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Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault (Forced Kiss)

Dinner hadn't been so bad. Except for Liam constantly talking about the life they'd have if they got married.

“So, the choice would be yours,” he said, pouring more wine into Kendall’s glass. “If you want to live in Connecticut, my parents’ estate is empty. We move in. If you want to live elsewhere, I'll purchase any property you choose.”

She smiled weakly, sighing. “You’re being silly.”

“Am I?” he drawled, smiling at her as she ate her food. “I’m trying to make sure you realize how serious I am, Kendall.”

Her smile faded, and she kept her gaze on her steak. “We’re friends, Liam. Friends don’t get married.”

He stared at her for a moment, his smile tightening. Then he laughed. “Okay, chill! Don’t be so serious, I was just playing.”

She looked at him, forcing herself to smile. “Oh! Okay, thank God.”

He laughed again. “How’s your food?”

“I’m going to check the kitchen for a hidden chef.”

He snorted, bursting at the seams with joy at being there with her, sharing food and laughter. It was such a perfect image; they were perfect together. How could he make her see that?

“You’ve got me,” he joked. “I have my grandmother stashed in the cupboards; she cooked everything.”

She smiled at his joke, and it was enough to make his heart soar.

Maybe he was going too heavy with his suggestion that they date to marry. Maybe he needed to start with something more casual. They could be friends with benefits, to start. He’d give her that much for now.

“Kendall.”
His voice, deep with some unspoken need, caught her attention, sending chills across her skin.

She raised her gaze, looking at him. The light blue polo shirt he wore brightened his blue eyes, and his face, objectively handsome, was working hard to seduce her.

She blinked, completely unaffected by the seduction. “Yes?”

“Are you done eating?” he questioned.

She looked at her nearly empty plate. “Yup. I’ll do the dishes.”

“Never.” He shook his head. “I would never let you lift a finger, Ken. If there are no servants around, then I will be your servant. I’ll do it.”

She stared up at him, unhidden surprise widening her eyes. That statement had been a little more sincere than she was used to hearing from him.

He carried away their plates and then returned to clean up the table.

“Let me help,” she offered, standing.

“You can help by getting comfortable on the couch,” he said, winking at her. “I’ll be right there.”

Her expression was a cross between a smile and a cringe, and she nodded, making her way to the living room.
There was a trashy reality TV show playing on the screen, and, sighing, Kendall let herself melt into the chair as she zone out watching it.

Behind her dazed eyes, her mind was busy. She wondered if it had been the right choice to quit her job and walk out of Lucien’s house. But at the same time, the other option would’ve been to continue tolerating that frustration.

It was strange. Tolerating toxic situations was what Kendall did best, but somehow, she couldn’t tolerate it when it came from Lucien. She knew him as her safe space and couldn’t have him exist as anything else but her safe space.

So, she’d walked out. Maybe it was for the best. No matter what her fantasies were, it was hardly possible for her to have Lucien. Maybe it would be best if she just bit the bullet and gave in to Liam.

He was rich and handsome. He didn’t thrill her, enlighten her, or make her feel safe the way Lucien Sinclair did.

But he wasn’t forbidden. Most people would approve of their union.

And maybe he was just as powerful as Lucien, and could protect her from Eliott.
Sighing, she closed her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Kendall glanced over. Liam was walking toward her, a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.

“Nothing,” she murmured.

He plopped down beside her, and Kendall winced at how close he was. Their sides were touching. The sofa was huge; he didn’t need to be so close.

“Do you like the wine?” he questioned. “I’m sure you’re used to the best of the best.”

“It’s alright,” she said, forcing a smile.

He handed her a glass and then tapped his to the edge of hers.

When he leaned back beside her and covered his legs with the throw, she tensed. She never thought she’d ever be under one blanket with Liam, of all people.

He looked at her, but Kendall kept her gaze on the TV. He was far too close; if she looked at him, their faces would be inches apart.

His gaze scorched her face, and he slowly sipped his wine.

Her spine was stiff, her lungs barely drawing breath. She suddenly regretted choosing to come over. She hadn’t known he’d be staying the night.

Unaffected by the stifling tension, he scoffed, smiling.

She looked at him, feigning nonchalance. “What?”

He shook his head. “I’m just… You’re so beautiful, Kendall.”

She stared at him. Swallowing hard, she looked into her glass. “You really helped me out today. I appreciate it.”

His smile widened. “Do you? Well…”

She looked at him, uneasy.

“Why don’t you…” He whispered, meeting her gaze. “Say thank you?”

She hesitated. “Thank you, Liam.”

“Oh, you’re so cute,” he said, grinning. “I didn’t mean… verbally.”

Her muscles tightened further, face paling as she stared at him. “…Then?”

“Do you want me to show you?” he whispered.

She didn’t answer, but in the next moment, Liam set his glass down and then reached for hers, setting it beside his.

Before she could turn her gaze from the glasses to him, he was rushing across the space between them.

His mouth crushed her lips in an instant, and Kendall was pressed back against the sofa.

She didn’t make a sound, nor did she move. Too stiff with shock and confusion, she stared at the wall behind him as Liam kissed her.

It was loud and wet, his tongue swiping wildly over her lips in a rabid manner.

Her arms were raised toward him, but her fingers curled into her palms like her hands baulked at the thought of touching him.

He groaned, cupping her face with both hands so he could pry her jaw open and force his tongue in.

The moment his tongue touched hers, his fake gentlemanly persona shattered, and he pressed his weight onto her, his hands feverishly roaming her body.

One hand tugged roughly at the collar of her satin shirt, and the top few buttons popped off, letting the shirt fall off one shoulder.

His mouth traced her collarbone, licking her skin until she recoiled, nausea rocking her stomach.

“Stop,” she could finally murmur.

“You don’t mean that,” he groaned against her skin.

“Stop it,” she repeated, trying to push him.

His hands gripped her wrists.

But before he could pin them down, the silence of the apartment was splintered by a resounding knock on the front door.