[POV: Liam Castellan]
"Petulant girl," Liam muttered as he pushed through the revolving doors of the Ashford Building, his clothes still damp and reeking of coffee, the ruined bouquet of roses dripping in his hand.
The building's lobby was everything you'd expect from the headquarters of one of the country's largest tech corporations—polished white marble floors reflecting the embedded LED lights, tempered glass walls creating a sense of open space, and a modern abstract sculpture dominating the center that probably cost more than most houses.
Ashford Industries. The name was etched in chrome letters behind the reception desk, each letter at least a meter tall, impossible to ignore.
An empire built from scratch by a man who had started with nothing.
And now, that empire was at war with itself.
"Good morning, Mr. Castellan!" The receptionist—a young, polished woman in an impeccable uniform—called out with a professional smile as he passed. "How are you today? May I—"
Liam walked right past, without even looking in her direction, his steps echoing on the marble as he headed for the elevators.
He wasn't in the mood for pleasantries.
Not after having his eight-thousand-dollar suit ruined by some distracted girl who was too busy watching cat videos to look where she was going.
Petulant girl, he thought again, jabbing the elevator button harder than necessary.
The polished steel doors slid open with a soft ding, and he stepped in, pressing the button for the forty-second floor—the executive floor where Victoria had her temporary office.
As the elevator ascended silently, Liam glanced at his distorted reflection in the metal doors.
He looked a mess. Coffee staining his blazer, his tie askew, his hair slightly disheveled from the wind. And these damned flowers—half the petals had fallen off, leaving pathetic, sad stems.
This isn't how this was supposed to be, he thought bitterly.
He had planned everything perfectly this morning. Wake up early. Visit the best florist in the city. Pick the most perfect red roses—three hundred dollars worth of perfection. Arrive at Victoria's office with a confident smile and present them to her as he always did.
A romantic gesture. A reminder of his feelings.
Instead, he got coffee spilled on him and ruined flowers by some random girl who probably didn't even care.
Focus, Liam ordered himself, straightening his tie. It's not about the flowers. It's about being here for her.
Especially now, when she needed support the most.
His mind drifted—as it always did—to Victoria.
Victoria Ashford.
His fiancée. Well, on paper, at least.
She was… complicated.
She always had been.
The heiress to a fortune built by her father, Magnus Ashford—a man who had begun in absolute poverty and through pure tenacity, brutal intelligence, and relentless work, had built a tech empire from the ground up.
Magnus was a legend. A self-made billionaire whose story was told in business schools. The man who had turned the Ashford name from nothing into something that commanded respect in boardrooms around the world.
And now, that man was old. Tired. Ready to pass the torch.
But to whom?
Magnus had three children: Two sons—Marcus and Derek—and one daughter. Victoria.
And they hated each other.
Well, maybe hate was strong. But they definitely didn't like each other.
Marcus, the eldest, was calculating and ruthless. He had always seen Victoria as the "spoiled youngest" who wasn't worthy of serious consideration.
Derek, the middle child, was charismatic but merciless. He saw Victoria as competition to be eliminated.
And Victoria? Victoria was brilliant. Smarter than both her brothers combined, in Liam's opinion. But constantly underestimated. Dismissed as "just the girl."
When Magnus finally announced he was retiring, the silent war between the siblings had become open.
They all wanted the company. They all thought they deserved it.
So Magnus, fed up with the infighting, had made a declaration:
"Each of you will start a business. From scratch. With a budget of one million dollars and nothing more. No help from Ashford Industries. No using our name to leverage deals. No family resources beyond the initial investment.
You will have one year.
Whoever builds the most successful business—measured by profit, growth, and sustainability—will inherit Ashford Industries.
This is final."
Simple. Brutal. Effective.
And completely unfair.
Because while Magnus had declared it a fair competition, the two brothers had no intention of playing fair.
Marcus and Derek constantly sabotaged Victoria's efforts. Stole her contracts. Spread rumors about her business practices. Bribed her employees to leak information.
And Victoria? She faced it all alone, refusing to complain, refusing to ask for help.
Proud, Liam thought with a mix of admiration and frustration. Stubborn to a fault.
He clenched his fists, making the flower stems snap slightly.
Those two bastards, he thought darkly. If I could, I would go down there and demand they stop. Confront them. Make them pay for every dirty trick.
But he couldn't.
Magnus's rules were clear: No interference from other families. No use of external resources beyond legitimate employees and business partners.
If Liam—heir to Castellan Industries, a rival company—interfered, Victoria would be disqualified immediately.
So all he could do was watch. Support. Be there.
And bring flowers, even if they ended up covered in coffee.
As soon as she wins, Liam promised himself, as soon as she takes over the company and there are no more rules… I will make those two pay. For every second of suffering they caused her.
The elevator finally arrived at the forty-second floor with a soft ding.
The doors opened to reveal an elegant hallway—clean white walls, soft LED lighting, dark wood doors of executive offices lining both sides.
Liam stepped out, his shoes sinking into the high-quality gray carpet as he walked down the familiar corridor.
He had been here hundreds of times. Knew every turn. Every door.
The door at the end of the hall—cherry wood with a discreet plaque that read "V. Ashford - Director, New Ventures"—was his destination.
He paused outside, looking at the ruined flowers in his hand.
Pathetic, he thought. But it's the thought that counts, right?
He knocked twice—firm but polite.
"Come in," came Victoria's voice from inside. Cold. Distant. Busy.
Liam opened the door and entered.
The office was spacious but spartan. A modern glass desk dominated the center, two computer screens showing spreadsheets and charts. Files stacked neatly in a corner. Floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the city skyline.
And there, sitting behind the desk, was Victoria.
Victoria Ashford was… objectively beautiful. Long blonde hair pulled into a high, elegant ponytail. Sharp blue eyes focused intently on the documents in front of her. Delicate features that were somehow also hard—the kind of beauty that intimidated as much as it attracted. She wore a white blazer over a black silk blouse, every line of her appearance screaming professionalism and control.
She didn't even look up when he entered, her pen scratching quickly across a document.
"Just leave it on the desk," she said automatically, assuming he was an assistant.
Liam closed the door softly behind him. "Victoria."
That made her pause. She looked up, eyebrows furrowing slightly when she saw him.
"Liam." It wasn't a warm greeting. Just acknowledgment. "I wasn't expecting you today."
"I know," he said, crossing the office to her desk. "But I wanted to see you. Bring you—"
He held out the ruined bouquet.
And immediately, the smell of coffee—strong, bitter, impossible to ignore—filled the space between them.
Victoria's face twisted. She brought a hand to her nose, leaning back slightly. "What is that smell?"
"It's coffee," Liam admitted, lowering the flowers slightly. "I… there was an accident. Some clumsy girl bumped into me on the street—"
"And you decided to bring flowers that reek of coffee into my office." Victoria cut in, her voice flat. "Liam. Seriously?"
"It was an accident!" he protested. "Some petulant girl wasn't looking where she was going, was glued to her phone watching stupid videos—"
"I don't care about the story," Victoria said, waving a dismissive hand. "Just… take them away. The smell is giving me a headache."
Liam felt something tighten in his chest. "I'll bring others. Tomorrow. An even better bouquet—"
"Don't bother," Victoria said, turning her attention back to the documents on her desk. "You don't need to keep bringing flowers, Liam. We're only engaged on paper. You don't need to come here all the time, especially now when I'm so busy."
Only on paper.
The words hit harder than they should have.
"I know you're busy," Liam said, forcing his voice to remain calm. "That's why I came. To support you. To see if there's anything I can do to help—"
"You can't." Victoria cut him off, her pen still moving across the document. "My father's rules were clear. No help from other families. Only employees and business partners. If you—heir to Castellan Industries—help me, I'll be disqualified."
"I know the rules," Liam said, frustration bleeding into his voice. "But there must be something. Some way to—"
"There isn't." Victoria finally looked up, her blue eyes meeting his with a chill that made him recoil. "And even if there were, I wouldn't accept it. I don't need a knight in shining armor, Liam. I'm going to win this on my own."
Liam placed the ruined flowers on the edge of her desk, not caring anymore. "Once we're married," he said, his voice growing lower, more intense, "once this is over and you take the company as you deserve… I will move heaven and earth to grant your every wish. Whatever you want. Anything. I swear to you—"
Victoria felt a shiver run down her spine.
Not the good kind.
She dropped her pen, leaning back in her chair and finally giving him her full attention.
"Liam," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "I've already expressed my wish to my father. Multiple times."
He blinked. "What wish?"
"To call off the engagement."
Liam's world stopped.
His brain took several seconds to process the words. When it finally did, it felt like he'd been punched in the chest.
"W… what?" he managed to say.
"I want to call off the engagement," Victoria repeated, as if discussing the weather. "I don't need a husband to become someone, Liam. I will earn my own things. Build my own legacy. I'm not like other girls who need a man to validate them."
"I never said you needed—"
"And besides," Victoria continued, picking up her pen again, "we've known each other since we were children. Grew up together. And in all that time…" She paused, considering her words. "I've never looked at you any differently. You've always just been… Liam. The son of the Castellan family. Nothing more."
Nothing more.
Liam stood there, frozen, processing.
He didn't understand. Couldn't understand.
Why? His brain screamed. Why can't she see? Why can't she understand how much I—
And then, without his conscious control, the memories came.
---
[FLASHBACK - 18 years ago]
Liam was seven years old.
He was sitting beside his mother's bed, holding her fragile hand between his small, trembling ones.
The room was stifling. Smelled of medicine and something sweet-bitter he couldn't identify. The curtains were drawn, casting everything in half-light.
His mother—once vibrant and full of life—looked so small now. So fragile. Her skin too pale, her eyes sunken, her breathing shallow and labored.
"Liam, my dear," she whispered, her voice just a thread. Her hand squeezed his weakly.
"Mom," he sobbed, tears streaming down his seven-year-old face. "Please don't go. Please stay. I'll be good. I promise. I'll—"
"Shh, darling." She lifted her other hand—so slowly, with so much effort—and wiped his tears. "You're already good. You're the best boy any mother could ask for."
"Then why are you leaving?" he cried, his voice breaking. "If I'm good, why can't you stay?"
She closed her eyes, tears escaping the corners. "Because sometimes… sometimes things happen that aren't fair. That don't make sense. And all we can do is accept and… and find the strength to keep going."
"I don't want to keep going without you!"
"You will, my love." She opened her eyes, looking directly at him with an intensity that scared him. "You will grow up strong. You will grow up kind. You will find someone to love—someone who makes your heart feel full even on the darkest days."
Her hand squeezed his more tightly, using her remaining strength.
"Promise me," she whispered with urgency. "Promise me you will find love, Liam. Real love. The kind your grandmother had with your grandfather. The kind I had with your father. The kind that makes life worth living."
"I promise," he sobbed, not even really understanding what he was promising.
"And when you do," she continued, her voice growing weaker, "you hold onto it. You fight for it. You never, ever give up. Because love—true love—is the most precious thing in this world."
Her breathing was becoming more labored now. More shallow.
"I love you so much, my dear boy," she whispered. "More than words can say. And I will always—always—be with you. Even when you can't see me. I'll be right here." She placed her hand over his heart. "Right here."
"Mom—" He clung to her, burying his face in her shoulder.
"Be happy, Liam," she whispered, kissing the top of his head. "Please… be happy."
That was the last thing she ever said to him.
Three hours later, as the sun set outside the window, his mother stopped breathing.
And Liam's world—so small, so young—completely fell apart.
---
The funeral was three days later.
A long, numb blur of black, whispers, and pitying looks from adults who didn't know what to say to a child who had lost his mother.
Liam was standing by the coffin, his small hands clenched into fists, trying to be strong like his father said he should be. But tears kept falling no matter how hard he tried to stop them.
"Liam?"
A voice—soft, hesitant, small.
He turned and saw a girl about his age. Perhaps a year younger. She had blonde hair done in braids, a black dress that was too big for her, and large blue eyes looking at him with something that might have been understanding.
"You're Liam, right?" she asked. "Mrs. Castellan's son?"
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
"I'm Victoria," the girl said. "My family knew yours. Mom told me to come say hi." She paused, looking at the coffin, then back at him. "I… I'm sorry about your mom."
"Everyone's sorry," Liam murmured bitterly. "But sorry doesn't bring her back."
Victoria thought about that for a moment. Then, without asking permission, she took his hand.
"You're right," she said simply. "It doesn't. And it's not fair. Your mom seemed cool."
"She was," Liam whispered, his voice breaking.
"My teacher said," Victoria continued, still holding his hand, "that when people die, they don't really go away. They live on in everyone who loved them. In the memories. In the things they taught us."
She looked up at him, her blue eyes serious.
"So your mom is still here. In you. In the things she taught you. In the way she made you feel."
Liam looked at the girl—this stranger who was saying things no adult had thought to say. Who wasn't just offering empty words but something real.
And in that moment, holding her hand on the darkest day of his life, Victoria Ashford seemed like a light.
A small, bright, impossible light in the all-consuming darkness.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She squeezed his hand. "If you ever need to talk… about her or anything… I'll listen. Okay?"
He nodded.
And something inside seven-year-old Liam's chest—something broken and hurting—clutched that moment like a lifeline.
Victoria Ashford.
The girl who had been kind when no one else knew how.
The light in the darkness.
---
[END OF FLASHBACK]
Liam blinked, back in the present, back in the office, back to Victoria looking at him with barely disguised impatience.
"Did you hear anything I said?" she asked, irritation tinging her voice.
He had. Every word.
I've never looked at you any differently.
Just Liam.
Nothing more.
But he had looked at her differently. Since that day. Since she had been the only person who made the darkness feel less crushing.
"I'm not giving up on you," Liam said, his voice low but firm.
Victoria sighed. "Liam—"
"Never." He turned, walking towards the door. "You might not look at me differently now. But one day you will. One day you'll see that I've always been here. I always will be."
He opened the door, paused, and looked back.
"One day," he said softly, "you'll see me."
And then he left, closing the door gently behind him.
Victoria sat in her office, alone once more, staring at the closed door.
Slowly, she brought a hand to her temple, massaging it as she closed her eyes.
"Why," she murmured to herself, "can't he just understand?"
But there was no answer.
Only the silence of her office and the faint sound of traffic forty-two floors below.
She looked at the ruined flowers still sitting on the edge of her desk—fallen petals, broken stems, reeking of coffee.
For a long moment, she just stared at them.
And then, with a weary sigh, she pushed them into the trash bin beside her desk.
Thud.
She returned to her documents, her pen resuming its steady work, pushing all thoughts of Liam Castellan to the back of her mind where they belonged.
She had a company to build.
And absolutely no time for romance.
---