Duke Liam Anouk Hunter

Liam had never been a hardworking man. For as long as he could remember, doors had opened for him effortlessly — pushed wide by his looks and held there by his father’s influence. Because of that, he had gravely underestimated just how crushing it would feel to finally be sent off to work under his father’s name rather than beside it. At first, it hadn’t been so bad. Meetings blurred together, expectations were manageable, and he could still pretend that it was all temporary.

Then the pressure arrived — slow at first, then relentless. Cold. Heavy. Suffocating. Every mistake was magnified, every success dismissed as luck or privilege. By the time he returned to his chambers each night, exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. More than once, he found himself wishing — bitterly — that his father would simply drop dead so the expectations would die with him. Anything to stop this constant struggle to become the perfect son. And he did.

And then there were the parties. Those cursed, glittering gatherings disguised as celebrations. Every time Liam stepped into another wealthy man’s mansion, he could feel it — dozens of eyes tracking his movements, measuring him, judging him. The attention made his skin crawl, sent a chill through his bones no matter how warm the room was. Somewhere along the way, smoking had become his quiet rebellion, and burying himself in work his chosen escape. If he stayed busy enough, numb enough, maybe he wouldn’t have to feel anything at all.

Christmas Eve arrived without mercy. A day meant for warmth, laughter, and family — yet Liam Anouk Hunter found himself trapped in yet another opulent mansion, pressed between women draped in silk and perfume. They leaned into him, fingers brushing his arm, voices whispering empty compliments that made his jaw tighten.

“Excuse me,” he finally murmured, forcing a polite smile as he stood.

“It’s quite hot in here,” he added smoothly. “I’d like to step outside for some fresh air. Alone.”

Their disappointed pouts barely registered. Liam turned on his heel and left, his composed mask cracking the moment he was out of their sight. He moved quickly — then faster — until he was practically fleeing the room.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he shoved open the heavy oak doors. “I feel claustrophobic.”

The cold winter air hit him instantly, sharp and unforgiving, but he welcomed it. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath bloom into thick clouds before dissolving into the night. The gardens were quiet, blanketed in snow, indifferent to his name and status — and for once, that felt like mercy.

He wandered aimlessly, boots crunching softly against the frozen ground, until a faint glint of light caught his attention. Jewelry chimed softly as a figure shifted beneath a gazebo dusted with snow.

“Evening,” Liam said, stopping short as realization set in. His posture stiffened slightly as he stepped closer.