Page 1 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

The ballroom is all glitter and lies.

Chandeliers drip light over polished marble. Orchids spill from crystal vases. Every inch is curated to make my father look untouchable.

I’ve played the part enough times to know the choreography— the air kisses, the fake laughter, the unspoken rule: never embarrass the family.

Nathan’s at the bar. My big brother. Twenty-nine, tall and broad enough to stand out in any crowd, tux jacket hanging open, tie long gone. His dark hair is mussed, top buttons undone, posture loose in the dangerous way only whiskey gives.

I know that look—the same one he wore the day he got suspended for breaking a boy’s nose after a comment about me. That mix of protective instinct and absolute readiness to start a fight.

Next to him is Liam.

Nathan’s best friend since they were teenagers, the golden boy to my brother’s chaos. Dark blond hair, perfectly styled. Blue eyes that miss nothing. His tux is crisp, not a stitch out of place. Unlike Nathan, he looks like he was born to be here.

They’re opposites in every way but loyalty. Nathan’s is loud and messy. Liam’s is quiet and calculated.

They share a few low words before Liam’s gaze finds me.

He says something to Nathan—who barely glances up—then peels away from the bar, weaving through sequins and black ties like he owns the floor.

“You don’t want to be here,” Liam says when he reaches me.

I sip my champagne. “What gave me away?”

“That glare you’ve been aiming at the exit all night.” His mouth tilts in a slow, confident smile. “I could get you out of here.”

I set my glass down. “You’re not my type.”

He leans in slightly, voice calm but edged with amusement. “Everyone says that at first.”

My gaze sweeps him once, flat and deliberate. “I don’t need to test the theory. I already know exactly what your type is. And I’m not volunteering.”

His laugh is quiet, almost genuine. “Then maybe I like a challenge.”

“Not this one.”

Before he can reply, the air shifts. Nathan’s glass hits the bar with a sharp clink that makes the stem ware tremble.

I follow his line of sight to the ballroom doors.

A woman I’ve seen once or twice before steps inside—

champagne silk gown, diamond pendant flashing under the lights, posture perfect and eyes scanning like she’s bracing for impact.

Beside her, holding her hand, was a girl—fourteen, maybe fifteen.

Pale yellow tulle dress, brown curls catching the chandelier light.

She looked fragile in a way that had nothing to do with age and everything to do with the room she’d just walked into.

Her shoulders were tight, her grip on her mother’s hand white-knuckled, like she already knew she didn’t belong here.

Across the room, my mother goes still.

She’s standing near the board members, her usual hostess smile fixed in place, her eyes lock on the woman and child for a fraction of a second— something sharp and knowing in them—before she turns back to her conversation like nothing’s happened.

Her smile doesn’t slip, but I see it—the flicker in her eyes.

She knows. She’s known. And still, she plays hostess, because in this family silence isn’t weakness, it’s survival.

Nathan’s voice cuts through the music, low but lethal. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The jazz falters. Conversations stumble into silence. Every head turns toward him.

“I’ve never seen her with a kid before,” I murmur to Liam. His gaze stays fixed on Nathan. “Neither have I.”

My brother is already moving, cutting through the crowd with the kind of energy that makes people instinctively step back.

Our father turns from his circle of admirers just as Nathan

reaches him. His smile doesn’t drop, but the muscles in his jaw flex.

“Son,” he says evenly. “Not here.”

His voice is even, his mask flawless. But I’ve lived under that tone my whole life. It’s the warning before the strike, the calm before he decides exactly how he’ll break you.

I’m already moving, weaving through the press of sequins and tuxedos, the prickle at the back of my neck warning me something bad is about to happen.

By the time I reach Nathan, he’s squared off with our father— shoulders tight, jaw locked in stone, tie hanging loose. I can smell the whisky on his breath from here.

“Here’s perfect,” Nathan snaps, voice slicing through the jazz like broken glass. “Going to introduce her, or should I do it for you?”

A ripple moves through the crowd. Heads turn. The woman’s chin lifts. “Nathan—”

“Don’t.” His tone is a blade. “You don’t get to say my name.”

“You’ve had too much to drink,” our father says, wearing that same polished mask he uses for shareholders and cameras. But I see the tension in the rigid set of his jaw.

“I’ve had too much of you,” Nathan fires back, stepping closer. “What’s the plan here? Stroll her in like she belongs? Pretend we don’t all see exactly what you’ve been doing?”

Gasps shiver through the crowd. My mother stands a few metres away, smiling like she’s hosting the perfect party.

“Lower your voice,” our father warns.

“Why?” Nathan closes the space between them, dragging me with him because I’m not letting go of his arm. “Because you don’t want your precious investors hearing how you’ve been fucking your way through your own staff?”

The sound that sweeps through the room is sharp enough to cut skin.

My fingers tighten on his sleeve, nails biting through the fabric. “Nathan—”

My stomach knots, not just from what he’s saying, but from the certainty of what it will cost him. Nobody defies our father without paying. And Nathan? He’s about to hand him the bill in front of everyone.

He finally looks at me—and his eyes are full of fury and some- thing else, something that makes my stomach knot.

“That woman,” he says, jerking his chin toward the stranger in silk, “has been in his bed for years. Right under Mum’s nose.

And tonight? He parades her in front of all of us like this is some kind of coronation. ”

My pulse hammers in my teeth.

“And you want to know the best part, Belle?” His voice cracks around my name. “That girl holding her hand? She’s his. Which means every time he told us this family came first, it was a fucking lie.”

The marble floor tilts beneath my feet. My chest feels too tight to breathe. I glance at my mother and she hasn’t moved. Not even a blink.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement. Liam. He’s pushing through the crowd from the bar, his gaze flicking between Nathan, the woman, and the girl at her side.

While the room holds its breath, Liam steps in beside them, lowering his voice as he leans close.

I can’t hear what he says, but his tone is soft and steady.

The girl nods, fingers tightening around her skirt, and lets him guide her away.

She looks young, fragile, scared—too old to be paraded like this, too young to carry the weight of our father’s lies.

Without another word, Liam steers her and the woman toward the side exit, his broad frame shielding them from the worst of the stares.

By the time I look back, Nathan is nose to nose with our father.

“You’ve said enough,” our father says, voice low, controlled— the way a predator coils before it strikes.

Nathan shakes his head. “No. I’ve been quiet for years. I’m done. You can buy silence, you can hide behind money and fake smiles—but underneath? It’s all rot. And one day, it’s going to eat you alive.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. Someone coughs. A glass clinks. The whispers don’t start again until Nathan turns his

back, and when they do, they feel like needles against my skin.

He doesn’t look at me or anyone else—just pushes through the crowd, shoulders squared, pace unrelenting. I throw one last glance toward our father, but he’s already turned away, murmuring to a board member like the last five minutes never happened.

My mother doesn’t move. She just keeps smiling at whoever’s in front of her, as if the room hasn’t shattered around her. And maybe that’s what terrifies me most—that she can stand in the rubble and pretend it isn’t there.

I follow Nathan out into the cold. The air hits like a slap, sharp and bracing after the heat of the ballroom. He’s already fishing his keys from his pocket, heading straight for the row of parked cars lining the front of the building.

“Nathan, don’t.” My heels snap against the pavement as I catch up.

He doesn’t slow. “Belle, get inside. I’m leaving.”

“You’ve been drinking.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but my pulse is still hammering. “You’re not driving like this.”

His jaw flexes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” I plant myself in front of him, blocking the driver’s side door. “Give me the keys.”

“Belle—”

“Now.” My hand is out, palm up, daring him to argue. “You want to leave? Fine. But you’re not putting us both in the hospital because you’re pissed off at him.”

For a second, I think he’s going to fight me on it.

His eyes are still bright with anger, his chest rising and falling too fast. Then he exhales hard, shoves the keys into my hand—just like he used to hand over the last piece of pizza when we were kids, silent but stubborn—and yanks open the passenger door.

I slide into the driver’s seat, the cool leather against the back of my legs sending a shiver up my spine. Nathan slams his door shut, leaning his head back against the rest. His eyes close, but his knee is bouncing like a drumbeat.

Neither of us speaks.

The night swallows us as I pull away from the curb, headlights carving pale lines through the darkness. The hum of the engine fills the silence, but Nathan doesn’t speak right away.

I glance at him. His head is still tipped back, eyes closed, but the bouncing of his knee hasn’t stopped.

“You going to tell me what that was about?” My voice is steady, but my grip on the wheel is tight enough to ache.

He exhales a bitter laugh, eyes opening to meet mine for the first time since we left. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I know you just blew up Dad’s gala in front of a hundred people,” I say. “And I know you humiliated Mum. But I don’t know who she is.”

His jaw works. “Her name’s Sofia. Used to be one of Dad’s assistants. Then she wasn’t. Then she was… something else.”

The words settle like a stone in my stomach. “What do you mean?”

“They’ve been seeing each other for years, Belle. I found out a few weeks ago—walked into the office and caught them together.”

My skin prickles. “And tonight?”

“She turned up with her kid. That girl at the gala—” I cut in, my breath catching. “She’s really his?”

He nods once. “Her name’s Penelope. She’s fifteen.”

Fifteen. The number thuds in my chest. All those nights Dad said he was working late, the business trips, the times Mum sat alone at the kitchen table… they all look different now.

“She’s his kid,” I say quietly, like speaking it aloud might make it less sickening.

“His kid,” Nathan echoes. “Our half-sister.”

The word makes my insides twist. Half-sister. Blood I never knew I shared.

Nathan’s voice hardens, sharper than he probably means it to be.

“I swear to you, Belle—no matter what happens, I’ll protect that girl. She’s innocent in all of this.”

The conviction in his words makes my throat ache, but there’s an edge to his tone that scrapes against my nerves. He doesn’t want to scare Penelope, I know that but when Nathan gets this fierce, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of it pressing down.

The sincerity in his voice makes my throat ache. “Did Mum know?”

He nods, bitter. “Yeah. For a while now. She just… pretends the life she’s built isn’t rotting from the inside out.”

I frown. “And you?”

His jaw tightens. “I kept my mouth shut for her. For Mum. Thought it was better to let it go than rip everything apart. But tonight—” He breaks off with a humourless laugh. “Tonight I saw him standing there, smiling, with them. Like none of it mattered. Like the lies didn’t cost anyone anything.”

I grip the wheel harder, my knuckles aching. “And you couldn’t stay quiet anymore.”

“Not for one more second.”

The engine hums between us, but it’s the pounding of my heart that fills my ears.

The city falls away behind us, skyscraper glass giving way to dark stretches of asphalt and skeletal trees clawing at the night sky.

Nathan cracks the window, cold air streaming in that’s sharp enough to sting my cheeks. “God, I needed to get out of there,” he mutters, eyes fixed on the blur outside.

“You needed to humiliate the family in front of half the city?” My tone’s dry, but the edge is gone.

A crooked grin pulls at his mouth. “Admit it, Belle—it was worth it.”

I huff out something between a laugh and a sigh. “You’ve always liked a scene.”

He tilts his head, watching me instead of the road ahead. “And you’ve always been scared to make one.”

“Someone had to be the adult,” I shoot back, but there’s warmth under the words.

For a heartbeat, it’s almost easy. Almost like the nights we’d drive aimlessly just to avoid going home, our problems sitting in the back seat instead of between us.

I ease into the next curve and the brakes give a faint, uneven shudder. Not much—just enough to make me glance at the dash. No warning lights. I shake it off.

Then my foot hits the brake for a red light— And it sinks.

Too far. Too fast.

A frown creases my forehead. I press again. The car slows, but

late, jerky.

Nathan notices. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I force my voice steady. Pump the brakes once. Twice. The light flips green.

We keep going. The road curves, pulling us into darkness so thick the headlights barely cut it. My pulse is climbing now, an animal pace I can’t ignore. I test the brakes again on instinct. They respond—sluggish, untrustworthy.

Nathan’s gaze sharpens. “Belle—”

I don’t answer. My knuckles are white on the wheel, eyes locked on the next bend.

And then it happens, all at once.

A flicker of movement in the beams.

A fox, frozen in the middle of the lane, eyes like coins catching light.

I slam the brake.

The pedal drops to the floor. Dead weight, like pressing into wet cement.

The world tilts.

“Shit—” The curse rips from my throat, jagged with panic. I wrench the wheel, tyres screaming like something alive. The

fox vanishes. Headlights spin across trees, guardrails—then nothing but black..

Nathan shouts my name. I reach for him without thinking, fingers brushing his sleeve—

And in that split second, I’m glad he’s here. Glad it’s him beside me.

I don’t remember the sound of the crash.

I remember Nathan’s hand slipping out of mine. And then—

Nothing.