Oliver sat beside the hospital bed, his hands folded tightly in his lap, as if letting go would make something worse happen.
Just a few hours ago, he had been at the restaurant, wiping tables, listening to the low hum of the fridge, when his phone rang. An unknown number. A calm voice that was too calm. They told him his mother had collapsed. Blacked out. That she was at the hospital.
Everything after that felt blurred.
The doctor had spoken to him earlier, standing by a desk with files in his hands. He said many words. Long words. Cold words. Oliver nodded even when he didn't understand. His ears rang. His head felt empty.
But one thing cut through everything else.
Pancreatic cancer.
Late stage.
That was all his brain kept repeating.
Now, sitting here, it finally felt real.
Mrs Montero lay still on the bed. Too still. Her face looked thinner than he remembered, almost fragile. Clear tubes ran from her arm, taped carefully to her skin. A heart monitor beside the bed blinked and beeped softly, its sound steady, almost cruel in how calm it was. A thin oxygen tube rested under her nose, rising and falling gently with each shallow breath.
Oliver stared at her chest, counting each rise.
One.
Two.
Three.
He didn't know what he was feeling. Fear, yes. A deep, shaking fear that sat in his stomach. But there was anger too. Hot and sharp.
Why didn't you tell me?
Why did you always smile and say you were fine?
He clenched his jaw, his eyes burning. She had always been like this. Strong. Quiet. Carrying everything alone. And now this secret—this huge, terrifying thing—had been sitting inside her while he knew nothing.
His fingers trembled as he reached out and lightly held her hand. It felt warm. Real. Too real.
"Mom…" he whispered, though she didn't stir.
The door to the room opened softly.
Oliver didn't look up at first. He thought it might be a nurse. Or maybe he hoped it was. But then a familiar presence filled the space, warm and steady.
Liam.
He stood there for a moment, taking everything in—the machines, the bed, Oliver's stiff posture. His eyes softened immediately.
He didn't ask questions.
He didn't demand answers.
He simply walked closer.
Liam stopped beside Oliver and gently squeezed his hand, their fingers fitting together like they always did. His grip was firm, grounding.
"I'm here," Liam said quietly. "Everything will be alright. I promise. I'll make sure it is."
Something inside Oliver finally cracked.
He didn't cry. But his shoulders loosened, just a little. The tight knot in his chest eased enough for him to breathe again.
Liam's touch reminded him he wasn't alone. That he didn't have to carry this by himself, the way his mother always had.
Oliver leaned slightly into Liam's side, still staring at his mother's face, still scared, still angry—but now, just a little less lost.l.
They stayed like that, in silence, the machines humming softly in their ears.
Later in the evening, they walked side by side along the narrow path outside the hospital. The night was calm, as if it didn't know what was happening inside Oliver's chest. The streetlights cast long shadows on the ground, stretching and breaking as they moved.
Oliver's hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets. His shoulders were slumped. He looked smaller somehow.
He broke the silence first.
"The doctor talked a lot," he said softly. "I didn't understand most of it at first. He kept using big words… medical words."
He let out a weak breath. "But then he stopped and looked at me, and that's when I knew it was bad."
Liam listened quietly, walking at the same pace, his face calm but unreadable.
Oliver swallowed. "He said… She has cancer. She doesn't have much time. A few months. Maybe less."
The words hung in the air, heavy and cruel.
Oliver kept talking, as if stopping would make everything crash down on him. "But he also said there's something they can do. Not a cure. Just treatment. To make her live longer. To ease the pain." He laughed softly, bitterly. "He called it 'elongating her lifespan.' Like time is something you can stretch with your hands."
His voice dropped. "But it costs money. A lot of money."
He said it plainly. No drama. No begging. Just the truth, straight from his heart. He stared at the ground as he spoke, not noticing that Liam had stopped looking at him.
Liam was staring ahead now, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on nothing. His mind was moving fast. Too fast.
Oliver went on, unaware. "I don't know what to do. I work at a restaurant. I barely make enough for school things. Even if I worked day and night, it wouldn't be enough." He shook his head slowly. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this. I just—"
Liam suddenly stopped walking.
Oliver took two more steps before realizing it. He turned back, confused. "Liam?"
Liam looked at him then. Really looked at him. His expression had changed. The hesitation was gone. The confusion too. What was left was something firm. Decided.
"Don't worry," Liam said.
Oliver frowned. "What?"
"I said don't worry," Liam repeated, his voice low but steady. "I'll find a solution."
Oliver stared at him, startled. "Liam… this isn't something you can just fix."
Liam stepped closer and placed his hands on Oliver's shoulders, grounding him the same way he always did. "I know," he said. "But I'm not saying this lightly."
There was a pause. Then, softer, "You're not doing this alone. I won't let you."
Oliver's throat tightened. "Liam…"
"I'll find a way," Liam said again, like a promise carved into stone. "Whatever it takes."
Oliver searched his face, trying to see doubt, fear, anything—but Liam only looked calm, as if he had already chosen a path and was ready to walk it, no matter the cost.
Oliver felt something other than fear pressing against his chest.
Hope.
Small. Fragile.
But enough to keep him standing.
Dinner was already halfway done in the Liam's abode when Liam finally spoke.
The dining room was large, polished, too quiet for a family of three. Cutlery clinked softly against plates. The chandelier above them glowed warmly, but there was nothing warm about the atmosphere.
Mrs Adrien sat straight-backed, elegant as always. Her face was calm, cold, unreadable. She watched her plate as if it had personally offended her. In her mind, the question kept circling—where did Liam even get these strange habits from?
Certainly not from her side.
No one in her family history had ever been… that.
If there was any rot, it had to be from her husband's bloodline.
Liam pushed his food around for a moment, then dropped his fork.
"I want to talk about Mrs Montero," he said.
The sound echoed louder than it should have.
Mr Adrien looked up first. "I've heard," he said calmly. "The incident. She collapsed at the house."
"She's worked for this family for a long time," Liam added, his voice steady but tight. "She practically raised Grandmother when she was sick. She raised Oliver alone. She—"
"That's enough," Mrs Adrien cut in sharply, placing her napkin on the table. "You don't need to finish that sentence."
Liam's jaw clenched.
"I already know what you're about to say," she continued. "And the answer is no. It's impossible." Her eyes lifted to him, sharp and accusing. "That boy is influencing you. Pressuring you. Controlling you. Ever since he entered your life, you've been acting irrational."
Something in Liam snapped.
He laughed once, bitter and short. Then he looked straight at his mother, really looked at her, and for the first time in his life—he hated her.
"You're wrong," he said.
Mrs Adrien stiffened.
"I like Oliver," Liam said clearly. "I chose him. No one forced me. No one manipulated me." His eyes burned. "And I'm proud of it."
The room went dead silent.
Mrs Adrien's eyes widened. Not because she didn't know—but because hearing it said so boldly, so shamelessly, felt like a slap to her face.
"You—" she began, furious. "How dare you say such disgusting things so casually?"
"I'm not ashamed," Liam went on, his voice rising. "I won't pretend it's a mistake or a phase just to make you comfortable."
Mr Adrien finally spoke. "Liam."
But Liam didn't stop.
"I care about him. I love him. And if you think I'll abandon him because you don't approve, then you never knew me at all."
Mrs Adrien stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly. "This is absurd. This ends now. That woman's illness, that boy's tears—none of this will work on me."
Mr Adrien remained seated, watching his son carefully. He knew that look. He had worn it himself once. A long time ago. A look that said I've already chosen, whether you accept it or not.
He didn't want his son to live with the same regret he did.
Then Liam said the one thing neither of them expected.
"If you refuse," he said quietly, "I won't take over Stellar Corps."
Mrs Adrien froze.
"What did you say?"
"I mean it," Liam said. His hands were shaking now, but his voice wasn't. "I'll walk away. From the company. From the name. From everything you built for me."
Mr Adrien's eyes widened slightly.
"You wouldn't," Mrs Adrien whispered, then scoffed. "You're bluffing."
"I'm not," Liam replied. "I'd rather live with nothing than live a life you control."
Silence swallowed the room.
Mr Adrien leaned back slowly, his face unreadable, thoughts racing. He saw his younger self standing in Liam's place. He saw the choice he hadn't been brave enough to make.
Mrs Adrien stared at her son, anger, shock, and disbelief crashing together.
"You would throw everything away," she said, voice trembling, "for him?"
Liam didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
The word landed heavy. Final.
No one spoke after that.
The food grew cold.
And that night, Mrs Adrien realized this wasn't rebellion.
It was war...