but I felt the heat of his gaze on me.
Protective. Cold.
Calm. Dangerous.
We stopped outside a thick, steel-reinforced door.
Pike spun around, smirk on his face. "You're sure you want this? One wrong move, and—"
"Just take us in," Ethan said.
Mark's lips twitched in a faint, almost amused smile. "Control yourself. You've got this."
I exhaled slowly, adjusted my glasses, and stepped forward.
Inside, the office stretched wide, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city below, awards on the shelves, screens flashing stock prices and company stats.
Ronson wasn't there yet, but the air hummed with authority.
Pike gestured for us to sit. "Wait here. And don't make me regret this."
I sank into a chair, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk.
Ethan leaned back slightly, calm as ice.
Mark was already analyzing every detail in the room — the lighting, the spacing, the trajectory if we needed a quick exit.
I glanced at both of them.
Somehow, having them here made me feel braver.
And I knew, whatever happened next, I wasn't facing it alone.