Chapter 210 Perfect Doll

Liam’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the background music like a blade.

"Look into my eyes," he said to Ann. "And tell me you’re happy being with Boris. Say it one more time. If you do... I’ll walk away. I’ll leave the two of you alone. Forever."

Ann didn’t hesitate.

She turned her head slowly, eyes meeting his without a flicker of emotion.

"I already told you," she said firmly. "Forget what we had. It’s over. It’s time to move on."

Liam stood there, completely still, his eyes locked onto hers, searching. Hoping. Pleading in silence for a crack, for a flicker, for something that would tell him this was all a lie. That this wasn’t really her choice. That she was being forced into this.

But there was nothing.

Her stare was firm. Her voice didn’t shake. No tears. No tremor. No sign of the woman who used to hold him like he was her entire world.

It wasn’t the words that broke him.

It was the ease with which she said them.

Like he was just another man in her past. Just a mistake she had outgrown.

Liam clenched his jaw, his voice devoid of anger, just cold acceptance.

"Then enjoy the party."

He turned his back to them without another word.

The weight in his chest didn’t vanish, but it hardened. It sank deep like iron and turned into something else—quiet, focused, deadly. He walked calmly back to the bar and sat down.

The bartender, seeing the look in his eyes, didn’t speak—just poured him another glass of whiskey.

Liam lifted it slowly, watching the golden liquid swirl in the glass before taking a slow sip.

Behind him, Boris smirked and took a step forward.

"I hope you remember your words," the prince said. "Forever. And don’t disturb us... in the near or far future."

Liam didn’t turn around.

He paused for a moment, let the silence hang, then took another slow drink.

Boris stared at the back of his head for a few more seconds, waiting for some kind of reaction. But there was nothing.

Just Liam’s calm, steady breathing and the quiet clink of his glass being set back on the marble counter.

Boris eventually turned and walked away with Ann.

But as he did, his eyes lingered.

Not on Liam—but on Lana.

The moment their eyes met, Lana stiffened. Boris’s stare was heavy, curious, and absolutely clear in its intent. He was impressed. Intrigued. Possibly even threatened. He hadn’t noticed her before—but now that he had, he couldn’t look away.

Lana stared back, unmoved.

Boris gave a slight nod—one of acknowledgment—before finally walking off with Ann and disappearing into the crowd.

Lana turned instantly, her long hair swishing softly behind her as she moved toward Liam. She slid onto the barstool next to him and placed her elbow on the counter, eyes fixed on his face.

But what she saw confused her.

He wasn’t angry.

There were no clenched fists, no broken glass, no cold stares of rage. She had been expecting fury. She had prepared herself to stop him from smashing bottles or throwing fists at Boris.

Instead, he just looked... thoughtful.

Detached.

"Something’s not right," Liam said quietly.

His tone wasn’t shaken—it was curious. Almost analytical, like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

Lana blinked. "Not right? What do you mean?"

She tilted her head, watching him closely.

Inside, she thought maybe this was just a stage of denial—his mind trying to rationalize what had just happened. A phase all men went through after rejection, especially when it was that brutal.

Liam reached for his drink again. He swirled the amber liquid slowly, then set the glass down with a soft click on the counter. His fingers lightly tapped the rim.

"I know what you’re thinking," he said, voice quiet but firm. "And the answer is no. I’m not in denial."

He turned his head slightly to look at her, his blue eyes intense but calm.

"I can feel it. Something’s out of place."

Lana was quiet.

She wanted to believe him, but all she could think about was what she’d just seen with her own eyes—Ann smiling beside another man, telling Liam without even blinking that it was over.

Still, the way Liam said it... the certainty in his voice—it wasn’t desperation. It wasn’t pain masking itself as confidence. It was like he had sensed something beneath the surface.

Lana sighed softly, leaning in closer. Her soft hand reached for his, her fingers gently curling around his much larger ones.

Her touch was warm. Reassuring.

"Even if there’s something going on that we don’t understand," she said quietly, "it still doesn’t change the fact that Ann looked you in the eye and told you to stay away... without batting an eyelid."

Liam didn’t flinch.

Because he had replayed that exact moment in his head more times than he could count in the last few seconds.

It didn’t matter what excuses he could come up with. It didn’t matter what plans were being played behind the curtain. The truth was, she had dismissed him. Cold. Blunt. Like he never mattered.

He was sure of one thing—no matter what her reasons were... he had been wronged.

Liam slowly slipped his hand out from under Lana’s.

She blinked, confused by the sudden movement. But then he did something that made her heartbeat falter—he reached for her hand again, this time taking it in his, holding it firmly yet gently. His thumb began to trace soft circles over the back of her hand, caressing her skin with deliberate slowness.

"Liam?" she asked softly, brows knitting.

She didn’t understand what he was doing. His eyes weren’t on her—he was looking slightly past her shoulder, thoughtful, distant. Almost calculating. And then, just as she was about to ask again, he moved.

He reached up and placed a hand gently on her jaw, his fingers spreading lightly along her cheek.

"Wait—"

Before she could finish, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t hungry.

It was slow. Deep. Gentle.

Yet somehow it still stole Lana’s breath. Her lips parted slightly under the weight of it, and for a moment, her heart stopped. Not because of the kiss itself, but because of where they were—how he was doing it. Out in the open. With people around. In the middle of a party that still pulsed with music and luxury.

It wasn’t Liam’s style.

And yet... here he was. Kissing her in the middle of everything like she was the only woman in the world.

When he pulled back, Lana didn’t move. She just stared at him, breath caught in her throat, still processing.

Then Liam grinned.

But it wasn’t a warm, affectionate grin. It wasn’t even seductive.

It was something darker. Sharper. Calculated. The kind of grin someone gives when they just figured something important out—when all the puzzle pieces suddenly clicked.

Lana’s brows drew together slightly. That grin... it wasn’t for her.

It was for someone else.

Liam’s eyes flicked up—not to her, but above her. Toward a balcony just a few moments ago had been empty... but he knew someone had been there.

He didn’t need to guess who.

Boris.

He’d been watching.

Liam had noticed the way Boris had stared at Lana earlier, the subtle change in his expression—the hunger in his eyes. And so Liam kissed her... not just because he wanted to—but because he wanted to see something.

And he had.

The moment his lips touched Lana’s, his peripheral vision caught it—Boris standing at the edge of the upper-level balcony, his jaw clenched, his fists tight by his sides, glaring.

Liam chuckled under his breath.

He finally understood the kind of man Boris was.

A man who wanted everything he couldn’t have.

Liam turned back to Lana and gently tugged her hand. "Let’s go."

She was still stunned. "W-What?"

"I know what to do now," he said simply.

Without another word, he slid off the stool and started heading toward the exit, still holding her hand. Lana followed him, glancing once over her shoulder as if expecting someone to stop them—but nobody did.

---

Meanwhile... Upstairs

Behind the lavish walls of the royal lounge, Boris sat on an ornate high-backed chair, his elbow resting on the thick armrest while his fingers dug deep into the velvet. His jaw was tight. His face dark.

Ann sat beside him like a doll—perfect posture, perfect silence. Her hands folded on her lap, her eyes dull and distant.

Three of Boris’s private guards stood in the shadows behind him, their hands folded behind their backs, unmoving.

Boris’s voice was ice.

"Follow him," he ordered one of them coldly, not even looking back. "Find out where he’s staying. I want everything on the girl too. Her name, background, habits... every single detail."

The guard bowed slightly. "Understood, Your Highness."

He vanished into the hallway without another word.

Across from Boris, a man dressed in black leaned back in a leather seat, swirling a crystal glass of amber liquor in one hand. His features were sharp, clean-shaven, and cold. His black silk shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing a gold chain around his neck.

He took a sip of his drink and let the silence hang before finally speaking.

"That would make her the fifth girl you’ve targeted this month," the man said quietly. "You’re starting to make this into a pattern. Sooner or later, Boris... you’ll put the family in trouble."

Boris didn’t even turn his head. He scoffed, barely hiding his irritation.

"Whatever I do in my free time is none of your concern, brother."

The man’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Is that what we’re calling it now? ’Free time’? You’re not some bored prince anymore. You’re next in line for the throne."

Boris slammed the armrest.

"I don’t need a lecture from you, Anton."

Anton’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Of course not," he said smoothly. "I’m just reminding you that Father’s watching everything now. And that girl..." He raised an eyebrow. "She doesn’t look like the kind of girl that plays well with others. I’d tread carefully."

Boris growled.

"She’s mine if I want her to be."

Anton didn’t reply.

Instead, he took another long sip of his drink and leaned back in silence.

Boris finally turned to Ann.

Her expression hadn’t changed. Still calm. Still expressionless.

But something about her eyes... it wasn’t right. There was a hollowness behind them. A dullness that didn’t belong to her. It was like something had been taken from her and never returned.

Boris stood up slowly.

"Leave us."

Ann blinked. Slowly. Then stood up, almost mechanical in her movement, like she was following a command wired into her.

She walked away quietly, her heels echoing softly in the lavish room.

Boris watched her go.

His fists clenched tighter.