CHAPTER 101

**LIAM's POV**

I am currently having dinner with my parents. Like always, it’s a quiet dinner. No one spoke, only the faint clinking of utensils filled the air. Ashley was supposed to be here, but she had a family dinner of her own. I had planned to introduce her to my parents tonight, but I guess that would have to wait.

"I heard you won soccer." Finally, Dad spoke, breaking the silence.

"Yes, Dad. We got the trophy," I replied, smiling. The victory still felt fresh, the adrenaline still lingering in my veins.

Dad gave a small nod, his expression unreadable as he continued eating.

I wanted to say more—to talk about the game, how intense it was, how it felt to score the winning goal—but I knew better. Conversations at this table were always short, efficient, like a business meeting rather than a family dinner.

Plus, he wouldn’t want to hear more about soccer. He never really supported me playing in the first place. To him, it was just a distraction from what really mattered—preparing to take over the family business.

That was the future he had mapped out for me, the one I never asked for.

I glanced at him, wondering if he was about to say something else, but he just kept eating, his usual composed expression giving nothing away. Mom, as always, stayed silent, her presence more of an observer than a participant in these dinners.

I let out a quiet sigh and focused on my food. No matter how much I wanted to talk about soccer, to share the excitement of winning, I knew it wouldn’t change anything. Dad had made it clear—soccer was just a phase.

But to me, it was so much more than that.

"How's the Bar?" Dad asked after a few minutes of silence. "Theo said you often visit the Bar." His voice sounds serious.

Right, the Bar he wanted me to manage but I never wanted to.

I stabbed my food with my fork, trying to ignore the weight of his words. "I guess it's doing okay, Dad. I was occupied, so I—"

"Occupied in soccer," he cut me off, his tone laced with disappointment.

I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to stay calm. It wasn’t like I was neglecting the bar—I just didn’t want to be part of it in the first place.

"Yes, Dad. The team needed me," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

Dad exhaled sharply, setting his fork down. "Liam, soccer won’t secure your future. Running a business will. That bar is just the start—you need to take responsibility."

I gripped my fork tighter, my appetite slowly fading. I already knew where this conversation was heading. It was always the same argument.

I clenched my jaw, gripping my fork a little tighter. "I never said I wanted to run the Bar."

Dad stopped eating, his fork hovering midair. The air in the room grew heavy, and I could feel the weight of his gaze pressing down on me.

Here we go again.

"You’re my son, Liam," he said, his voice calm but firm. "This isn’t just about what you want. It’s about responsibility. About family."

I clenched my fists under the table. "I know that, Dad. But why does it always have to be about the business? Why can’t I choose my own path?"

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he just stared at me. Then, he exhaled sharply and set his utensils down. "Because your future isn’t a game. Soccer won’t get you anywhere."

I knew that was coming. I had heard it a hundred times before. But it still hit just as hard.

"I never said it was just about soccer," I muttered, pushing my plate away. "I just don’t want to be forced into something I don’t love."

"Love?" Dad scoffed. "Do you think I loved working my way up? Do you think I had a choice?" He leaned forward. "This is about legacy, Liam. About building something bigger than yourself. You can’t just throw that away."

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. "Maybe I don’t want to live my life based on what you want for me."

His expression darkened. "Watch your tone."

I bit the inside of my cheek, holding back the frustration boiling inside me. This was useless. No matter what I said, Dad would never understand.

Mom, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke up. "Maybe we should talk about this another time." Her voice was gentle, but I could tell she was trying to prevent the conversation from turning into a full-blown argument.

Dad exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Fine. But this discussion isn’t over."

I sighed in frustration and stood up from my seat. The tension in the room was suffocating, and I had lost my appetite completely.

"Where are you going?" Mom asked, concern laced in her voice.

Before I could answer, Dad spoke, his tone cold and dismissive. "Let him."

He didn’t even look at me—just kept his focus on his plate, as if I wasn’t worth the argument anymore.

I clenched my fists. It was always like this. He never truly listened. Never cared about what I wanted.

Without another word, I turned and walked away, my footsteps heavy against the floor. Mom called after me softly, but I didn’t stop. I needed air. I needed to be away from this house, even if just for a little while.

I walked straight to my car, my mind still clouded with frustration. I gripped the steering wheel, exhaling sharply as I reached for my phone.

I was about to call Ashley, but then I remembered—she was having a family dinner. I didn’t want to disturb her.

My eyes wandered to Austin’s contact instead. Maybe he was free. Maybe I just needed someone to talk to. But just as I was about to press the call button, the memory of yesterday flashed in my mind.

The rooftop. He was kissing Chase.

The image replayed in my mind, and I couldn't shake it off.

Maybe I should talk to him about it.

Without hesitation, I dialed Austin’s number. It rang. Once. Twice. No answer.

I tried again. Still nothing.

A third time.

Silence.

Is he with Chase right now?

I clenched my jaw, tossing my phone onto the passenger seat. My fingers tapped impatiently against the steering wheel.

Whatever. I just go alone.

Deciding not to stay longer, I drove my car away. Since I had nowhere else to go, I ended up at the Bar. Our Bar, I must say.

The place was buzzing with energy—music playing, people laughing, glasses clinking. But none of it really registered with me. I just needed a drink.

I walked straight to the front area and leaned against the counter. The bartender recognized me immediately, giving me a small nod before I even spoke.

"Whiskey," I ordered, my voice firm.

He poured me a glass without question, sliding it over to me. I took it, swirling the amber liquid before taking a sip. The burn in my throat was a welcome distraction.

"Liam."

Someone called my name in the middle of my drink. I turned my head slightly and saw Theo approaching me. He’s been my so-called guide, assigned by my father to teach me how to run the Bar—something I never asked for.

"Hey. How's the Bar going?" I asked, taking another sip.

"Doing well," he replied, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter.

"Yeah? You should tell Dad to let you run it instead of me." I smirked, though there was no real humor in it.

Theo sighed, clearly used to this conversation. "Got into an argument with your father again?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "What do you expect?" I muttered before downing the rest of my drink.

"Just understand your father. He only wants what's best for you," Theo said, his voice calm yet firm.

I scoffed, shaking my head. "I don’t want to talk about it right now, Theo. I’m here to clear my mind."

He studied me for a moment before nodding. "I understand." He patted my shoulder reassuringly. "Take your time." Then, without another word, he walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the bitter taste of whiskey on my tongue.

I continued sipping my whiskey, letting the silence and the dim lights of the VIP section consume me. No one was disturbing me, just the way I wanted it.

That was until someone slid into the seat beside me.

"Whiskey, please," the person ordered, his voice oddly familiar.

I turned my head slightly, and when he thanked the bartender with a small smile, recognition hit me.

I furrowed my brows. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice laced with curiosity.

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