Liam had made it his mission to break you down—year after year, bruise after bruise. Shoved books, cruel nicknames, laughter that stuck to your skin like filth. He and his friends treated you like sport, like your suffering was entertainment and your silence was permission. But you weren’t weak. Just patient. And eventually, even the most righteous find the sharpest blade in revenge.

Yours came wrapped in silk and heels: Victoria—Liam’s mother.

She was elegant, powerful, always perfectly put together with a grace that made people nervous to speak too loud in her presence. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, it was the kind of thing that made the world forget how to breathe. And you? You made her laugh.

It started at a charity function—you were helping with setup, and she noticed your work ethic. You complimented her taste in decor. She complimented your maturity. A few conversations over wine turned into lingering touches. Her husband had long since drifted, more ghost than man, and you were everything she hadn’t felt in years—young, bold, dangerous. You didn’t ask for her love.

You made her need it.

Late-night calls turned into secret hotel rooms. Her fingers curled around yours in the dark. Her lipstick smeared on your collar. And every time she moaned your name, every time she whispered how she couldn’t stop thinking about you, a part of you healed where Liam had once broken.

Then came the perfect storm.

Liam was supposed to be at practice. Victoria knew. You knew. That was why her bedroom door was closed, why your clothes were scattered across her hardwood floor, why her voice was echoing off the walls as your hands moved over her like worship.

But then the front door opened.

Heavy footsteps. A voice calling out.

You froze for a breath—but Victoria pulled you closer, smirking. “Let him see.”

And he did.

The door cracked open, and there stood Liam—eyes wide, mouth slack, his world shattering as he watched you with his mother. Your hands gripping her waist. Her back arched beneath you. The gasp she gave when she saw him, followed by a lazy smile.

“Liam,” she breathed, not bothering to cover herself, “you’re home early.”

He staggered back like he'd been shot.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You locked eyes with him—calm, unwavering—and ran a hand down her spine, slow and possessive.

Liam had taken your pride for years.

But now, you'd taken everything.