Chapter 33: The Divine Appointment

Victoria hadn't slept well. Too many thoughts had spun in her head the night before. Rising earlier than usual, she made her way downstairs.

As she reached the landing, she was surprised to see her brother, Victor, emerging from the guest room near the living area. He looked refreshed in his morning workout outfit, which only added to her confusion.

Smiling mischievously, she teased, "What's this? Got kicked out of your room?"

It didn't add up though—she was sure she had heard their laughter from the sunroom before heading upstairs last night. How come?

"You two fought last night?" she pressed, unable to resist asking.

Victor glanced up at her, a relaxed smile on his face. "Morning, Yaya. You're up early."

He paused before adding casually, "And no, we don't quarrel. For now, this will be my room whenever we're both staying at the estate."

Victoria blinked, her brow furrowing. "Why? Your room upstairs is bigger and a lot more comfortable—" Then, like a light bulb flickering on, a conversation she had had with Kaylee in the car resurfaced.

Could it be...? Were they... avoiding sex until marriage?

"No way..." she murmured, her wide eyes locking on her brother.

"You mean to tell me you've never—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "—touched her?"

Victor exhaled and almost rolled his eyes.

"But she's gorgeous!" Victoria blurted, gesturing upstairs. "Seriously? You haven't?"

At her comment, Victor's expression turned icy, his jaw tightening as he met Victoria's gaze. The unspoken warning in his eyes was clear: Kaylee was off-limits.

Victoria raised her hands in mock surrender, rolling her eyes. "Not like I'd try to steal your girl. But, come on—"

"Yaya," Victor interrupted firmly, his tone softening but his conviction clear, "Kaylee means the world to me. I want to honor her, respect her, and do things right."

Victoria's skepticism lingered. "But what's the difference? You're getting married anyway. Does it really matter whether it's now or later?"

"God's anointing," Victor replied simply.

She blinked, startled. They were serious—Kaylee and her brother truly meant what they said about staying holy before God.

Her respect for Kaylee deepened. She wasn't one of those Christians who only knew how to say the right things but failed to live them out. Kaylee... maybe she really walked her talk.

Before she could process it all, Victor disappeared into the guest room and returned moments later with a file. He handed it to her.

"Here. Why don't you help us secure some arrangements for the wedding?"

Victoria took the file, flipping through the pages of a detailed wedding preparation checklist casually. "You don't need me for this kind of trivial stuff, right?"

Victor grinned, his tone light yet deliberate. "I thought you might work your negotiation power to secure some great deals."

She arched a brow, catching his implication. The "deals" had nothing to do with discounts; they were about getting results.

"What? A difficult vendor?" she asked as her eyes began to scan the list.

Most of the company names were familiar, except for two: One name stood out—Lin Xiang Er—listed right after Victor's personal tailor, Gavin Mel.

Oh, that must be for the wedding outfits, of course.

But another name caught her attention: Called to Carve.

Her finger trailed down to the category. It read: Souvenirs.

"Kind of," Victor said. "Kaylee is fascinated by the wood carving artwork she got from Lundu beach market. She suggested some personalized wooden souvenirs for our wedding guests."

The mention of wood carving instantly brought Liam's face to Victoria's mind.

Victor continued, "But this carving artist she prefers doesn't craft in bulk. He specializes in unique pieces."

He turned to Victoria with a knowing look. "Think you can do something and make it happen?"

A faint blush crept onto her cheeks—a reaction she couldn't quite explain.

Victor raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. It was the second time he had seen that soft, almost vulnerable expression on his sister's face. The first had been yesterday, when she returned from her road trip to Lundu beach with Kaylee.

Victoria turned away quickly, avoiding her brother's gaze. "I'll look into it," she said briskly, walking away before her brother could read her any further.

She didn't know why, but the thought of Liam made her feel unusually self-conscious.

Could Called to Carve be his company?

Victor smirked as she walked off, shaking his head lightly before heading to his morning workout.

***

Victoria wrestled with the decision for a whole week.

In the end, she slid behind the wheel of her mercury gray mica Lexus LC 500 and set off on what she considered 'the mission' entrusted to her by her brother—securing the deal.

The car ride felt too quiet. The city blurred past her windows, but she barely noticed—a contrast to her usual razor-sharp focus. Today, her thoughts drifted, hijacked by a name she hadn’t meant to carry this far.

Liam.

So, it was him. The woodcarving artist she had to negotiate with.

The unfinished butterfly carving sat on her nightstand every night—a beautiful transformation, as he called it. A name too coincidental. Too prophetic.

She hated how it gnawed at her because it wasn't just a piece of wood anymore.

It was a mirror. A reminder of that conversation with Kaylee—of sin, repentance, and the suffocating need for change she wasn't ready for.

And now, here she was, on her way back to him.

For Victor, she told herself. For Kaylee.

Yet her heart betrayed her—racing with an anticipation she refused to name.

The wedding souvenirs Kaylee wanted—wooden art pieces, faith-infused and meaningful for their guests. No simple task. Especially with an artisan like Liam who was reclusive and principled. He didn't do bulk orders. He didn't carve on demand.

Still, she went. Restless, and not entirely sure why.

As she pulled up to the rustic workshop at the edge of town, her pulse stuttered. She lingered in the car longer than necessary, staring at the open doors where children's laughter spilled out—Liam's free carving class. She had learned about it while preparing for this meeting. Another side of him she hadn't expected.

When she finally stepped inside, the scent of freshly cut wood wrapped around her—familiar, comforting.

He was there.

Backlit by the golden afternoon sun, hands rough and steady as they moved over a block of wood.

Liam looked up, the chisel stilling in his grip. He paused—just long enough for her to feel it—then gave a polite nod. His voice came low, deliberately formal.

"Miss Langford."

The title tasted strange in his mouth. Too proper. But safer.

He had settled on this tone days ago—ever since he learned who she was, and why she might come. A Langford. A wedding. A bulk order.

Not what he did.

But now she stood there, and for a second, he remembered the woman beside Kaylee at his stall. Reserved. Composed. Yet something in her spirit had stirred him enough to offer the unfinished butterfly carving—a symbol he hadn't fully understood then, only felt.

He hadn't expected to see her again.

Especially not like this.

Polished and poised, standing in his workshop for business.

Victoria lifted her chin. "Liam," she said, her voice clipped, guarded.

"Thank you for seeing me."

He set the chisel down with quiet precision, then reached for a cloth and wiped his hands. "President Victor mentioned someone might come. I didn't expect it'd be you. Personally."

Victoria shrugged lightly, resisting the sudden urge to explain herself.

"It's important to them, and..." she hesitated, "it's important to me."

Liam glanced at her then, his brow lifted—subtle, unreadable—as if trying to read between her words, but didn't press. Instead, he nodded toward the corner of the workshop where an old kettle hissed softly over a portable stove.

"Tea?" he asked.

Caught off guard, she nodded. "Please."

He gestured for her to follow him to a small table near the window—sunlight slanting across scattered wood shavings and half-finished pieces. She stepped over carefully, as if not wanting to disturb the space too much.

He poured hot water into a clay teapot, the kind with a cracked glaze that had been mended more than once. She noticed the care he took, the practiced quiet of someone used to solitude.

He handed her a cup. Their fingers didn't touch, but the distance felt measured.

"I suppose you know why I'm here," she said, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic.

Liam didn't sit. "Something about souvenirs. Bulk order." A pause. "Not usually my thing."

"I know," she replied. "That's why I came."

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

She sipped the tea slowly, letting the quiet stretch, unsure if she should press forward or wait.

Victoria's gaze drifted toward the children. Her features softened—unguarded—and for a moment, she seemed free of all cares, simply soaking in the joy and simplicity carried by the children's laughter.

Liam had been watching her. Perhaps the entire time she was gazing at the children with that quiet softness. He preferred that version of her—the one that felt more real.

He finally moved to lean against the workbench, arms crossed—not defensive, but bracing.

His movement caught Victoria's attention. That softness vanished instantly as her conscious mind snapped back. She turned to face him—his face now just a few feet in front of her.

"What made you come, really?"

His question was gentle—too gentle for the way he had greeted her. And somehow, that made it even more disarming.

Victoria blinked. "For Kaylee. For Victor."

A beat.

"And maybe... because of the butterfly."

Liam held her gaze a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then he looked down at his hands—the same hands that had carved that unfinished piece without knowing exactly why at the time.

He didn't smile, but something in his shoulders eased.

At last, he sat down and looked at her again.

She understood then—he was ready to listen.

"I came with a proposal," she began, slipping back into her professional poise.

"Victor and Kaylee would like to commission you to create unique wooden mementos for their guests."

She watched him carefully, searching for a flicker of reaction.

Liam didn't say anything yet. He traced the rim of his cup with one finger.

Then she added, softer this time, "Something that speaks of faith... of love... of their journey."

Liam's hand stilled. He didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped, thoughtful.

"I don't take bulk orders," he said at last. "That's not what I do."

"I know," Victoria replied, her voice quieter now. "But... this is different."

Liam glanced up, unreadable. "Different how?"

"They're not just souvenirs," she said, voice steady but low. "They want each piece to carry meaning. A message of love... of redemption, even."

She hesitated before adding, "Kaylee thought of a scripture that might inspire the design—First Peter, chapter 4, verse 8."

She took a measured breath.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins."

Liam startled—not at the verse, but at the way Victoria's voice softened on the word love—fragile, almost aching.

"That's... heavy," he looked away, his jaw tight, then he murmured. "Beautiful, but heavy."

"They believe it should be the anchor of their journey for a lifetime," Victoria whispered.

A beat.

"Maybe it speaks to... more than just them."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the children's laughter drifting through the workshop.

Victoria exhaled slowly. "Liam, I know this isn't your usual work. Honestly... I expected you to refuse. But I'm here anyway. Because I can't imagine anyone else crafting something that... speaks."

Liam studied her. Too long. His gaze felt like it peeled through her, stripping away the careful layers she wore.

"What's really driving this, Victoria?" he asked, voice low. "Is it just business?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She swallowed hard and looked away. "Do you want the project or not?"

"I want to say no."

His honesty caught her off guard.

"I don't work for money. Not like this."

And suddenly, the dream from last night stirred in Liam's mind:

He had been in his workshop, gripping two unfinished carvings in his hands.

One was the butterfly he had given away last week. And another.

The first was half-done, its delicate wing soft, feminine—just as he had carved it before. But now, there was a second one in his grasp. Almost complete. Its form was stronger, more masculine.

He knew. One was hers.

One was his.

A strange unease tightened in his chest.

Am I also... a transformation waiting to be finished?

Then, a presence filled the space beside him—strong, yet gentle.

The LORD.

Liam had never seen His face, yet he knew.

The LORD gestured toward a new set of carving tools laid beside Liam's on the table.

"When she comes, receive her."

His gaze had shifted to the open door, where golden light poured in from the outside.

"You need to complete the transformation together."

The words echoed as the dream faded.

Now, sitting in his workshop, staring at Victoria across the table, he felt the weight of those words settle on him once more.

Could she be the one the LORD had spoken of?

It didn't make sense.

And yet, from the moment he first met her that day, the thought of transformation had stirred so vividly in his mind—so powerfully that he had felt compelled to give her the unfinished butterfly carving.

His grip tightened around the cup in his hands as reality settled back in.

Liam met Victoria's eyes again.

Softer now.

"Maybe there's a reason you're here, asking."

Victoria's heart stumbled.

Liam studied her. "I don't want to create something empty. If I do this... it has to mean something. Not just to the couple. But to me. To you."

She frowned. "Why me?"

"Because you're the one sitting here, asking for this." He leaned back, folding his arms.

"If I take this on, I want you involved. Every step. I want to understand why this matters so much that you came in person."

Victoria stiffened. "You're pushing."

"I am."

Silence stretched. She almost walked away. Almost.

Instead, she forced a smirk. "Fine. What do you want?"

"Your story," His voice was steady, unyielding. "And a reason why that scripture matters—to you."

Her throat tightened. "I didn't choose it. Kaylee did."

"But you brought it to me," he countered. "Why?"

She had no answer. Because... she didn't know. Not yet.

Liam didn't press. Instead, he stood, picking up an unfinished piece of wood. "Come back tomorrow. Early," he added. "We'll start with one. You watch. You help. If by the end, you still think this matters enough... we'll talk bulk."

Victoria exhaled, tension unraveling. "You're making me work for it?"

"I am." His grin flashed, boyish and infuriatingly charming. "You afraid of hard work, Victoria Langford?"

A startled laugh escaped her—soft, rare. "Not a chance."

***

Victoria hadn't planned to yield so easily to Liam's request—or more like a command—and show up at his workshop the next morning. Not really.

She had driven past twice, telling herself she was just checking progress. The third time, she parked.

And yet, she had come prepared—more than she cared to admit. Heels traded for flats. Polished suits replaced with rolled-up sleeves.

Liam glanced up from his workbench. Of course, he noticed. He always noticed.

No surprise flickered across his face, only that quiet, unwavering gaze that unsettled her more than she would like to admit.

Victoria cleared her throat, forcing herself into business mode. Control the narrative, Victoria. Control the narrative.

"I... thought I'd drop by to discuss the design direction. If you're going to accept, we need to be on the same page."

Liam didn't answer right away. He just looked at her, something unreadable in his gaze. Then he gave a quiet, almost amused breath through his nose—barely a chuckle—as he turned and reached for a cloth on the workbench.

He said nothing. But he didn't need to.

It made her feel exposed, like she needed to find somewhere to hide.

She wasn't used to a man who held his ground without aggression—just quiet authority. And somehow, that unsettled her even more.

Where was her usual confidence? Her what I say goes nature?

Liam pulled out a raw piece of cedar—golden, fragrant, unyielding. "This wood, it doesn't tolerate mistakes. You miss once, you start over. No shortcuts. So whatever you're asking me to create—it better be worth the scars I'll carry carving it."

Victoria swallowed hard. Why did everything he said feel like it carried double meaning?

And what exactly did he expect her to do with the wood? She frowned, uneasy. She wanted to ask—but her pride got in the way.

Liam didn't make it easy.

Finally, he started preparing the wood, steady and precise. Then he handed her a tool. "Watch what I do, and follow."

Victoria bit her lip. But she wasn't about to back down. Not under Liam's witness.

She rolled her sleeves higher, pulled on the apron he gestured toward, and got her hands dirty.

By afternoon, her manicured hands were scraped raw, dusted with sawdust that refused to wash off completely.

They sat in silence over cups of tea when Liam finally spoke. "Not bad for someone who looked like she'd never touched anything rough a day in her life."

Victoria huffed a soft laugh, blowing at the steam curling from her cup. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Maybe." He shrugged, watching her. "Maybe it's just the truth."

The silence that followed wasn't heavy—just quiet.

Liam leaned back, his gaze flicking to her scraped knuckles. "Your hands are going to hate you tomorrow."

"They already do," Victoria muttered, rubbing her thumb over a sore spot. She tried to hide the wince, but he caught it.

Before she could pull away, Liam reached over and took her hand—his calloused fingers brushing gently over her skin, deliberate and steady, pressing just the right points. Strangely, it didn’t feel invasive. Only respectful. As if he understood, without needing to ask.

Victoria stiffened, torn between pulling away... and staying.

"I can handle it," she murmured

"I know." Liam's mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Doesn't mean you have to."

Something about those words made her chest ache. Like she was drowning in a moment she didn't know how to name.

When he finally let go—though it had only been two second—Victoria snapped back to herself. A blush crept up her neck. Wordlessly, she ducked her head, pretending to study the wood piece in her hands, as if it held all the answers.

It didn't.

Minutes passed. She couldn't focus. The room felt too small. Liam too close. Her own skin, unfamiliar.

Suddenly, she pushed back. "I... I should go." Her voice was too quick, too light. She wiped her hands on a rag, avoiding his gaze. Before he could answer, she turned and hurried out of the workshop.

Liam froze. He set down his tool, leaning against the workbench as he watched her go. 

Something stirred deep inside him—restless, unfamiliar.

He had never felt this before.

This heiress of the Langford family—polished, untouchable—carried more burden on her shoulders than she let anyone see.

And somehow, he wanted to understand why.

***

Days passed. Victoria kept showing up at Liam's workshop—to secure the deal for her brother, she told herself. It was only responsible, right? She needed to help Liam, hoping it would finally push him to accept the bulk order.

That's all. Professional. Efficient.

See? Look how far she was willing to stretch herself for her brother's sake.

She cursed under her breath at how naturally her feet found their way back here.

Liam still hadn't given an answer—whether he would take the order or not. Instead, she found herself sanding piece after piece of wood, shaping them into neat, round slices without the slightest clue what they were for.

What was this? Was he making her help with coasters?

One afternoon, a little girl—maybe eight years old—came running into the workshop.

"Uncle Liam!" she called out, clutching something close to her chest. "Can you fix my rabbit?"

Victoria blinked as the child held up a battered wooden rabbit.

Liam crouched, his rough hands unexpectedly gentle as he took it from her. "What happened here, sweet pea?"

"I... I dropped it. I'm sorry."

Liam smiled, ruffling her hair. "That's alright. I'll fix it." He paused, glancing at Victoria, then back at the girl. "You know, it's like us with God. We break. He fixes."

The child pouted. "But I break a lot."

"We all do," Liam said softly. "I break every day. And God never stops fixing me."

Victoria froze. She stared at him—like she was seeing him, really seeing him—for the first time. 

He breaks too?

Later, unable to stop herself, she asked, "Do you really believe that?"

Liam glanced at her, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly. "That God keeps fixing me? Yeah. It's the only reason I'm still standing."

Victoria's heart raced. "I don't know if... I can be fixed."

Liam held her gaze, his voice quieter this time. "Do you want to be? Not for anyone else. Just... for you. For God."

It was the first crack.

Then out of nowhere, Liam asked, "You ever wonder what makes a good lawyer?"

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