Chapter 11
560words
He'd been born into a Wall Street dynasty—father and brother both powerful bankers. His life had been mapped from birth: Ivy League, MBA, then into the family empire as another golden cog in the money machine.
"I tried," Liam watched distant artillery fire like unrelated fireworks. "I wore Armani suits, learned to read candlestick charts, discussed billion-dollar mergers with people who reeked of money. But I felt my soul dying. So one morning, I left a note, grabbed the camera I'd bought with my first bonus, and walked away."
His family branded him a traitor and madman, publicly disowning him in the financial press.
"I hid behind the lens, shooting pretty landscapes worldwide, pretending to be free when I was just running away," he said. "Until I came here and realized a camera shouldn't just be a shield—it can be a scalpel that explores the world's wounds. That's when I found myself."
Perhaps it was his honesty, or perhaps the night's gentle darkness, but Lena found her defenses crumbling.
For the first time, she told someone about her legendary yet impossibly distant father. How he'd taught her everything about photography but never truly embraced her. How the Hasselblad he'd left her formed their only fragile emotional connection.
"I worship him, yet I resent him," Lena said softly. "I desperately wanted to become like him, thinking it would bring us closer. But I only learned to be like him—hiding all my emotions behind that tiny viewfinder."
After hearing her words, Liam fell silent for a long time.
Lena expected some platitude like "your father must have loved you very much." But Liam offered none.
Instead, he raised his camera and pointed it at her.
"Don't move." His voice took on the professional calm of a photographer.
"What are you doing?" Lena instinctively wanted to hide.
"Answer some questions," Liam said through the viewfinder. "Like a real interview. Tell the truth."
For some reason, Lena didn't refuse.
"What are you afraid of, Lena?" His first question struck her core.
"..."
"Say it."
"I'm afraid of... losing." Her voice strained.
"Losing what?"
"Everything. Partners, friends, everything I care about."
"Like losing your father?"
Lena's body trembled violently.
"Look at the camera, Lena," Liam's voice held no sympathy, yet penetrated straight to her soul. "You're not afraid of losing. You're afraid that loss will prove again you're 'unworthy of being loved.' Because your father—the person you admired most—proved this with his entire life. He chose the whole world, but never chose you."
"That's not true!" she cried, losing control.
"Yes, it is, Lena." Liam pressed the shutter—flash exploding in darkness, blinding her momentarily. "So you don't dare love, don't dare depend on anyone, don't dare show weakness. Because deep down, you believe once you're no longer the 'perfect, strong, useful' partner, you'll be abandoned again, just like when you were a child."
"Stop it!" Lena screamed, tears streaming down her face like beads from a broken necklace.
Liam finally lowered his camera. In the next moment, he pulled her tightly against him, his chest warm and solid.
"Now," he whispered, his voice filled with infinite tenderness and heartache, "you can put down your shield."
In his arms, Lena released her first genuine cry since her father's death—raw, unfiltered grief pouring from her very soul.
