The Roots

The Blackwood Estate was a cold place, filled with marble and drafts, but the greenhouse was different. It was the only place on the property that felt alive.

Sophie was sent there three hours later by Mrs. Blackwood to cut hydrangeas for the dinner table. *Apology flowers,* Mrs. Blackwood had called them, though Sophie knew they were really *shame flowers*.

The air inside was thick and humid, smelling of damp earth and chlorophyll. Sophie moved through the rows of orchids, her scissors in hand.

She found him in the back corner, hidden behind a wall of ferns.

Liam wasn't brooding. He was working. He had his suit jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, and he was carefully repotting a struggling begonia. His hands—the hands that supposedly smashed antiques out of carelessness—were gentle, almost reverent, as they packed the soil around the roots.

He didn't hear her approach. Sophie watched him for a moment. The "rude" mask was gone.

"You're going to drown it if you pack the soil that tight," Sophie said.

Liam jumped, nearly dropping the pot. He spun around, the sneer instantly slamming back onto his face. "Are you stalking me? I told you to—"

"Julian has ceramic dust on his cuff," Sophie interrupted.

Liam froze. The sneer faltered.

"I saw it," Sophie continued, stepping closer. "The vase was on the top shelf. To push it over, you’d have to grip the rim. Julian’s cuff was dirty. Yours are clean."

Liam wiped his hands on a rag, turning his back to her. "You have an active imagination. Go cut your flowers."

"I grew up in the system, Liam," Sophie said quietly.

That stopped him. He paused, his back stiff.

"I know what it looks like," she said. "I know the look of a kid who takes the blame because it's easier than fighting. A kid who thinks that if he just absorbs enough punishment, eventually he’ll have paid for the space he takes up."

Liam turned around slowly. The anger was gone, replaced by a weary exhaustion that made him look older than twenty-four.

"Julian is their blood," Liam said. His voice was low, stripped of its usual bite. "I was the charity project. The 'good deed' they did to look benevolent at the country club."

"So you let him torment you?"

"He doesn't torment me. He just... needs to win," Liam said, leaning against the potting bench. "Julian feels threatened. He thinks I'm going to take his inheritance, his place. If I play the screw-up, he feels safe. And if he feels safe, the house is quiet. It’s a trade."

"It's not a trade," Sophie said, gripping her scissors. "It's a lie. You're letting them believe you're a monster so he can play the angel."

"I *am* the monster, Sophie," Liam said, a bitter smile touching his lips. "I’m the rude, ungrateful stray. Haven't you heard?"

"I hear a lot of things," Sophie said. "But I trust my eyes. And my eyes see a man fixing a broken plant, not breaking one."

Liam looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. There was no class divide in that look, just two people acknowledging the scars the world had left on them.

"Leave it alone," he warned softly. "Dinner is in an hour. If you value your job, you’ll keep your mouth shut."