Chapter 7: A Hidden Life
1403 Words
Georgia didn’t sleep.
Not after that.
She lay awake on the couch long after Liam had pulled away and left the room without another word.
The robe was still loose around her shoulders, her lips still tingled with his kiss, and her heart... her heart wouldn’t calm down.
She stared at the ceiling until the light outside turned from deep midnight to pale gray. Her fingers rested on her stomach, where his hands had been only hours ago, and she wondered if she had imagined it all. If maybe the pressure, the silence, the loneliness had tricked her into believing that what happened between them meant something.
But she hadn’t imagined the way he had touched her.
She hadn’t imagined the ache in his voice when he said, “Tell me to stop.”
And she hadn’t imagined the way her own voice trembled when she told him not to.
It was real. And it had broken something open inside her that she wasn’t ready to face yet.
When she finally stood, the sun had already begun its slow crawl across the city skyline. She wrapped her robe tighter and stepped out of the study, back into the long hallway that led to her room. The silence followed her like a ghost.
She thought about knocking on Liam’s door. About asking what last night meant. But the words “This changes nothing” echoed too loudly in her head.
So she didn’t.
Instead, she went back to her cold bed, pulled the blankets over her, and stared at the wall until her eyes burned.
---
The next morning, she barely touched her breakfast. The housekeeper, gentle as ever, didn’t ask questions. Georgia was grateful for the silence.
She spent the rest of the day wandering around again.
The mansion felt heavier now. Not just cold, but full of shadows she hadn’t noticed before.
It was near the west wing, in a room she hadn’t opened yet, that she found something strange.
The door wasn’t locked, but it creaked as she pushed it open. The room inside was dim, the curtains drawn, the air filled with dust and quiet.
It was a study but not like Liam’s main one. This one felt older. Forgotten. There were books on the desk, photo frames which are turned face down, and a leather-bound journal which is half hidden under a stack of papers.
She shouldn’t have touched it.
But curiosity got her harder than reason.
She reached for the journal and flipped to the first page. The handwriting was neat and unmistakably Liam’s.
---
"SHE WOULD HATE ME IF SHE KNEW THE TRUTH. THEY ALL WOULD.”
---
Georgia’s heart was stilled.
She flipped to the next page, then the next. Most of the content were short, scattered thoughts, but a few sentences caught her attention.
“MY MOTHER WARNED ME NEVER TO TRUST ANYONE. NOT EVEN LOVE.”
“I SHOULD HAVE BURNED THAT LETTER. BUT I KEPT IT. LIKE A FOOL.”
“SHE LOOKED LIKE HER. THE DAY GEORGIA SMILED AT ME, I SAW HER AGAIN.”
Georgia sat down slowly.
Who was “her”?
Who was the woman he kept comparing her to?
She glanced around the room, as if the answer might be hiding in the shadows.
The journal slipped from her hands and fell open to a pressed piece of paper tucked between the pages. A letter.
She lifted it carefully. The edges were worn, the ink faded in places.
---
LIAM,
IF YOU'RE READING THIS, THEN I PROBABLY FAILED YOU.
I TRIED TO PROTECT YOU. I TRIED TO RAISE YOU TO BE STRONG. BUT THERE WERE THINGS I NEVER TOLD YOU. THINGS YOU HAVE EVERY RIGHT TO KNOW.
HE DESTROYED ME. YOUR FATHER. AND MAYBE I DESTROYED MYSELF TOO, BY TRUSTING THE WRONG PEOPLE. BUT PLEASE, DON'T LET YOUR PAST POISON YOUR FUTURE.
NOT EVERYONE WILL BETRAY YOU. NOT EVERYONE WILL LIE.
THERE WILL COME A TIME WHEN SOMEONE OFFERS YOU SOMETHING REAL. DON’T PUSH THEM AWAY LIKE I DID.
DON’T BECOME THE GHOST OF A MAN TRYING TO AVENGE A CHILDHOOD THAT WASN’T YOUR FAULT.
LIVE, LIAM. EVEN IF IT HURTS.
LOVE,
MOM
Georgia’s hands trembled.
His mother.
The photo in the library. The softness in Liam’s expression. The woman beside him was family.
And now, Georgia knew something no one else did. Liam wasn’t just cold because he wanted power. He was protecting something. Hiding scars that went deeper than the boardroom or the contract.
She closed the journal gently and returned everything to its place. Then she stepped out of the place.
As she stepped out of the room, she suddenly understood something:
Liam hadn’t just married her for business.
He had married her because she reminded him of something or someone he’d lost.
---
Later that night, Georgia heard the door again.
It was after midnight when Liam came home. She heard his footsteps pause outside her room. She didn’t breathe.
But he didn’t knock.
Didn’t speak.
Just moved on.
She sat up in bed. Her thoughts refused to settle.
Finally, she stood, pulled on a cardigan, and tiptoed down the hallway again.
But this time, she didn’t go to the library or the cold study. She walked to the kitchen.
She needed something warm. Something normal. Even if it was just tea.
She found a kettle, filled it, and put it on fire. As the water heated, she leaned against the counter, eyes closed.
Then she heard his voice.
“You’re up again.”
She turned.
Liam stood at the doorway, suit jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up like before.
He looked tired. Worn down. But still every bit the man she had kissed. The man she had almost given herself to.
She lifted the kettle. “Couldn’t sleep.”
He nodded once. “Me neither.”
For a moment, they stood in silence. Just two people in a kitchen too big for comfort.
“I found a room today,” she said quietly. “West wing. Old study.”
Liam stiffened. “You weren’t supposed to..”
“I didn’t go looking for secrets,” she cut in. “But I found one anyway.”
He didn’t speak.
She took a deep breath. “Your mother’s letter. I read it.”
His eyes closed for a heartbeat. When they opened again, they were darker than before. “You had no right.”
“Maybe not,” she said, voice shaking. “But now I understand a little more.”
She set the kettle down. “You think pushing people away will protect you. But it won’t.”
He walked forward, stopping just a step away from her.
“What do you want from me, Georgia?”
Her eyes searched his. “The truth. Just the truth.”
A long silence passed.
Then, softly, he said, “She died alone. My mother. And I swore I’d never end up like her. Trusting people. Believing in love.”
Her chest ached. “You don’t have to be her.”
“I already am,” he whispered.
Without thinking, she reached up and touched his face. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”
For a second, he leaned into her touch.
Then he stepped back.
“This is a contract, Georgia. Let’s not forget that.”
But she didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
“Maybe. But last night didn’t feel like a contract,” she said. “And neither does this.”
Their eyes locked.
The air between them was full of words unsaid.
She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But tonight, she wasn’t ready to pretend anymore.
And deep down, neither was he.
- Writer
