Chapter 39 Another Lie?
Isabella
Mom still hadn’t come back from wherever she rushed off to earlier today. I couldn’t stop replaying how strange she’d looked—heavy makeup, restless energy, acting like being in this house was suddenly unbearable, like she needed air.
Dad wasn’t helping either. He barely spoke to her, barely even looked her way. This was worse than what Mom had hinted to me before. Something was wrong—something deeper—and it was coming to the surface whether anyone wanted to admit it or not.
Now it was late. Too late. She still wasn’t home, and every call we made went straight to voicemail.
“I don’t think she’s coming back tonight,” Riette said with a yawn, like the idea didn’t even worry him.
“She probably had to stay late at work,” he added casually.
I didn’t believe that for a second. Neither did Max, who kept pacing the living room like a caged animal.
He suddenly stopped and turned to Riette. “Has Mom ever done this before? I don’t remember her missing a night because of work,” he said, his tone sharp.
Riette shrugged. “There was a time she didn’t come home at all. She even stopped going to church back then. And she does stay late often—she’s busy.” He paused, then added, “Besides, she spent all of yesterday with you guys. Maybe work just caught up with her. Relax. She’ll be back tomorrow.”
But nothing felt normal. Not in this house. Everyone else was acting like it was business as usual—everyone except Max and me. We exchanged a look, unease thick between us.
“I can’t believe Dad isn’t even worried,” I muttered. “He’s actually asleep.”
Max nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah,” he grunted. Then, forcing a weak joke, he added, “You can go to bed, Riette. You look terrible.”
Riette laughed, standing up. “You two should do the same. I’m heading up.” He waved, and we returned the gesture with practiced smiles.
The moment he disappeared up the stairs, that familiar twin instinct kicked in. Max and I turned to each other, and at the exact same time, we said, “There’s a problem.”
It was clear now. Mom and Dad were fighting.
And this wasn’t the kind of fight we were used to.
He suddenly moved closer and sat beside me. “I felt it in my bones when I walked her to the car, Isabella,” Max said, his voice tight, anger barely contained as his fists clenched. “If what I’m thinking is what Dad did… I won’t forgive him for it.”
My heart skipped. “What do you think Dad did to Mom?” I asked, genuinely scared now.
Max hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “I don’t know for sure, Isa. But I can tell—he raised his hand to her.”
I gasped, covering my mouth instantly. “The heavy makeup?” I blurted out without thinking.
Max snapped his gaze to me, eyes intense. “Exactly. That explains it. He slapped her.” His voice cracked slightly. “Her eyes… they weren’t Mom’s. They looked empty. Sad.”
I nodded slowly. I’d seen it too—the strain, the tension hanging around her like a shadow. It wasn’t something you could miss.
“Do you think their marriage is falling apart?” I asked quietly, hoping with everything in me that it wasn’t true.
“I really hope not, Isa,” Max said, turning away. “Because it’s taking everything in me not to go upstairs and confront Dad right now.”
Or maybe when Mom comes home tomorrow, I’ll just… ask her. Straight up. I love them both so much—Mom and Dad—and the thought of them actually splitting makes my chest hurt in a way I’ve never felt before.
We’ve never seen them fight like this. Not really. Not the kind of silence that feels louder than yelling. So wherever you are tonight, Mom… please be okay. Please come back to us.
“You should go sleep,” Max says quietly, breaking the heavy quiet between us.
I nod, suddenly feeling how heavy my eyelids are. “Yeah… and like Riette said, you should too.”
He lets out a small, tired chuckle as I push myself up from the couch. But I know my brother. Sleep isn’t even on his radar right now—not until Mom’s voice comes through the phone again, telling us she’s alright.
Claire
Sunlight sliced through the curtains, sharp and golden, forcing me awake. I groaned softly and rolled away from the glare—only to bump into something warm, solid, unmistakably male.
My eyes flew open.
Liam.
He was right there, stretched out beside me, chest rising slow and steady in sleep. Eyes closed. Lashes dark against his skin. No scowl, no sharp edges, no “Mr. King” armor. Just… a man. Twenty-eight years old, relaxed in a way I’d never seen him. Almost boyish.
When did this become us? Sharing a bed like it was normal. Like it wasn’t dangerous.
I studied him for a long moment—the peaceful line of his mouth, the way tension had finally drained from his face. Yesterday I’d let go completely. Given in. Done things I never know I'll be able to do. And yet this morning… I didn’t feel guilty. I felt light. Alive. Like some part of me that had been asleep for years had finally taken a full breath.
I let my eyes drift closed again, sinking back into the pillow.
The room was quiet except for the soft rhythm of his breathing.
For the first time in forever, I didn’t want to run from the stillness.
I just wanted to stay in it a little longer.
I wasn’t sure when I drifted off again, but when I woke up and opened my eyes, the space beside me was empty.
I pushed myself upright and stretched, letting out a slow sigh. My body protested—aching in all the right places, especially my hips and ass.
“You’re awake.”
His voice startled me. I turned sharply. Liam was still in the room, seated on the couch, watching me with that unreadable expression of his. I nodded.
“Yes,” I answered simply.
He looked nothing like me. While I was disheveled and sore, he was polished—clean, sharp in his suit, like a man already done with intimacy and ready to return to his world. Typical of us. Once the sex was over, everything snapped back into place.
“Your phone’s been buzzing,” he said, standing up. “Your kids have been calling.”
My eyes widened. Of course they had. They must’ve been terrified. But what was I even supposed to tell them?
He handed me my phone, and I took it just as he sat down behind me on the bed.
“What are you going to tell them, Mrs. Claire?” he murmured, fingers brushing the skin behind my ear. “Another lie?”
Of course it would be a lie.
I looked down at the screen. Five missed calls from Riette. Twelve from Isabella. Thirty-three from Max.
God.
They must have been beside themselves.
I dialed Max back and lifted the phone to my ear. His voice came through immediately, tight with worry. “Mom—where have you been?”
I swallowed, searching for words—and right then, Liam leaned in, lowering his head to press a soft, lingering kiss to my shoulder.