Though he spoke with defiance, a shadow of unease flickered in Liam's gaze.

He remembered the last time he'd tried to give his mother a gift—a simple coffee mug. She hadn't taken it from him. Not right away. It was Oliver who had stepped forward, accepting it in her stead with that infuriatingly calm smile.

In the past, his mother would have snatched any present from him eagerly, pulling him into a tight embrace, her eyes shimmering with warmth.

Oliver's voice cut through his thoughts. "Ms. Langley's violin—even the clasp on her purse—bears the same insignia. I overheard her tell Mr. Prescott once. It's her personal mark."

"That's a lie!" Liam snapped, his voice sharp as shattered glass. "Victoria would never do something like that!"

Oliver arched a brow. "So your precious Victoria is above suspicion, but Amy isn't?"

He knew Amy still cared for Liam. She had carried him for nine months, brought him into this world—how could she not?

If she truly didn’t care, she would have shut the door in his face. But she hadn’t. And because Oliver understood that, he would never be reckless enough to destroy Liam’s gift and risk hurting her.

He knew the truth: Amy didn’t want that mug. Who would? A secondhand offering, already tainted by someone else’s touch?

Oliver pressed on. "Liam, you can't have it both ways. Between Amy and Victoria, you’ll have to choose."

For a fleeting second, hesitation flickered across Liam’s face before it was swallowed by anger.

"You're just a troublemaker! I don’t believe a word you say!"

Oliver shrugged. "Suit yourself. But don’t be surprised when I take your mother away from you."

Panic coiled in Liam’s chest, but pride refused to let him yield.

"Take her, then! She’s nothing but an embarrassment anyway. I don’t care—it’s not like you’re stealing from me. I’m giving her up. Just don’t come crawling back to Victoria when you realize how pathetic this all is!"

His words were a tangled mess, spilling out without thought.

He had never imagined being forced to choose between Victoria and his mother. It felt impossible, like being asked to pick between his own heart and lungs.

He liked Victoria—loved her, even. But he didn’t want his mother to leave, either. Why couldn’t they both stay? Was his grandmother right? Did his mother resent Victoria because she was jealous? Because Victoria was better?

Liam was too young to untangle such emotions, but his instincts screamed at him to flee from the pain.

Unable to answer, he turned to escape.

But Oliver’s voice stopped him cold. "Liam."

He froze. Oliver had never called him by his full name before. The sound sent an unfamiliar chill down his spine.

Slowly, he turned.

Oliver stood there, his gaze darker than Liam had ever seen it.

Word by deliberate word, he said, "I won’t let anyone hurt Amy. Not even you."

His eyes were sharp, predatory—like a wolf guarding what was his.

Oliver had always played the victim, the pitiful boy who needed saving. And Liam had always looked down on him for it. But now, faced with this unfamiliar intensity, something uneasy stirred in Liam’s chest.

Maybe Oliver wasn’t just some helpless kid.

Maybe he was something else entirely.

Under that piercing stare, Liam found himself stepping back—instinct taking over before pride could stop him.