Chapter 31 The king mercy
Chapter 31: The King’s Mercy (Liam’s POV)
I stood in the shower for twenty minutes, scrubbing my skin until it was raw. I could still feel the phantom weight of Elena against my chest from last night. It was annoying. It was disgusting. Every time I closed my eyes, I remembered the way her heart was thudding—fast and frantic—like a bird trapped in a cage.
"She’s a project," I muttered to the tiled wall. "A charity case. Nothing more."
I dressed in my usual uniform—expensive hoodie, designer jeans, and the watch that cost more than Elena’s entire family history. I needed to feel like a Vance again. I needed to remember that I was at the top of the food chain and she was just… there.
When I walked down to the breakfast nook, the air was already heavy. Chloe was sitting there, looking like she hadn't slept a wink. Her eyes were puffy, and her perfect blonde hair was slightly messy. The moment she saw me, she stood up, her chair screeching against the floor.
"Liam! We need to talk. Right now," she demanded.
I didn't even look at her. I poured myself a cup of black coffee, my movements slow and deliberate. "I'm not in the mood for a scene, Chloe. It's too early."
"A scene? You had that girl in your bed!" she shrieked, her voice hitting a pitch that made my head ache. "The police told my mother! They said you were protecting her! How could you do that to me? To us?"
I set the coffee pot down with a sharp clack and finally turned to face her. I let my "King" persona settle over me—the cold, untouchable version of Liam Vance that made even the hockey coaches nervous.
"First of all," I said, my voice low and steady, "nothing happened in that bed. I was protecting the merger, not her. If the police arrest someone for theft under this roof, your dad and my dad both lose millions. Think for once, Chloe."
"I don't care about the merger!" she cried, stepping into my space. "I care about the fact that everyone is talking! They think you like her! They think the 'Bookworm' actually caught the Playboy."
I felt a strange flick of irritation in my chest. "Like her? Are you serious?" I let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Look at her, Chloe. Then look at me. She’s a scholarship student with a limp and a wardrobe that looks like it came from a donation bin. She’s below my level. She’s below your level. The idea of me actually wanting her is a joke."
But as I said the words, a flash of memory hit me: the way Elena had looked in the library, the fire in her eyes when she told me I couldn't control myself. My pulse jumped, and I hated it. I hated that my body was reacting to the thought of her while I was standing right in front of my "perfect" girlfriend.
"Then why won't you let me handle her?" Chloe sobbed, reaching for my arm. "Let me get her kicked out. We can go back to how things were."
I pulled my arm away. The desperation in her voice was starting to grate on my nerves. "Because you're making me look bad, Chloe. The paint on the locker? The fake police report? It’s messy. It’s low-class. It’s the kind of thing people do when they’re losing."
I stepped closer to her, looming over her until she had to tilt her head back.
"Let’s get one thing straight," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I am Liam Vance. I’m the captain of the team, the heir to this estate, and the guy every girl in Northview—and half the girls in the state—would kill to be with. I chose to be with you because you’re on my level. You’re a Miller. You fit the image. But if you keep acting like a jealous, middle-school brat, I’m done."
Chloe gasped, her eyes widening. "You’re threatening to break up with me? Because of her?"
"I’m threatening to break up with you because you’re becoming a liability," I snapped. "Fix your attitude. Stop the petty games. If I hear one more word about you planting jewelry or calling the cops, we’re finished. I don’t have time for this drama."
I turned to leave, but the door opened, and Elena walked in.
She stopped dead when she saw us. She was wearing a plain white shirt and dark trousers, her books clutched to her chest like a shield. She looked pale, her dark hair pulled back in a tight, sensible knot. She looked exactly like the "nobody" I kept telling myself she was.
But then, she met my eyes. She didn't look down. She didn't act like a girl who had been in my bed twelve hours ago. She looked at me with a cold, sharp intelligence that made me feel like she was reading every lie I’d just told Chloe.
"I'll come back when the room is empty," Elena said, her voice like ice.
"No," I said, my voice coming out louder than I meant it to. "Chloe was just leaving."
Chloe shot Elena a look of pure, unadulterated venom. "This isn't over," she hissed, brushing past Elena so hard she nearly knocked her over.
Elena didn't even wobble. She just stood there, waiting for the door to close. When it finally did, the kitchen felt ten degrees colder.
"Nice speech, Liam," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The 'King' and his 'Level.' It’s a wonder you can even breathe all the way up there on your throne."
"You weren't supposed to hear that," I muttered, turning back to my coffee.
"Oh, I think I was," she said, walking toward the counter to grab a glass of water. "It’s good to be reminded where I stand. A 'stain,' a 'liability,' and 'below your level.' Did I miss any?"
I watched her as she reached for a glass. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up, and I saw a small bruise on her arm—probably from where I’d grabbed her last night to pull her into bed. A sharp pang of guilt hit me, followed immediately by a wave of annoyance.
"You're in my house, Elena," I said, my voice hardening. "You’re safe here because I allow it. Don't push your luck."
"I'm not pushing anything, Liam. I’m just waiting for the day I don't have to look at your arrogant face anymore."
She turned to leave, but she tripped on the edge of the rug, her cane slipping. I moved before I could think, catching her by the waist before she hit the floor.
For a second, we were locked together again. Her back was against my chest, and I could feel the heat of her through her shirt. My hands were splayed across her stomach, and I could feel how tiny she was—how fragile. But she didn't feel fragile. She felt like a live wire, humming with an energy that made my skin crawl and my heart race at the same time.
I stared at the side of her neck. I could see the pulse jumping there. I wanted to let go, but my fingers wouldn't move.
"Let go of me," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I'm making sure you don't break my floor," I rasped, though the lie felt heavy in my mouth.
I stood her up and stepped back immediately, putting the kitchen island between us like a barricade. I felt disgusted with myself. I was Liam Vance. I had my pick of any girl I wanted. Why was I letting a "Ghost" get under my skin?
"Go to the library," I said, not looking at her. "I have hockey practice, then we’re doing Calculus. And don't wear that black sweater. It makes you look like you’re going to a funeral."
"Maybe I am," she said, her eyes flashing with a dark wit. "The funeral of your ego."
She walked out, the thump-click of her cane sounding like a taunt.
I stood there alone in the kitchen, my hands shaking. I hated her. I hated the way she looked at me, and I hated the way my house felt different now that she was in it.
I pulled out my phone and saw a text from Jax.
Jax: Rink in 10. We’re doing drills. Chloe called me crying. You better get your head in the game, Cap. You’re starting to act soft.
I shoved the phone in my pocket and headed for the door. Soft? No. I wasn't soft. I was the King. And it was time I started acting like it.
I got to the rink, but the mood was off. The whole team was standing around the center circle, staring at the Jumbotron. Someone had hacked the system. Instead of the team logo, a video was playing on the big screen. It was a recording from the Vance security cameras from last night. It didn't show the police. It showed me pulling Elena into my bed and closing the curtains. The whole team turned to look at me, and Jax stepped forward, dropping his hockey stick. 'Level with us, Liam. Is the Ghost your new Queen, or are you just playing with the trash?'