3.1 | What we Fake

Prologue

NEARLY SEVEN years. Seven years would not be considered a long while to people who had lived decades after decades in their busy lives. Yet to certain people who treasured time and made every second count, seven years would be a very long time ago.

And Liam Wyatt was one person such person to whom every second mattered and though he could not possibly remember every incident in his life, he remembered one incident that stood out in his mind.

It had been just another day, nearly seven years ago, that his life as he knew it would change. Because he would make a bond that would remain with him for the rest of his life, but clearly, he did not know that yet as he woke up cranky that clear bright sunny morn.

Liam groaned and rolled out of bed in one swift, annoyed motion. He thundered down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, not caring if he woke the entire house. In the kitchen, his green plastic cereal bowl and spoon awaited him on the table, as usual. He slumped into the chair and poured his cereal aggressively, watching it overflow and spill onto the table.

A low chuckle came from his right. He shot a glare at Chris, his older twin by a mere six minutes, who was sitting there smirking. Chris always seemed to know just how to get under his skin without even trying.

"What are you looking at?" Liam snapped, his voice sharp.

"You," Chris replied, still grinning, casually biting into his toast. "You're just... sad, man. Maybe you wouldn't be so angry all the time if you made a friend or two."

Liam rolled his eyes, his face twisting in irritation. "Oh, right, because you're just overflowing with friends. I forgot Mr. Popular over here," he shot back, dripping with sarcasm.

Chris's expression darkened. "Why do you have to be such a jerk about everything?"

Liam's temper flared. "Sorry, but maybe if I wasn't stuck with a twin who acts like he's got it all figured out—"

"Enough!" their mother's voice cut through the tension as she walked into the kitchen, rubbing her face. Her eyes were tired, but her gaze was stern. "I don't want any fighting this early in the morning."

"But Mum—" Chris started, frustration edging into his voice.

"I don't care who started it," she said, hands on her hips. "Just stop."

Chris clenched his jaw, pushing his half-eaten toast away. "Fine. I'm done anyway." He stood up, grabbing his schoolbag, and gave Liam one last glare before storming out. The door slammed behind him, rattling the frame, as if to punctuate his anger.

Liam sat there, staring at the spilt cereal, a quiet anger simmering in him. The morning light streamed through the window, but it did little to lift the weight in his chest. He knew they'd have to face each other again, but for now, at least, he had a moment of silence.

"'Morning, mum," Liam mumbled warily.

Matilda Wyatt was a petite woman in her mid-thirties. Her ever-lovely facial features that had captivated many hearts were beginning to fade, but she didn't mind. It was foolish, she knew, to have run off with her then-boyfriend—now-husband—before finishing school. But she was proud. She was damn proud to be the mother of her two twin boys. And even though they wreaked havoc and barely went a day without fighting, she wouldn't trade them for all the jewels in the world. They were her lifeline.

Her everything.

Her loose bun, tied the night before, was coming undone and rested at her nape, strands falling free as she leaned down to kiss her younger son on the forehead. "Morning, Liam."