Too Rich to Beg

Chapter 007

The afternoon sun in Manhattan cast sharp shadows. Liam Livingston stood amidst the city's hum, staring at his reflection with profound dissatisfaction. He had spent two hours trawling through mid-tier stores, hunting for a suit that didn’t scream "insurance salesman," but it was futile. The fabrics were coarse, the cuts boxy. Nothing draped correctly. It was an ironic purgatory for a man who could purchase the entire city block.

Admitting defeat, Liam retreated to an alley and connected directly with the private secretariat of Howard Livingston. The machinery of the dynasty did not idle. Scarcely thirty minutes later, a sleek black van pulled up. A courier handed him a garment bag containing a bespoke masterpiece—midnight charcoal, featuring a Neapolitan cut that promised to fit like a second skin. No logos, just the quiet confidence of world-class tailoring.

Clutching the bag, Liam straddled his Rusted Moped. The small engine whined as he navigated traffic, a battered speck weaving through luxury sedans toward the Harborview Penthouses. The security guards barely looked up as the dilapidated bike buzzed past manicured hedges. Liam parked in a hidden corner of the garage to avoid offending the neighbors and ascended.

The moment he stepped through the front door, the atmosphere shifted. The air was cool, scented with jasmine. In the living room, bathed in the golden hour light pouring through floor-to-ceiling windows, stood Serena Montgomery.

She stood before a gilded mirror, fingers tracing the "Dream Lover" pendant—Liam's secret gift. Liam watched from the entryway with a faint smile. Serena possessed a natural, swan-like elegance, a fragility concealing a steel spine. The diamond caught the light, making her look regal and happy.

Then she saw his reflection. The transformation was instantaneous. The soft look evaporated, replaced by cold indifference. She dropped her hand from the necklace and turned away, refusing to meet his gaze—a masterclass in marital freezing-out.

"You're finally back," a sharp voice cut the silence. Vanessa Sterling sat on the sofa, ignoring a magazine on her lap. Her eyes narrowed at the plain garment bag in Liam's hand. "Is that the suit?" She checked her diamond watch impatiently. "Don't just stand there. Go change. We leave for the Family Office in five minutes. If we are late because of your incompetence, you’ll be walking.""Right. I'll be quick," Liam Livingston replied, his voice even. He didn't wait for a follow-up insult. He ducked into the guest bedroom—which served as his quarters—and closed the door.

He moved with practiced speed. Off went the cheap casual wear, and on went the delivery from his father’s team. As he pulled the trousers on, he felt the difference immediately. The Super 180s wool was light, breathable, and incredibly soft. The jacket settled onto his shoulders with a reassuring weight. He fastened the buttons, adjusted the cuffs, and ran a hand through his hair, styling it into a semblance of order. He didn't need a mirror to know he looked good. He felt like himself again, if only for a moment.

When he emerged into the living room, the silence was heavy.

Vanessa Sterling looked up, ready to criticize the fit, the color, or the style. But the words died in her throat. She blinked, her eyes scanning him from the polished shoes to the perfectly dimpled tie knot. For a fleeting second, the disdain in her eyes was replaced by grudging surprise.

"Well," Vanessa Sterling said, a rare nod of approval escaping her. "That... is actually passable. You finally look like a human being instead of a street sweeper. It’s about time you learned how to dress for the occasion."

Serena Montgomery turned away from the mirror, her high heels clicking sharply on the floor. She gave Liam Livingston a cursory, sweeping glance. The hostility in her eyes softened by a fraction, though her guard remained up. He didn't look like an embarrassment today. That was all she could ask for.

"Let's go," Serena said, grabbing her clutch. "I don't want to be the last family to arrive. Again."

Liam took the keys. He was the designated driver, of course.

The drive to the Family Office was smooth, the silence in the car punctuated only by Vanessa Sterling's occasional instructions on which lane to take and her critiques of other drivers. Liam navigated the roads with ease, guiding the car out of the city and toward the sprawling estates where the old money of the region congregated.

As they turned onto the long, winding driveway of the Montgomery estate, the scale of the gathering became apparent. The gravel lot in front of the main villa was already transformed into a chaotic exhibition of wealth. Dozens of vehicles were parked in tight formation—Bentleys, Ferraris, Rolls-Royces, and high-end Mercedes. It looked less like a family reunion and more like the VIP valet stand at a global economic summit.

Liam found a spot near the back, parking their car with precision.

Vanessa Sterling stepped out first. She was dressed for war, wearing a stunning peacock-green gown that hugged her figure, draped with an apricot-colored cashmere shawl. As she moved, the fabric flowed like water. Despite her age, her skin was luminous, maintained by an aggressive regimen of treatments and serums. Standing next to Serena Montgomery, who wore a sleek, modern evening dress, they looked less like mother and daughter and more like glamorous sisters.

Their entrance into the grand hall of the Family Office had the desired effect. Heads turned. Conversations paused. A ripple of whispers moved through the room. Relatives and business associates flocked to them, eager to exchange pleasantries, compliment their outfits, and bask in the radiant energy the two women projected.

Liam Livingston, as usual, drifted in their wake, a shadow attached to their brilliance. Most of the guests offered him the courtesy of total invisibility. They looked through him, around him, but never at him. He was the accessory that didn't quite fit the decor.

However, anonymity was a luxury Liam was rarely afforded when Preston Montgomery was in the room.

There were certain laws of nature within the Montgomery clan: water is wet, the sky is blue, and Preston Montgomery must find a way to publicly humiliate Liam. If a gathering went by without Preston picking a fight, the family would assume he was terminally ill.

"Hey! Look who it is!" A loud, braying voice cut through the ambient chatter.

Preston Montgomery separated himself from a circle of sycophants and swaggered toward Liam. He held a crystal tumbler of whiskey in one hand, his other hand raised in a mock greeting. His voice was pitched perfectly to ensure that at least half the room could hear him.

"I almost didn't recognize you, Liam! You're actually dressed like a person today. Wonders never cease." Preston reached out and slapped Liam on the shoulder, the gesture heavy-handed and patronizing.

Liam Livingston stood his ground, a polite, impenetrable smile fixed on his face. He didn't speak. He knew the game.

Preston stepped back, his eyes raking over Liam's suit with exaggerated scrutiny. He let out a scoff, a wet, dismissive sound.

"Let me guess," Preston sneered, leaning in conspiratorially. "End of season sale at the outlet mall? I swear I saw this exact rack of suits at that department store near my apartment. What were they going for? Buy one get one free? Or was it the $29 special? You have to be careful with those, Liam. The stitching is terrible. Did you spend all afternoon clipping the loose threads before you came out?"

The immediate vicinity went quiet. Then, a few stifled chuckles broke out. Eyes darted toward Liam, filled with amusement and mockery. To them, he was the court jester, the pauper who had married into royalty and refused to learn his place.

Serena Montgomery stiffened. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and humiliation. She had given him two thousand dollars specifically to avoid this exact scenario. And what had he done? He’d apparently gone dumpster diving for a bargain and pocketed the difference. She felt the heat of the room’s gaze burning into her back. Every time she thought he couldn't embarrass her more, he found a new rock bottom.

Liam, however, remained unfazed. He smoothed his lapel with a calm, deliberate motion.

"I hate to disappoint you, Preston," Liam said, his voice calm and carrying easily over the snickers. "But I didn't pay for this suit."

Preston Montgomery froze for a second, processing the information. Then, he threw his head back and roared with laughter. It was a theatrical, over-the-top performance that shook his whole body.

"Didn't pay for it? Oh, that is rich! Hahaha!" Preston wiped a tear from his eye, gesturing to the crowd. "Did you hear that? He didn't pay! What happened, Liam? Did the shop owner take one look at you, see how pathetic you looked, and decide to donate it as a charitable tax write-off? 'Here you go, son, try to look employable'?"

The laughter in the hall grew louder. The guests made no attempt to hide their amusement now. They looked at Liam not just with scorn, but with pity—the kind one reserves for a stray dog that has wandered into a ballroom.

Vanessa Sterling’s face had turned a shade of crimson that clashed violently with her peacock-green dress. She let out a sharp, angry huff, pivoting on her heel. She couldn't stand to be in the blast radius of Liam's ineptitude for another second. She marched away toward the buffet tables, distancing herself socially and physically.

Serena Montgomery felt like she wanted the marble floor to open up and swallow her whole. She stepped close to Liam, her voice a venomous whisper in his ear.

"If you don't know how to speak, keep your mouth shut," she hissed. "Go find a corner and sit down. Don't move until we leave."

She turned to walk away, desperate to salvage her own dignity and find a seat far removed from the spectacle. She hated bringing him to these events. It was always a disaster. But the rules of the Family Office were absolute: quarterly meetings required full attendance. Unless you were hospitalized or out of the country, spousal absence was seen as a sign of weakness or marital strife.

"And Serena," Preston called out, his attention shifting to his cousin as he sensed her retreat. He wasn't done. His ego needed more fuel. "I really have to say this for your own good. It’s bad enough your husband is cheap, but do you have to be so frugal with yourself? That dress... what is it? A department store knock-off? Three hundred bucks? Maybe five?"

He shook his head with feigned sympathy, his voice dripping with condescension. "It takes a lot of courage to wear something that... economical... to a Montgomery family gathering. I admire your bravery, really."

The insult landed with precision. Serena stopped, her hand gripping her clutch so tightly her knuckles turned white. The smile Preston wore was hideous to her—smug, oily, and triumphant.

Seeing that he had the room’s full attention, Preston Montgomery straightened his spine. He puffed out his chest, gripping the lapels of his own suit jacket. His expression shifted from mockery to arrogance.

"You see, some of us respect the tradition of this family," Preston announced, projecting his voice to the back of the hall. "For this quarterly meeting, I didn't cut corners. I flew in the master himself. I commissioned this suit from the legendary designer Marcus Hale. It is completely bespoke, hand-stitched, and tailored to my exact measurements. Total cost? Thirty-nine thousand dollars."

A collective gasp rippled through the room.

"Thirty-nine thousand? For a suit?"

"Marcus Hale? He’s impossible to book!"

"Now that is class. That is how a Montgomery should look."

The murmurs of admiration were audible. Thirty-nine thousand dollars was a significant sum, even for the wealthy relatives in the room. It was a statement piece. It was a flex.

Preston soaked it in. He basked in the envy and the approval, his ego inflating with every second. He shot a glance at Serena, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. He had won. He had humiliated the husband and shamed the wife in one stroke.

Serena felt the blood rushing to her face. It was a mix of fury and shame. Preston had publicly stripped her of her status, reducing her to the poor relation in front of the entire clan. She wanted to retort, to scream, but she had nothing. Her dress wasn't cheap, but it wasn't haute couture. Against a thirty-nine-thousand-dollar narrative, she was defenseless.

She glanced sideways. Liam was standing there, his expression unchanged. He looked... bored. There was a faint, almost serene smile on his face, as if he were watching a particularly dull play. Seeing his calmness only fueled her irritation. How could he be so oblivious? How could he not feel the weight of the humiliation?

Liam sensed her gaze. He turned, offering her a bright, reassuring grin.

It was the wrong move. Serena scowled, her eyes icy, and she whipped her head away, refusing to engage with him.

Liam sighed internally. He raised an eyebrow, shifting his attention back to Preston Montgomery, who was currently preening like a peacock in mating season.

With a casual, almost lazy stride, Liam walked up to Preston. He mimicked the gesture Preston had used earlier, reaching out and patting Preston on the shoulder.

"Hey!" Preston yelped, jumping back as if he had been electrocuted. He swatted Liam's hand away frantically, then began dusting off his shoulder with manic intensity. "What are you doing? Who gave you permission to touch me?"

He looked at his jacket as if Liam had smeared raw sewage on the fabric. "Get away from me! Do you have any idea how delicate this fabric is?"

Liam Livingston didn't flinch. He simply slid his hands into his trouser pockets, adopting a posture of relaxed dominance. He looked at Preston’s frantic dusting with a gaze of utter contempt.

"Thirty-nine thousand?" Liam chuckled darkly. "For that? I was just checking the quality. Honestly, I was afraid touching it might dirty my hands."

The room went dead silent.

"My wife, Serena," Liam continued, his voice steady and cutting through the tension, "prefers low-key elegance. She doesn't need to scream about price tags to prove her worth. Besides, compared to fabrics and threads... Serena prefers jewelry."

With that, Liam reached out and gently took hold of Serena’s arm. She was stiff, stunned by his sudden assertiveness, but she didn't pull away. He guided her forward, shifting the spotlight from the loudmouthed cousin to the diamonds resting against her throat.