Chapter 9 – The Heir in Hiding
987 Words
The morning rush had slowed, leaving only the soft clink of cups and the faint hiss of the espresso machine. Sunlight spilled through the front windows in golden rectangles, warming the polished floorboards. Mia enjoyed these hours—the café breathing in quiet, the city beyond its doors muffled for a while.
Liam sat in his usual corner, half-hidden behind a book he wasn’t reading. He always came early, slipping in with the shadows, dressed down in clothes that looked almost too ordinary on him. A gray hoodie. Jeans. Scuffed sneakers. But Mia had already noticed how his posture never quite blended in, how his eyes flicked up at every new arrival, how he carried the air of someone born to occupy larger rooms.
She set a fresh cup of coffee by his elbow. “Your usual.”
His lips curved into the faintest smile. “You’re starting to read minds.”
“Baristas have to,” she replied, sliding into the seat across from him. “Otherwise people riot before nine a.m.”
For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. But then the door chimed, and everything shifted.
A woman swept in—polished heels clicking against the floor, hair perfectly pinned, perfume trailing like an announcement. She didn’t belong here. She scanned the café with quick, assessing eyes until they landed on Liam.
“There you are.” Her voice cut through the room, sharp and certain.
Liam froze. The mask he wore every morning—the slouch, the indifference, the almost-careless grin—slipped in an instant. His jaw tightened, his hands curling around the edge of the table.
Mia glanced between them, caught in the sudden crackle of tension.
“I told you not to come here,” Liam said, voice low but charged.
“You told me a lot of things.” The woman crossed the room without hesitation, setting her designer bag on the table as though staking a claim. “You can’t just disappear, Liam. Father’s furious. The gala is tonight, and you’re hiding in a coffee shop?”
A couple of customers at the back pretended not to listen, though their eyes darted up with thinly veiled curiosity.
“I’m not hiding,” Liam muttered. “I’m just… here.”
“Don’t play games with me.” Her gaze swept over Mia, cool and assessing. “And who’s this? Another attempt at rebellion?”
Mia straightened, heat rising to her cheeks, but Liam’s voice cut in before she could reply.
“She has nothing to do with this.”
The woman arched a brow. “Everything you do has consequences. You should know that by now.”
Mia caught the flicker of pain in Liam’s eyes before he buried it beneath practiced indifference.
“Leave,” he said finally.
“I can’t.” Her tone softened, almost pleading. “Liam, this—running away, pretending you’re someone else—it won’t work. You’re a St. Clair. That name carries weight whether you like it or not.”
The name hung in the air like a thunderclap. A couple at the window exchanged quick glances, recognition sparking. Mia, too, felt the shift—the puzzle piece sliding into place. She had heard the name before, whispered in news reports about fortunes, scandals, and untouchable families.
Liam’s eyes closed briefly, as though bracing himself against a blow. “I’m not coming back.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
Silence pressed down on the table. The hum of the espresso machine, the scrape of a chair, the distant honk of traffic—all of it seemed sharper in the pause.
Finally, Liam stood. His chair scraped harshly against the floor. “I do. And I’m choosing this.” His gaze flicked to Mia, a silent anchor, before returning to the woman. “Now go, before you turn this place into another stage.”
The woman’s mouth tightened. She gathered her bag, eyes glinting with both frustration and sorrow. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.” Then she turned, heels clicking, and swept out of the café without another word.
The door shut. The silence lingered.
Mia finally exhaled. “So… St. Clair.”
Liam winced, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. That.”
“You’ve been hiding in plain sight.”
“Trying to.” He sank back into his seat, shoulders slumped. “I just wanted somewhere I wasn’t a headline or a bank account. Somewhere I could just… breathe.”
Mia studied him, the quiet desperation beneath the carefully constructed mask. “And you chose here.”
His lips quirked. “Guess I have a thing for lost causes.”
She wanted to laugh, but the exhaustion in his tone stopped her. “You don’t have to be someone else to sit here, you know. You don’t have to perform.”
He met her gaze, something unguarded flickering in his eyes. “That’s the problem. I don’t know who I am without the performance.”
Mia thought of Ethan’s confession only a night before—the athlete bound to a scoreboard, the weight of expectations crushing his sense of self. Now here was Liam, trapped by a different kind of scoreboard: family legacy, wealth, the invisible chains of a name.
The café, she realized, was filling with people who carried burdens bigger than their appearances suggested. And somehow, they all ended up at her door.
Liam leaned back, forcing a faint smile. “Sorry for the scene. I didn’t mean to drag your café into my circus.”
“Don’t apologize,” Mia said quietly. “This place has room for messes. Even the expensive kind.”
His laughter was soft, genuine for once. It startled both of them.
For a fleeting second, he looked less like an heir and more like a young man desperately trying to find his place in the world.
- Writer
