Liam despised everything—his marriage, his wife, his home, his life. Every evening, stepping over the threshold, he’d take his anger out on his pregnant wife, never sparing her feelings.
*”I don’t love you. I hate you with all my heart. Is this the family you dreamed of? I’ll say it every day until you leave.”*
Emma cried at first, but soon learned to hide her emotions. That only infuriated Liam more—her silence felt like defiance. He wanted a reaction, wanted her to break and walk away. But she stayed.
This marriage wasn’t his choice. His father forced him, threatening to cut him off financially. Blackmail. Liam’s heart belonged to someone else—Sophie, fiery and wild. She was the one he wanted, if not for his father’s ultimatum.
In their small town, Liam was known as the spoiled heir with a rotten temper. The son of a textile factory owner, he’d grown up with a silver spoon. His dad, Edward Hawthorne, ran the business, his mother handled the books. From childhood, Liam was groomed to take over.
*”One day, all this will be yours,”* they’d say proudly.
But Liam found it mind-numbing. Paperwork, numbers, reports—all of it bored him stiff. His father insisted: *”Learn. Think ahead.”* Liam resisted at first, but eventually gave in. Tears and arguments taught him the trade, and more importantly—he realized his parents were so obsessed with passing down their empire, they’d turn a blind eye to his antics.
*”He’ll grow out of it,”* his father would dismiss.
*”I don’t like this,”* his mother would sigh.
Liam loved the arrangement. Gossip, judgment, labels—he couldn’t care less. He lived for pleasure: parties, reckless fun, doing as he pleased. In his late teens, girls became his obsession, and mischief took a backseat. Girls lingered at the gate, claiming they were pregnant by him, demanding money. His parents ignored them, paid them off, pretended everything was fine—as long as Liam stayed in line.
After school, under pressure, Liam went to university. In his third year, he met Sophie—stunning, sharp, from a rough background. With her, he felt alive. Marriage? Never. It meant the end of freedom.
After graduation, Liam worked at his father’s factory, buried in paperwork. Among his friends was Emma—quiet, plain, always composed. She didn’t fit their rowdy crowd but wasn’t an outsider either. An orphan raised by a frail grandmother who’d passed when she was young, she was just… there. To Liam, she wasn’t even a woman. But she looked after him—dragged him home when he was drunk, checked on him, offered help. Her devotion stroked his ego. A nice little addition to his life, nothing more.
Then Sophie happened. When she started hinting at marriage, Liam laughed it off. She took offense and soon moved on to someone else. Liam wasn’t jealous—he was furious. Drunk one night, he took it out on Emma.
*”I’ll sleep with whoever I want until I’m married!”* Sophie had shouted, hoping to push him.
But Liam cut her off completely. That night, Emma was there. He invited her to his empty family home and took advantage of her feelings. Not out of love—just to soothe his bruised pride. They started meeting in secret. Emma blossomed—her eyes bright, cheeks flushed. With her, Liam felt needed, loved—different from Sophie. But he didn’t want commitment. Freedom mattered more.
Everything crashed when Emma announced her pregnancy. She stood at his gate, glowing. His mother overheard. That evening, his father summoned him.
*”We’ve had enough of your antics,”* he said coldly. *”The women you bring home, the payoffs. Marry Emma. Move into your own house. Raise the child and work for the business. Or you get nothing.”*
*”Who does that these days?”* Liam scoffed.
*”Time to grow up,”* his father shot back. *”People talk—how can Edward Hawthorne run a business if he can’t control his own son? We’re done.”*
Liam argued, but his father stood firm. Emma refused money, refused an abortion, refused jewelry he offered to buy her off with. Liam hated her, hated his father, hated the world for stealing his choice. He agreed—money mattered more than principles.
His parents gifted them a house. Everything was rushed—the sale, the renovations, the furniture. On their first night, Liam decided to punish her.
*”You know Sophie,”* he said, stepping inside. *”I’m not leaving her. She’s staying tonight. Don’t like it? The door’s right there.”*
Horrified, Emma stayed. Liam expected her to run to his father, but she stayed silent. Sophie, though furious, stayed too—she wouldn’t go back to poverty. Liam kept seeing her, but thoughts of Emma poisoned it all. Sophie felt fake now, her eagerness grating. With Emma, he felt a peace he never had with his mistress.
Emma tried—worked, kept the house, cared for him. Not for love—just because she did. Liam stopped hurling insults, guilt gnawing at him after, but he couldn’t bring himself to be kind. Just repeated:
*”I don’t love you. Hear me?”*
He didn’t get why she stayed. Money? She’d refused it. Love? Then it was obsession. He dreamed she’d leave if he made life unbearable.
His parents visited, asked Emma how things were. *”Fine,”* she’d say, and they’d beam, thrilled for their grandchild. Liam fumed. Worse—he’d lost interest in partying. After work, he rushed home, though he’d never admit why.
*”If you had self-respect, you’d leave,”* he sneered one night, drunk. Emma silently set soup and bread before him. *”People walk away when they’re miserable. A woman quit at work—said she wouldn’t work for pennies. Three applied for her job—one pretty but clueless, single mum. Another experienced. Guess who I hired?”*
*”The pretty one?”* Emma whispered.
*”Why won’t you go? You make me feel like a monster.”* Liam swiped the table clean in rage. *”Oops… Get me another serving. I’m vile, and I’ll keep being vile.”*
Emma nodded, as always, and turned—but slipped and fell. Panic seized Liam. She was seven months along—he didn’t wish harm on her or the baby. His care was subtle—trimming thorns off roses he’d gifted, covering her at night. Now, he freaked.
*”Don’t read into this,”* he muttered, helping her up. *”If not for the baby and my father’s madness… You dizzy? Nauseous?”*
*”No,”* she said softly.
Liam exhaled. *”I hired the single mum. Felt sorry for her. Dumb business move, but… You like this life? A forced marriage?”*
*”The baby will have a family name,”* Emma dodged. *”I married you out of love.”*
*”And after?”*
*”I’ll find my self-respect and leave,”* she said seriously—but Liam knew she was lying.
*”I’ll roll out the red carpet,”* he scoffed. *”But where would you go?”*
Emma shrugged. *”Would you leave me?”*
Liam laughed—the question was absurd.
*”Clever. Want the big house? All you women care about’s money. Should’ve just said you married for property. My kid won’t starve—I’m not that cruel.”*
Emma smiled sadly, pressed her hands to his chest. His heart raced.
*”Thought love would grow? Pathetic,”* he muttered, pushing her away.
*”Pathetic,”* she agreed. *”But I think we’re alright. Just… fast.”*
*”I don’t love you,”* he repeated, sounding like a brat. *”Well?”*
*”I don’t believe you,”* she said.
He seethed—because she was right.
*”I don’t love the baby, either,”* he spat, wanting to hurt.
Half-true. He felt no connection to the unborn child, didn’t grasp the gravity. But the words were vicious. Emma paled, left the room. Liam almost apologized—but instead yelled after her:
*”Why stay? Blame yourself!”*
Emma gave birth on time—a healthy boy. Liam skipped the hospital, claiming illness. His parents fetched her. At home, he’d set a lavish table, but Emma, exhausted, retreated with the baby. Liam felt like dirt. He wanted to barge in, hold her, hold his son, confess his stupidity. At work, he was sharp—in love, a failure.
Emma avoided him as much as possible in their shared home.Standing at the nursery door that night, watching her hum their son to sleep, Liam finally whispered, “Maybe we could try.”