Chapter 3
Elise's POV:
On Saturday evening, Liam came to pick me up.
I stood at the entrance of my apartment building, wearing a cream-colored dress with my hair pulled back into a low ponytail, exposing the smooth line of my neck and delicate collarbones. Tonight, I needed to play a role—docile, proper, someone the Sterling family elders couldn't find fault with.
Liam stepped out of the car, walked around to face me, and looked me up and down. "Not bad," he said, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Behave yourself tonight. Don't embarrass me."
"Don't worry," I said with a smile, sliding into the passenger seat.
The car left the city, following the coastal highway south. As Liam drove, he briefed me on his family situation, his tone casual, as if discussing something trivial. "Don't overthink it. I'm only bringing you home on a whim. My parents heard I had a girlfriend and insisted on meeting you. Oh, and I have an uncle, but he's rarely home—probably won't show up today."
"An uncle?" I asked, feigning curiosity.
"Yeah, my father's younger brother." There was a subtle note of disdain in Liam's voice. "I heard he was sent abroad when he was young, then started his own business. I barely know him—I can count on one hand how many times we've met. The family says he's high up in the church, but I don't know the details."
"Mm," I murmured, not pressing further.
The Sterlings were an old-money family, so it wasn't surprising that Liam had an uncle in the church hierarchy. I filed this information away in my mind.
Half an hour later, the car turned into a private estate. The wrought-iron gates opened slowly, revealing rows of neatly trimmed sycamore trees on both sides, their leaves glowing a dark gold in the twilight. The main building was a three-story classical structure, brightly lit, with luxury cars parked in front and uniformed servers moving through the portico carrying champagne flutes.
Liam parked the car in front of the entrance, and as we stepped out, two servers in tailcoats immediately approached. "Master Liam."
Liam nodded, slipping his arm around my waist as we walked inside. His palm rested against my side, the pressure neither light nor heavy.
The ballroom was vast, with a magnificent crystal chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling, casting warm, soft light throughout the space. About thirty or forty guests were scattered around the room, men in dark suits and women in elegant gowns, holding wine glasses and conversing in low voices. I followed Liam through the crowd, and people greeted him as we passed.
The inner hall was smaller than the main ballroom, more intimate in its arrangement. A woman in a deep purple evening gown sat on a sofa—around fifty, well-preserved, with features that resembled Liam's, though her eyes carried a sharper, more calculating edge.
"Mom," Liam said lightly as he approached. "I'm here."
Liam's mother looked up, her gaze first landing on him before slowly shifting to me. She studied me for a long time. That look reminded me of a childhood visit to my uncle's house, where his neighbor kept a purebred Afghan hound—whenever a stranger arrived, the dog would stand perfectly still, staring at the visitor as if deciding whether they were worth wagging its tail for.
"So this is your girlfriend?" Liam's mother finally spoke, her emphasis on "girlfriend" barely audible.
"Yes," Liam said, his arm around my waist as he nudged me forward half a step. "Her name is Elise. She's studying at State Art University."
I dipped my head slightly, offering a perfectly calibrated smile. "Hello, ma'am. Forgive the intrusion on my first visit."
Liam's mother nodded. "Sit."
I took a seat on the sofa beside Liam. A server brought tea and refreshments, and I lifted the teacup, quietly taking a sip.
Liam's mother watched me for a moment before speaking. "Elise, is it? Liam mentioned you're a sculpture major at the art university?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"How are your grades?"
"Not bad. I received a first-class scholarship last year."
It was the truth, though I omitted the detail that I'd only been admitted because Liam had donated to the school.
Liam's mother smiled faintly. "That's good."
Her tone was like praising an obedient child. I maintained my smile, saying nothing.
"What do your parents do?" she asked.
The question I'd been expecting. I hadn't quite decided how to answer.
Liam interjected, his tone as light as if discussing the weather. "Her parents passed away a few years ago. She's currently staying with her aunt."
When he said "passed away," he didn't even glance at me. It was as casual as commenting on a dish that didn't suit his taste—offhand, indifferent.
The inner hall fell silent for a moment.
Liam's mother gave him a brief, cool glance before turning to me. "To be honest, we investigated your family background before you came. I had hoped you would at least be forthcoming about it—rather than letting Liam speak for you."
Her gaze was cold, as if I'd suddenly become a flawed piece of porcelain—imperfect, improper, not worth her continued attention.
"The Sterling family requires that any daughter-in-law come from a distinguished family with an impeccable background. This isn't discrimination—it's tradition. Your parents' deaths, frankly speaking, are rather... inauspicious."
When she said "inauspicious," her expression was like someone catching an unpleasant odor.
"Right now, you're with Liam, and we'll turn a blind eye—consider it young people having fun. But if you get any ideas you shouldn't—"
She didn't finish the sentence. But the meaning was clear enough.
I sat on the sofa, spine straight, hands folded quietly in my lap. Five years ago, my parents were murdered before my eyes. But in their view, this tragedy had become my stain.
My nails dug into my palms, but my expression remained unchanged.
"You're absolutely right, ma'am."
I heard my own voice—steady, compliant, even carrying a note of appropriate gratitude.
"I know my place. I won't overstep. Thank you for your hospitality tonight."
I dipped my head again, offering that smile I'd practiced countless times.
Liam's mother looked at me, seemingly satisfied with my tactfulness. "You're a smart girl."
She said this as if the humiliation moments ago had never happened. She stood with Liam to greet other guests. Before leaving, Liam leaned down and murmured, "They investigated your background beforehand. I just didn't want you to say the wrong thing and humiliate yourself."
I nodded graciously to show my understanding.
After they left, I stood alone in a corner of the ballroom. Crystal light poured down from the arched ceiling, illuminating me but offering no warmth whatsoever.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My nails released from my palms, leaving four shallow crescent marks.
"You know your place."
I'd heard these words too many times—from my uncle's insinuations, to Liam's control, to tonight's pointed reminder from this society matron. Each time I'd smiled and nodded, each time I'd complied obediently.
But as long as it served my purpose...
Just then, a hand suddenly shot out from the shadows of a side corridor, gripping my wrist with undeniable force. I was pulled into a dim corner—a semi-enclosed stairwell where two hallways intersected.
My back pressed against the cold wall, a tall shadow looming before me. I caught the faint scent of pine.
I didn't need to see his face to know who it was.
"Victor—?"
"Shh."
His voice was low, carrying a restrained heaviness. Moonlight streamed through the narrow window of the stairwell, illuminating half his face. His gray-blue eyes appeared especially profound in the darkness, like an unfathomable lake.
"Do you like Liam that much? Willing to endure such humiliation at his side?" Victor's tone dripped with mockery.
I froze for a moment. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough." Victor leaned in slightly, his lips brushing my earlobe. "I heard every word."
My breath caught. He'd heard it all—Liam's mother's words about "not getting ideas," about being "inauspicious," about "young people having fun."
I felt the inescapable shame of exposure, the embarrassment of being seen through.
He tightened his arm braced against the wall beside me, closing the distance another inch. My back pressed firmly against the wall—nowhere left to retreat.
His gaze traveled across my face, from my brow to the bridge of my nose to my lips, then down to my neckline—where the marks he'd left days ago still lingered beneath the fabric.
Victor's Adam's apple bobbed as he caught my earlobe lightly between his teeth and whispered, "Why don't you leave him? Come to my side instead."