Page 32 of Because I Liked A Boy (Because I Liked A Boy Trilogy #1)

Two days blurred into each other, quiet but heavy.

Liam worked from home, his laptop stationed on the kitchen island, papers spread in neat stacks I wasn’t allowed to touch.

He said it was easier this way—that he didn’t want me left alone after what happened.

I didn’t argue. Not when the bruise on my cheek still pulsed with a dull ache, the kind that reminded me with every glance in the mirror that he’d marked me. Again.

Sometimes Liam didn’t say much at all. He’d just push a fresh cup of coffee toward me, slide painkillers across the counter, or leave toast on a plate by my elbow like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. It was everything. Because for the first time in seven months, someone stayed.

But staying didn’t mean silence. I started noticing the small ways he bent his life around mine.

The way he shut his laptop whenever I drifted too close, like shielding me from work I couldn’t help with anyway.

How he always claimed the sofa when we both couldn’t sleep, flicking through news on his phone while pretending he wasn’t watching me pace the hall.

Once, I caught him lingering in the doorway while I was making tea, his eyes fixed not on me but on the bruise shadowing my cheek, as if memorising it, promising himself something I didn’t want to name.

At night, I whispered into the phone. Penelope’s voice cracked down the line, small but steady, like she was trying to be brave for both of us.

“Bella, I don’t want this,” she’d murmur, barely audible over the static. “I don’t want to marry him.”

My throat burned every time. “You won’t. Just sit tight. I’m coming for you.”

She never said thank you. She didn’t need to. The silence on the other end was enough—the kind that told me she believed me, even when I wasn’t sure I believed myself.

Sometimes she’d whisper about schoolwork left undone, friends she wasn’t allowed to see, the dress hanging in her closet that she hadn’t chosen but was expected to wear.

Her voice always went smaller when she talked about him, like she thought even over the line he might hear.

I listened to every word, catalogued every fear, letting them burn into me until sleep was impossible.

I hung up each night with my chest raw and aching, vowing to her, to Nathan’s ghost, to myself, that I wouldn’t fail her again.

By the second morning, Liam caught me staring at my phone like it held the whole world. He slid a plate of toast in front of me and set down a vanilla latte beside it. The scent hit me first—warm, sweet, too familiar. My favourite.

It made my stomach twist. Vanilla lattes used to mean Ruby sneaking me out for study breaks, Hunter laughing over the rim of his cup. Now Liam was the one sliding it across the counter, steady and unflinching, and the contrast almost broke me.

When I finally spoke, my voice shook with both defiance and guilt. “I’m going to get her back.”

He didn’t answer right away. His knuckles tapped against the laptop lid, his eyes narrowing like he wanted to argue but knew better. “Then we don’t rush in blind,” he said. “Not if you want to walk out with her still breathing. Eat,” he ordered gently, settling opposite me.

I picked at the toast, fingers trembling around the mug. “I’m going to get her back,” I said finally, the words trembling out like a vow I’d carved into bone.

Liam didn’t argue. He just slid his laptop across the counter, the screen angled toward me.

There it was. An announcement, glossy and cruel: Ashbourne–Cartwright Engagement Gala. Date, time, location—all pristine.

The air left my lungs. “An engagement party?” My voice cracked.

He nodded once, jaw tight. “Two nights from now.”

My eyes dragged across the words again and again, as if repetition would make them mean something different. But it didn’t. It only sharpened the truth: my father wasn’t wasting any time. He’d parade Penelope in front of London like she was a prize he’d won, not a child he’d destroyed.

Liam’s voice cut through the rush in my ears. “I’ve been invited.” He hesitated, then added, “With a plus one.”

I froze. “You’re saying—”

“That we can get you inside,” he finished for me. “You’ll be with me. He won’t see you coming.”

My pulse thundered, equal parts fear and fury. It was too neat, too perfect. But I didn’t care. For once, I had a way in.

I curled my hands around the mug, vanilla and heat searing my palms. “Then that’s it. That’s when I take her back.”

Liam held my gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“That you won’t do this alone again.” His voice dropped, softer but iron-willed. “I’m with you now. Whether you like it or not.”

For a moment, silence stretched between us, thick and charged. The bruise on my cheek throbbed. Penny’s voice echoed in my ear. Nathan’s ghost pressed in. And across from me sat Liam, steady, unflinching, handing me the one thing I hadn’t dared to hope for: a chance.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice steady. “Fine. But when the time comes… nothing will stop me. Not even you.”

His mouth curved, not quite a smile, not quite a threat. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, the plan was set.

That afternoon, he insisted we go shopping. “If we’re walking into that place, we’re going in properly,” he said, tugging his jacket on. “No mistakes. No weak spots.”

I wanted to argue, but the truth was I didn’t have anything that would pass at a society gala. So I followed him.

The city buzzed around us, store fronts gleaming like teeth. Liam steered us into the kind of boutique that made my chest ache—glass and brass, hushed staff moving like they’d rehearsed sympathy.

He got fitted first, the tailor circling him like a hawk, pins flashing, murmuring compliments like prayer. Liam didn’t seem to enjoy it, but every now and then his eyes slid to me in the mirror, like he was checking I hadn’t vanished.

Then it was my turn.

Rows of dresses hung like promises—silk that whispered, sequins that swallowed light, lace that looked like lace should: dangerous. I ignored all of them until I saw it.

Black. Simple, sharp, unapologetic.

I slipped it on. The mirror threw back a version of me I barely recognised: the dress hugged close, slit sharp at the thigh, neckline cut like armour.

Not broken. Not discarded. Dangerous. For one reckless second, Hunter’s ghost flickered there—in that imagined voice reminding me I was beautiful when I hadn’t believed him—then I shoved the thought away.

This wasn’t about him. This was about showing my father I was no longer the girl he could slap down and discard.

When I stepped out, Liam was waiting, jacket slung over his arm. He didn’t say anything at first. He only looked, jaw tightening like he was holding something back.

Finally, his voice came low. “That’s the one.”

Something in me flinched, soft and sharp all at once, but I lifted my chin. “Good. Because I plan to burn it down in this.”

His mouth twitched—somewhere between approval and warning. “Then let’s make sure you’re ready.”

He stayed everywhere I needed him to be—crouching to check the fit of the shoes, watching the tailor’s hands too closely, picking out a gold bracelet and simple studs because he knew I hated jewellery that screamed.

At the till, he paid without drama, slipping the receipt into my coat pocket like a promise.

Outside, the city moved on as if nothing had changed. But I carried the weight of the dress like a weapon.

By the time we got back, night had bled into the sky. Liam disappeared into the kitchen and returned ten minutes later with two greasy McDonald’s bags, dropping one in front of me on the coffee table.

“Fancy,” I muttered, peeling back the wrapper.

“Don’t get used to it.” He flopped down beside me, stealing one of my fries with a smirk.

We ate with a film flickering across the TV—something neither of us were really watching. The quiet wasn’t awkward anymore. It was almost… easy.

Halfway through, Liam stole another fry and I swatted his hand, and for a fleeting moment a laugh escaped me—thin, startled, but real.

The sound died quickly, guilt pressing it back down, but the ghost of it lingered.

I’d forgotten what it felt like to be ordinary, to sit on a sofa and argue over chips.

When the credits rolled, I felt heavy, dulled by food and exhaustion. Liam gathered the bags and stood, pausing in the doorway. “Get some sleep, Bella. Big day tomorrow.”

His voice was softer than the words, careful in a way that made my chest ache. Then he was gone down the hall, leaving me with the hum of the TV and the weight of what came next.

The flat was quiet.

Then my phone lit up on the coffee table.

Penny.

Her name pulsed against the screen, and my breath caught. I fumbled it up, my voice shaking. “Penny?”

“Bella?” Her whisper cracked, thin and breaking. “I don’t know what to do…”

My pulse spiked. “What’s wrong?”

A shuffle, fabric brushing the receiver. Then: “He locked me in my room. Said it’s to make sure I don’t embarrass him before the party. Bella, I’m scared.”

Her breathing was ragged; something heavy scraped faintly in the background. “He says I’m not allowed out until the party. That if I try, he’ll make me regret it. I think… I think he’s put someone outside my door.”

My blood ran cold. I pressed a fist to my chest to steady the rage and fear clawing through me. “Penny, listen. Whatever he says, whatever he does, hold on. Just two more days. I swear I’m coming for you.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth, fighting the tremor in my voice. “Listen to me. You’re not alone, do you hear me? I’m coming for you.”

Her breath hitched. “Promise?”

The word split me wide open. “Promise,” I whispered, fierce and unshakable.

The line crackled. A soft sob. Then silence.

I sat there in the dark, phone clutched to my chest, the echo of her fear carved into me.

Tomorrow wasn’t just a plan anymore. It was war.