The sound of the blaring music wasn't helping his current state. His head pounded with a headache. From where he sat, he could see the sweaty bodies grinding and moving to the beat of the songs.
Liam nursed the glass of alcohol in his hand. Fortunately, he was in a private space upstairs. The room was cosy and warm. It almost felt welcoming.
More welcoming and accommodating than his home had ever been. Home? When was the last time he had felt at home?
Oh, that is right. He had only ever felt at home in his little secret house with Freya. Liam couldn't help but feel like a failure.
Look at him. He wasn't qualified to call himself a man. What kind of a man was he when he can't safeguard his interest?
The eighteen-year-old him and the twenty-eight-year-old him were the same. Back then, he couldn't fight his mother enough to have a proper wedding for his beloved.