Chapter 1: The Interview

Liam's pov

There are few things in this world I despise more than interviews. Actually, scratch that—there's one thing that tops it: the time leading up to the interview. The absurd ritual where some makeup artist fusses over your face as if they're trying to paint a masterpiece, and people act like you're some rookie heading into a pop quiz. It's as if they think you don't know what you're doing.

But here's the reality: You don't get to where I am by needing to rehearse every answer, by needing to 'prepare' for the questions they throw at you. I've built my empire from the ground up—no script, no handholding. The media doesn't get to dictate how I live my life, or how I respond. Not anymore.

"Mr. Carter, it's time," the director says, his voice snapping me from my thoughts.

I nod and run my fingers through my thick, dark curls, mussing them just enough to look effortlessly untamed. I stride toward the set, my polished leather shoes clicking against the marble floor as I sit in the plush white armchair designated for the "special guest" spot on Caroline Denver's show. It's the same chair Caroline always uses. Something about the whole set, her bleached blond hair, her sickly-sweet perfume, and her sharp eyes, makes me want to crawl out of my own skin.

"It's wonderful to have you here, Mr. Carter," Caroline greets me, her voice smooth, though it has an edge to it.

"Please, call me Liam," I reply, my tone smooth but stiff, the practiced words rolling off my tongue as if I've said them a hundred times.

Caroline glances at the teleprompter and continues reading her scripted lines, clearly just another pawn in the game. "You were just named one of Forbes' richest men for the fifth year in a row, and you aren't even thirty yet. How does that feel?"

I keep my face neutral, not letting her bait me into too much enthusiasm. "It feels amazing to be recognized for the things you've worked hard on. I've built this company with the help of great people, and I'm proud to be where I am now."

Caroline nods, feigning interest, but I see the spark in her eyes. She's already plotting how to dig deeper, to turn the conversation away from my success and onto something more 'juicy.'

"But people know all about your business life," she continues, leaning forward a bit. "But not much about your personal life."

Here it comes.

"I like to keep my personal life out of the media," I reply sharply. "The media has a habit of ruining things."

She doesn't let up, of course. "Is there a special woman in your life?"

If I had a dime for every time I've been asked this question, I'd be richer than I am now. "If I did have a partner—which I don't—I'd keep them very far away from the media."

I see her flicker, a spark of curiosity lighting up her eyes. "But you said 'partner' instead of 'woman.' Is it safe to assume that you have a man in your life?" She's digging now, trying to elicit some kind of shocking response.

I don't blink. "No comment."

"A lot of fans are wondering why you've never been spotted with a woman," she presses. "Close sources have confirmed you've never had a girlfriend…"

I'm done. This is not what I signed up for.

"Can we change the subject?" I cut her off, my tone firm and final.

Caroline, however, isn't done. "A lot of people think you're hiding your sexuality, Liam—"

I cough, loud and deliberately, cutting her off once again.

"If you can't learn to respect boundaries, Miss Denver," I say, my voice hard as steel, "then I will not be having interviews with you in the future. This interview was meant to discuss my company and our latest business venture. But clearly, that's not what you're interested in."

I see her flush, though she tries to hide it with a smile. "I'm just asking what the public wants to know, Liam."

"It's Mr. Carter," I correct her, as coldly as I can, before standing up, yanking the microphone off my shirt. "Goodnight, Miss Denver."

I make a swift exit, ignoring her protestations. I don't care what they say about me, or how the media twists the narrative. I'm done being scrutinized. Done with people trying to define me based on what they think they know. So what if I'm not dating anyone? So what if I've never had a girlfriend? It doesn't mean I'm hiding anything—it just means I'm not playing by their rules.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting a message from Ian, and I'm not disappointed.

'Ian,' I think as I glance at his text. 'Mum and dad are pissed.'

I roll my eyes. Of course they are.

I'm about to send a snarky response—something along the lines of "I couldn't care less"—when another text comes through.

'They're waiting for you at home.'

I curse under my breath, the tension in my shoulders rising.

---

By the time I walk through the front door of my penthouse apartment, I'm already bracing for the inevitable confrontation. My stepmother, Filipe, is waiting for me at the door. She's Ian's mom, and she's been trying to play the role of 'family' since my mother passed away three years ago.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she spits, her eyes flashing with anger. "It's going to be all over social media in half an hour. Do you have any idea how this makes us look?"

I stare at her. I'm not surprised. "It's nice to meet you too, Filipe. How was your day?"

"Don't sass me, Liam." She crosses her arms, looking like she's ready to tear into me. "It was so unprofessional of you to walk out of an interview like that."

"It was very unprofessional of her to ask about my personal life, but nobody seems to care about that."

Her eyes narrow. "Can you blame her for voicing what everyone is thinking?"

"Don't start with me," I warn, my patience thinning.

"Don't give her that look, son," my father intervenes, his voice low but firm. "She's got a point. If you would just get a girlfriend, this wouldn't be an issue."

I suppress the urge to gag. "No," I bite out, the words feeling like venom. "I'm not interested in finding a girlfriend anytime soon."

"What about a wife?" Filipe presses, her voice taking on a condescending tone. "You could be married by the time you're forty."

I meet her gaze with a cold stare. "I believe I'd need a girlfriend before I need a wife."

Filipe smirks, clearly pleased with her own cleverness. "Not if we get one for you."

I stare at her, dumbfounded. "Don't think about it."

"She's flying into the country next week," Filipe says, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

I can't even pretend to hold it together anymore. "I don't want your help, and I won't marry any dumb bimbo you throw in my lap."

My father's expression falters, but Filipe's doesn't. "It's settled," she says with a smile, one that makes my blood boil.

"Then unsettle it," I snarl. I stand up, throwing my wallet into my pocket. "I want you out of my house before I get back."

I can see Filipe's lips curl into a smile, a cruel one. "I'll be here when you return, Liam."

"Not if I can help it," I mutter, slamming the door behind me.

I inhale deeply, trying to control my temper, as I grab my keys and storm out of the apartment. I don't know where I'm going yet, but the first place that comes to mind is the nearest private nightclub.

I'll figure things out later. Right now, I need a drink. And a lot of them.