Too Rich to Beg

Chapter 005

The rest of the women in the breakroom blanched, their laughter dying instantly in their throats. They shoved their phones into pockets and purses as if hiding contraband weapons.

"Apologies, Madam Chairwoman," one stammered, her face pale. "We're returning to our desks immediately." They scattered like roaches when the lights turn on, leaving Serena Montgomery alone in the sterile silence of the kitchenette.

Serena walked over to the sink, her movements stiff. She picked up her favorite ceramic mug—a gift from her late father—and stared at it for a moment. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, she hurled it into the basin. It shattered into jagged shards.

She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She just stared at the broken pieces, feeling like her own dignity lay there with them. Liam wasn't just useless; he was a viral contaminant, infecting every part of her life with humiliation.

She retreated to her office, locked the door, and collapsed into her executive chair. She didn't work. She just sat there as the afternoon sun tracked across the floor, dreading the evening to come.

Meanwhile, Liam returned to the townhouse to change, only to find the living room occupied by his mother-in-law, Vanessa Sterling. She was perched on the sofa, flipping through a magazine with aggressive snaps of the pages.

"Liam," she barked without looking up. "Sit. I have questions."

Liam didn't argue. He sat on the edge of the adjacent armchair, hands on his knees like a schoolboy called to the principal's office.

Vanessa closed the magazine and fixed him with a stare that could strip paint. "The fertility clinic called. The third round of IVF failed. again."

She leaned forward. "I spoke to the specialist. Serena is fine. You are fine. Physically, at least. But three failures? That’s statistically absurd. So tell me the truth: does your family have a history of genetic defects? Is there something wrong with your bloodline?"

Liam frowned. "Mom, that's impossible. My parents are healthy. My grandparents lived into their nineties. There are no genetic issues."

Vanessa scoffed, crossing her arms. "So you say. Words are cheap. I want proof. Bring your parents here this weekend. I’m sending them to my private doctor for a full genetic screening. I’m paying for it, so don't give me any excuses about money."

Liam felt a flash of irritation. It was one thing to insult him, but dragging his exiled parents into her web of condescension was another.

"That's not necessary," Liam said, his voice tight. "They are fine. We don't need your charity checkups."

"I didn't ask for your opinion," Vanessa snapped. "You bring them, or I’ll assume you’re hiding something. End of discussion." She stood up, grabbed her designer bag, and headed for the door. "Be ready tonight. When Serena calls, you go to the Family Office. Don't be late."

The door slammed. Liam sighed, rubbing his temples. The irony was suffocating. For two years, despite being legally married, he and Serena had never been intimate. Not once. Yet they had spent thousands on clinical procedures to force a pregnancy, all of which failed. The doctors had suggested doing it the "natural way," but Serena treated the idea with the same enthusiasm as contracting a disease.

And now his genes were being blamed?

"Forget it," Liam muttered to himself. "One crisis at a time."

He went to his room and changed into the suit he had prepared. Since he had given his ID to Howard Livingston for the corporate transfer paperwork, he couldn't buy a car yet. He needed wheels. He went out and bought another electric scooter—brand new, shiny, and identical to the one Warren West had destroyed.

He straddled the silent machine and headed toward the Ritz-Carlton.

The hotel was a monolith of glass and steel, a beacon of luxury in the center of Manhattan. This was the venue for the high school reunion—a place chosen to showcase success and highlight failure.

Liam parked his new scooter in the shadows of the valet lot, smoothing his windblown hair in the reflection of a polished granite pillar. Just as he turned toward the entrance, a sleek black Mercedes S-Class glided to a halt next to him.

The window rolled down. A man with slicked-back hair and a face that spoke of expensive facials leaned out.

"Liam?" the man called out, flashing a practiced, white-toothed smile.

Liam’s face lit up. "Quentin!"

It was Quentin Ford, the high school Quarterback and one of the few people who hadn't treated Liam like a ghost back in the day.

"Looking sharp," Liam said, walking over as Quentin stepped out of the luxury sedan. "Nice ride. What did that set you back?"

Quentin waved a dismissive hand, adjusting his cufflinks. "It drives okay. Nothing special. Set me back about ninety grand. Pocket change, really."

He glanced past Liam, his eyes landing on the electric scooter parked nearby. A flicker of amusement crossed his face.

"And you?" Quentin asked, a smirk playing on his lips. "What kind of horsepower did you bring?"

"That beast right there," Liam said, pointing to the scooter with zero shame. "Brand new. The suspension is a dream compared to my old one."

Quentin chuckled, shaking his head. "Right. Well, let's go inside. I think everyone else is already there."

They entered the private ballroom together. The contrast was immediate. As soon as Quentin stepped in, a gravity well of attention formed around him. Men in suits clapped him on the back; women in cocktail dresses flocked to him with dazzling smiles.

Liam, trailing in his wake, was essentially invisible. He was nudged aside, shuffled to the periphery until he found himself alone in a corner chair.

He didn't mind. It gave him a vantage point. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on a woman who seemed to be the sun of her own solar system.

Sophie Summers.

In high school, she had been the girl every boy dreamed of—sweet, ethereal, always wearing floral dresses. Now, she was a woman. She wore a tailored Chanel suit that clung to her curves, radiating a sophisticated, dangerous allure.

Quentin had already made his way to her, beaming.

"Sophie!" Quentin announced, his voice booming. "You get more beautiful every year. Where are you working these days?"

Before Sophie could answer, another classmate, Jocelyn Zane, cut in loudly.

"You haven't heard, Quarterback? Our Sophie is about to hit the big time! She’s signing a contract next week with Zenith Media! She’s going to be a star!"

The room erupted.

"Zenith Media?" someone gasped. "That's the top agency in the country! They represent half of Hollywood!"

"Sophie, that's incredible! You have to give me an autograph before you get too famous to know us!"

"Me too! Sign my napkin!"

The classmates swarmed her, their adoration thick and cloying. Liam, watching from his corner, felt a slow smile spread across his face.

Zenith Media.

As of tomorrow morning, that company belonged to him. Sophie Summers, the star of the reunion, was about to become his employee.

He stood up and walked toward the table where Sophie was holding court. Quentin was seated to her right, basking in her reflected glory. But the seat to her left was empty.

Liam slid into the chair.

"Congratulations, Sophie," Liam said, his voice calm amidst the noise. "I hear Zenith Media has a very... interesting new management structure coming into play."

Sophie turned to look at him, her smile polite but distant, not recognizing the man who now held the keys to her future.

"Thank you, Liam," she said. "I'm just excited for the opportunity. It's a dream come true."

"I'm sure it will be," Liam replied, leaning back. "Dreams have a funny way of changing when you wake up."

Just then, Jocelyn Zane noticed Liam sitting in the prime spot next to the star. She wrinkled her nose.

"Liam, what are you doing there?" she asked loudly. "That seat is for Sebastian Cross. He's a VP now. You might want to move back to the kids' table before you embarrass yourself."

Liam didn't move. He looked at Jocelyn, then back at Sophie.

"I think I'm comfortable right here," Liam said.

The air in the room grew suddenly tense.