The Rules Begin to Break
855 Words
Chapter Seven: The Rules Begin to Break
First-person POV (Amara)
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The next morning, he was still there.
Liam didn’t leave the bed early like he always did. He didn’t pull away or pretend the night hadn’t happened.
He just lay beside me, eyes closed, one arm resting behind his head, the other lightly brushing the blanket between us.
I didn’t move.
I watched him in the quiet, noticing how peaceful he looked when he wasn’t thinking or talking or commanding a room. The hard lines in his face had softened. The tension in his shoulders had melted.
He looked… human.
Not like the billionaire people feared.
Not like the man who had hired me to be his wife.
But like a boy who once loved someone and never healed from it.
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When he finally opened his eyes, he didn’t flinch at the sight of me.
He just said, “You’re still staring.”
I smiled. “Maybe you looked less scary when you were asleep.”
He turned his head slightly. “Maybe you’re less annoying when you’re quiet.”
I laughed.
And for the first time, he smiled.
Not a fake one.
Not a press smile.
A real one.
It disappeared quickly — but I had seen it.
And something warm slipped quietly into my chest.
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The days after that changed.
Slightly.
He still left for meetings in the morning, still came home late, still spoke like he was running out of words. But he started checking on me more often.
A soft knock on my door.
A quiet “Are you okay?”
Even a note once — left on my pillow, written in neat handwriting:
> “The rain will pass. Drink something warm. –L”
I kept the note. Tucked it into my journal like a pressed flower.
I told myself not to read too much into it.
But my heart didn’t listen.
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One afternoon, I found him in the music room.
Yes — the mansion had one. A large, dim room filled with old instruments and dust-covered speakers. I had only peeked in once, never daring to enter.
But I heard a soft melody coming from behind the door.
Curious, I pushed it open.
Liam sat at the piano — his fingers dancing slowly across the keys. The tune was haunting. Gentle. Sad.
He didn’t notice me at first.
When he did, he didn’t stop playing.
I stood in silence, watching.
“You play?” I asked quietly.
“Sometimes,” he murmured.
“What’s the song called?”
He paused, fingers resting on the keys. “Her name.”
I swallowed. “Your fiancée?”
He nodded.
“I can leave—” I began.
“No,” he said. “You can stay.”
So I did.
I sat beside him on the small bench, careful not to touch him.
He continued playing, and I closed my eyes, letting the notes wrap around me like soft hands. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.
When the music stopped, we sat in silence.
Then he said, almost in a whisper, “I think she hated this song.”
“Why?”
“Because I only played it after we started drifting apart.”
His voice cracked, just slightly.
“I was there,” he said. “But not present. And she was begging me to see her. But all I saw were deals and deadlines.”
I reached for his hand.
For the first time, he didn’t pull away.
He let me hold it.
---
That night, we shared dinner alone.
No press. No Helen. No cameras.
Just him and me and candlelight.
He poured me wine. I made him laugh with stories about the café. He told me about his younger brother — who ran off with a girl and never came back.
“I envied him,” Liam admitted. “He got out.”
“Out of what?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
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When we returned to our room, he lingered by the door.
His eyes on me. His lips parted. Like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how.
Then he whispered, “You’re… different.”
I took a step closer. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s dangerous,” he said.
And then, very slowly, he brushed a strand of hair from my face.
His fingers lingered.
“I told you not to fall for me,” he said softly.
“I didn’t,” I whispered back. “I’m still trying not to.”
He leaned in, almost like he would kiss me.
But he stopped — inches from my lips.
“I’m not ready to be loved again,” he said, his breath warm on my skin.
I nodded. “Then let me stay here. Beside you. Without asking for anything.”
He pulled back slowly, pain flickering in his eyes.
Then he turned off the light.
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I didn’t sleep that night.
Not because of fear.
But because…
I was falling.
And I didn’t know how to stop.
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- Writer
