Page 29 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

The kitchen hadn’t changed. Same oak cabinets, same battered kettle on the stove, same faint hum from the old fridge. It smelled like Liam—cedarwood, faint beer, and something steadier I couldn’t name. Like him.

He leaned against the counter, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, blue eyes fixed on me like I was a puzzle he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

I sat on the edge of a stool, my suitcase abandoned by the front door, the ridiculous bunny slumped against it. My palms pressed flat to the counter, grounding me under the weight of his stare.

“You haven’t told me why you’re here,” he said at last. His voice was low, measured, but the edge underneath it cut sharp. “Not really.”

“I told you. It’s my father.”

Something flickered across his face anger, recognition, maybe both.

He set the bottle down with a dull clink.

“Yeah, I saw the headlines. Him parading around like nothing happened, like Sofia didn’t have her life ripped out from under her.

And Penelope dragged in front of cameras, posed like a doll.

Fifteen, and he’s treating her like a pawn. ”

I flinched. Hearing it out loud was worse.

“So where the hell were you, Isabella?” His gaze cut back to me, sharp. “While he shoved her into the spotlight where were you?”

The words landed like a slap. I didn’t have an answer he’d accept. I hadn’t been here. I hadn’t been anywhere near.

“I couldn’t…” My voice cracked; I forced it steady. “I didn’t know how to face it. Any of it.”

He scoffed, rubbing his jaw. “So you left. Again.”

“I had to.”

“No.” His eyes narrowed. “You chose to. You ran, Isabella. You always run.”

The truth stung more than the accusation. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Then why did you?” Softer now, rougher. “Why show up after seven months of silence? Why me?”

“Because I didn’t know where else to go. And because you…” My voice caught. “You knew Nathan. Better than anyone. I thought maybe you’d understand.”

Something in his expression faltered before he masked it with another swallow of beer. “You don’t get to use him like that.”

“I’m not.” I swallowed. “I just need somewhere to breathe. For a little while. And I need to figure out how to get her out of his house.”

That made him still.

“You think you can take her from him?” Low, controlled, edged with steel.

“I have to.”

Silence stretched. Heavy. Unforgiving.

Liam blew out a slow breath, finished the bottle, set it down with a soft thud, then pushed off the counter. “You’re still a mess,” he muttered as he brushed past me to the sink. “But if you’re serious about this about Penelope you’ll need more than guilt and a suitcase.”

It should have cut. Maybe it did. But underneath the harshness was something steadier. Reluctant support.

For the first time in months, I wasn’t running. “Then help me,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

That night, sleep didn’t come.

I lay on the narrow bed in Liam’s guest room and stared at the ceiling while the city pressed in from every side. Car horns drifted through glass, a siren wailed somewhere distant, but it wasn’t the noise that kept me awake. It was everything else.

Hunter’s betrayal still burned in my chest, but that wasn’t what dragged me back here. It wasn’t what had my fingers clawed into the sheets until my knuckles ached. This wasn’t about him anymore.

It was about Penny.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her the last time I’d been in London still just a kid, tucked behind Nathan’s leg, shy eyes peeking at me like I might vanish if she blinked. And then I had vanished. I’d left her in his house, under his rules, in his world.

The guilt gnawed until it hollowed me out. What if she thought I didn’t care? What if she believed his poison that I was a coward, that I’d abandoned her like everyone else?

I tossed and turned, pressing my face into the pillow to smother the ache clawing up my throat. I couldn’t undo Nathan’s death. I couldn’t rewrite the years of damage my father carved into all of us. But I could still fight for Penny.

I had to.

By the time the first streaks of dawn cut through the curtains, my eyes burned and my body ached from a night of unravelling. I hadn’t slept at all. Exhaustion felt better than regret. Underneath it, something sharper—resolve.

I wasn’t here to hide. I wasn’t here to lick my wounds. I was here for her.

I pushed upright and stretched the stiffness from my arms. The house was still, the quiet heavy in the particular way of early mornings.

Downstairs, the kitchen light was off, but a note was stuck to the fridge in Liam’s quick, sharp handwriting.

Out for a run. Help yourself. Don’t burn the place down. – L.

I smirked despite myself and set it aside. Typical.

I grabbed a bottle of water and leaned on the counter. No plan yet just the gnawing truth that Penny was in his house and I wasn’t. Every second I stood still, he tightened his hold.

The front door creaked. Footsteps. Liam appeared in the doorway, fresh from his run, shirtless, sweat slicking his chest, blond hair damp and messy.

He looked different. Broader. Settled into himself. The man I’d shoved into the back corner of my mind sharp edges and cocky smiles was still there in flashes. But this version carried himself like the world didn’t knock him sideways anymore. Like he’d found his footing.

A slow, knowing smile tugged at his mouth. “Didn’t think I was that bad-looking.”

Heat flushed my cheeks. “I wasn’t—” I turned back to the counter. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Sure,” he drawled, voice rough with the run, amusement skimming the edge.

He reached past me to the fridge, close enough that the air shifted, that the heat of him brushed my arm.

My pulse skipped at the nearness, at how easily he slid back into my space like no time had passed at all.

He twisted the cap off a water, took a long drink, then leaned beside me. Close. Too close.

His gaze flicked sideways, catching the flush creeping up my neck. That half-smile that always got under my skin curved his mouth.

“So what’s the plan, Bella?” he asked after a beat, his tone dropping low and steady. “Now that you’re back.”

The nickname, unspoken for months, tightened something in my chest.

“I don’t know yet,” I admitted, fingers tapping the counter.

“You can’t sit here forever.” His voice softened, steel beneath it. “You know that. You can’t let him win again.”

“I’m not letting him win.”

“Good. Then figure out what you need to do. Just don’t hide.”

“I’m not hiding,” I snapped, sharper than I meant.

He studied me like he could peel back layers I didn’t want anyone to see. “Doesn’t feel like hiding?”

It landed heavy because maybe it was. I swallowed, but nothing came out.

He didn’t move away. Heat radiated from him, a steady presence at my side, something unnamed shifting between us.

“I’m grabbing a shower,” he said finally, practical again. “Work in an hour. Make yourself at home.”

He walked out, leaving me breathless, staring at the counter top like it held answers.

I stayed long after he left, pulse uneven from the weight of his words.

Don’t hide.

It threaded through the quiet until it pressed against every part of me. I couldn’t sit here while Penny fifteen, almost sixteen played the perfect prop for his headlines. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve him.

My father was overseas. I’d checked before boarding the flight, skimming headlines in the airport and the moving crawl on the plane. He’d be charming investors while his daughter smiled for cameras.

That meant now.

I pulled on my coat. My suitcase and the oversized bunny still waited by the door like a chaperone I couldn’t shake, but I left them where they were. I needed my hands free.

The London air hit cold and sharp. I flagged a cab.

“Belgravia,” I told the driver, giving him the address I’d sworn I’d never return to. My father’s house. Penny’s cage.

The city blurred in muted greys and pale gold. Each turn pulled me closer to her and to him.

The mansion loomed, stone and shadow swallowing the street. I paid the driver and stepped out. The front gates weren’t locked. Of course they weren’t. He never feared anyone enough to close them.

Inside, the air was heavier, as if it carried every memory I’d shoved down and left to rot. Marble floors gleamed soullessly. The grand staircase arched overhead. The walls were stripped bare, empty frames where a family should have been.

It was the same. It was different. It was him.

I made myself walk. Thick rugs swallowed my footsteps. Then I heard it a soft voice from the living room.

I froze.

Penelope sat curled on the couch, legs tucked under, flipping through a magazine. Her hair caught the light, glossy and neat. Her clothes were pressed like she’d stepped out of one of his press releases.

My stomach lurched. The perfect daughter. His daughter.

She turned before I made a sound, like she felt me watching. Our eyes collided.

Her smile faltered. “Bella…” Quiet, careful, like she wasn’t sure if saying my name was allowed. She stood too quickly, smoothing her skirt with nervous fingers. “I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Neither did I,” I said, the weight of seven months crushing my ribs.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t take my place,” I cut in, sharper than I meant. “He made sure I didn’t have one.”

She winced, teeth catching her lip. For all the polish, she looked young then caught between the girl she’d been and the perfect doll he was moulding her into.

“Can we talk?” I asked. “Somewhere private.”

“Yeah. My room.”

We walked the long hallway. The portraits weren’t ours anymore. Nathan was gone. So was I. Fresh, glossy photographs had replaced them—my father, mother and Penelope, posed and perfect, like the old family never existed.

My chest caved, but I kept moving.

Penelope opened a door near the end. “This one’s mine.”

I didn’t step in. My gaze snagged on the door opposite. Nathan’s.

My hand moved before my brain caught up. The knob was cool; the door creaked. My heart dropped into my stomach.

The room was unrecognisable. The blue walls covered in band posters and ticket stubs were gone, replaced by a flat, suffocating grey. Shelves were bare. The bed replaced by sleek furniture pulled from a catalogue. Sterile. Lifeless.

Like Nathan never existed.

“He erased him,” I whispered.

Penelope hovered in the doorway. “I didn’t—he said I could use it if I wanted, but I never—”

“This was his,” I said, tears burning. “His whole life was in here. And now…” My hands shook as I took in the emptiness. “Now it’s like he was nothing.”

“I don’t want to take anyone’s place, Bella,” she said softly. “Not yours. Not his. I didn’t ask for this.”

Grief mixed with fury until I thought I might split apart. “Then don’t let him turn you into proof he never loved us.”

Her eyes shimmered. She nodded.

I glanced around one last time, grief clawing through me. I should have fought harder. I should have come back sooner.

But it wasn’t too late now.

“I’m not going to let him erase us,” I said, my voice low and steady. And I meant every word.