Love in deceit

Chapter two

Liam painted my world in rich colors. Weeks became days, each one bigger and more wonderful than the previous one. He filled my nights with quiet dinners at posh New York restaurants, where the food looked like works of art and the wine never seemed to stop flowing.

"Incredible, Liam," I'd be whispering, gazing around at a room full of soft lighting and hushed sounds of laughter.

He'd grin, a slow, knowing grin, that curled his lip. "Only the best for you, Sophia."

We went to wild, late-night dances at trendy clubs. The beat throbbed in my ribcage, and we danced until the morning. To everyone else, we were perfect – flashy, prosperous, and truly in love, made for the city lights of New York. We went to charity functions, private showings of paintings, and fashion soirees. He took me to meet his rough acquaintances.

"Sophia, this is Marcus Thorne, he effectively owns half of downtown," Liam would say to me, arm around my waist, pulling me near. Marcus would incline his head, a swift, evaluative look in his eyes.

"Good to meet you, Sophia. Liam has very good things to say about you."

Liam would just laugh, a huge sound. "Only good things, Marcus, only good things." He always made me feel like I was an enormous part of his life and not something that he had trailing behind him. I was dreaming, a dream made reality.

There was unease.

"Where were you today?" I'd ask him when he'd finally walk in the door late at night.

He'd shake off his jacket, an exhausted but good-looking smile. "Just a couple of client meetings, sweetheart. You know how it goes. Back to back."

"What kind of clients?" I'd ask him gently.

"Oh, just. a bit of all," he'd grumble, already heading for the kitchen. "The same old. Deals, investments. Boring stuff, honestly. Not for your pretty head."

His calls tended to arrive at strange times of day, in low tones, and he'd apologize to leave and speak. I'd hear muffled murmurs from the balcony, or the sound of a shutting door.

"Who was that?" I'd ask when he came back to the interior.

"Just work," he'd say to me, the same thing each time, a forehead peck. "Nothing important."

When I tried to inch closer, to ask him about his day, his past, or his family, he'd sidestep the subject or draw some fine line between us.

"Talk about your family, Liam," I once tried at a subdued dinner. "Do you have a sibling at all?"

He took a sip of the wine. "Oh, you know, just family business. Everyone's busy." What about that new gallery opening next week? I heard it was going to be spectacular." He never really pushed me off, exactly, but he'd kind of move around my questions. This made me feel like there was something about him I couldn't reach. But each time, just as my own doubts had a chance to coalesce, he would talk me out of them with sweet words and sweeping gestures.

An unannounced arrangement of foreign flowers would appear on my doorstep. A weekend away at a posh resort in the mountains would be planned. Or a whispered "I love you" in the darkness of night would feel a promise to keep. He was excellent at pulling me back, that beautiful, illusory sense of ensuring safety. He made me remember nothing and maintain the dream he had woven so well.

Through all this violence, I came to speak with Alex Chen again gradually. It happened by chance. I bumped into him again in that small art gallery, pulled back by a recollection of peace.

"Sophia? It's good to see you," Alex said, a genuine smile creasing his face as I looked at a painting.

"Oh, Alex! What a pleasant surprise," I replied, feeling the lightness I hadn't realized I'd been without. "Still spending all your time on the lovely things?"

He chuckled. "Someone has to appreciate them. How've things been with you? Still liking New York?"

Or maybe we bumped into each other again in a small bookstore near my apartment building, a sanctuary I visited to escape the noise of the city. Each time, our talk grew longer and deeper. He was always sincere.

"It's a great book," I said, pointing to a dog-eared old volume which was my favorite. "Have you read it?"

Alex nodded. "Several times. It always makes me think. What draws you to it?"

We'd talk about books, pictures, little everyday things. He had this calming air around him, this quiet understanding that was like an oasis from the storm Liam had a habit of releasing. He never intruded, never questioned too much about my life, never judged. He simply listened with his soft brown eyes, actually focused on what I was saying.

"You're a little… distracted, these days," he'd mentioned quietly once, while we had coffee in an intimate cafe. "Okay?"

I'd hesitate, then find myself explaining a little about the incessant parties, the nights in, feeling perpetually "on." He'd only listen. He was an actual friend, a calm voice in a life that was increasingly likened to a tornado. Our friendship grew slowly, naturally, on those unspoken commonalities, an appreciation of the inherent beauty of art and literature, and the comfort of friendship I knew I so desperately required. I looked forward to our easy interactions, a calm of serenity in my increasingly complicated life.

And then came the break. I finally got an interview for a big job at a reputable financial company downtown. It was a company that was known for innovative ideas and reaching the remotest ends of the globe. This was a huge step towards the New York position that I had always dreamed of, a way to prove myself and make a life of my own. Liam seemed very supportive, making me even more hopeful.

"You'll do it, Sophia," he assured me, leaving a gentle kiss on my forehead. "You're brilliant, baby. You're meant to get it right."

"I really hope so," I replied, a quiver of hope in my stomach. "This can change everything."

"It will," he assured me, with a great big smile. "Just be yourself. They'll love you." And I did feel this sense of hope, this firm belief that my new life in New York was finally coming together, that all my struggle was behind me.

I prepared thoroughly for the interview. I researched hours on the company's history, its major players, and its ongoing projects. I practiced responses to typical interview questions until they flowed naturally. I rehearsed speaking my responses aloud in a mirror. I put on my best professional attire, a navy blue suit with a tailored jacket, and double-checked everything. This was it. This was my chance.

"Oh!"

A kind of excitement filled me as I opened my eyes on interview day. Thus, I dressed myself: I underwent the process of verifying, for the tenth time, that my resume and portfolio were impeccable. I put on makeup purposely—the confident and professional look was something I desired to portray. I took a cab.

My heartbeat was dancing to the rhythm of excitement as we drove toward the glass-walled skyscraper at which the interview would take place. I tore an inner exhale in an effort to calm my nerves; yet, an obstinate jiggly nervousness remained lodged deep inside my stomach.

My excitement quickly turned into bare-faced shock the very moment I walked into the conference room for the interview. My breath lodged in my throat, and the world canted over. The courteous smiles of the other interviewers blurred.

"Good morning, Ms. Miller," a smiling woman began. "Thank you for coming in today. We're impressed with you."

She ran out of words. There, sitting easy at the head of the long, shining conference table, was Liam Ryder. His green eyes had a self-satisfied, knowing glint, and a cold, almost victorious smile sat on his lips. He sat straight, clearly at ease and in charge.

The air was thick, hard to breathe, like the oxygen had been removed from the whole room. All our shining dates, all our close moments, all the closed vows, the laughter—now had the similarity of clever deceptions.

My mind staggered with a try to piece together all these fragments of this ghastly reality. My heart pounded, not with excitement at the job, but with a crippling wave of heartbreak, humiliation, and a cold realization of being completely caught. Not by accident. This was him. This was Liam, standing before me, in charge of my fate. His betrayal was not only personal; it was a plot, designed to play with me.

I managed to stammer something, "Excuse me," my voice a soft whisper, weak and trembling. My body felt as if it were numb, yet the urge to escape was desperate and ran through me. I faced the door, needing to go before I completely fell apart. The room that I so hoped would be the entrance to my life now seemed to be a rotten trap. My feet carried me quickly away from the room, stunned by the public and sudden betrayal. I could sense the other interviewers watching me, their smile turning from polite interest to confusion, but I did not care. I merely wanted to breathe.

Within the hall, I heard the sound of Liam's voice, which was tense with a hint of panic. "Sophia! Wait! Please, let me explain!" he cried, following me out. His voice faltered, losing its confidence as practiced charm. For the very first time, his eyes as carefully built walls started to crumble, uncovering evidence of a faint glimmer of genuine concern, or perhaps just fear of getting caught.

"Tell me what, Liam?"

I was able to say, not glancing about, but my voice trembling. "Tell me that you did this? That all our time was a trick?"

"No, Sophia, it is not like that! Listen a moment!"

But it was too late. The harsh reality of his lie, his cruel, hard deceit, precluded explanation. His words were nothing but more lies. I felt completely trapped, ensnared in a cold spider web of deceptions, and all I wanted was to get out, to vanish from his eyes and from this entire nightmare. I just walked and walked, my mind reeling.

The sight of his self-satisfied smile ingrained in my brain, a harsh memory that would linger.