Chapter 35: The Past

Victoria's jaw tightened. "Why do you keep... treating me like I'm made of glass?"

Liam blinked, caught off guard. "I don't."

"You do," she snapped. "You look at me like I'm this... broken thing you're afraid to touch."

Liam's expression darkened, but his voice stayed calm. "You ever think it's not fear? Maybe it's respect."

Victoria let out a humorless laugh. "Respect? You barely know me."

"I know enough." His gaze didn't waver. "I know when someone's fighting themselves harder than they fight anyone else."

She stood abruptly, pacing. "Don't do that. Don't act like you see me."

"I do see you, Victoria."

"Well, I don't want you to," she shot back, voice cracking. The shame and condemnation from her nightmare and her past were consuming her.

"Because if you see me, you'll see what I really am. And you'll... leave."

Liam's jaw clenched. "Don't you dare decide for me."

Silence.

Victoria's chest heaved, the dam breaking. "You don't understand. You think you're helping. You think you're leading me out of the dark—but what if I belong there? What if I chose it?"

Liam stood then, slow, steady—his height suddenly towering. But his voice was quiet when he spoke. "Then why are you here? Every morning. Sitting across from me. Carving these pieces like your life depends on it."

Victoria's breath hitched.

"You're here because somewhere, you're still hoping." He stepped closer—not touching, but close enough she could feel the heat of him. "And you know what? That's enough."

She shook her head violently. "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you."

Liam smiled—just a flicker. "None of us do. That's the point of grace."

Her lips trembled. "I hate how you talk like that."

"I know."

His gaze softened. "Victoria... I'm not here because you're perfect. I'm here because He called me to be."

She stared at him, the weight of it all finally landing. "I don't know how to be... clean."

Liam exhaled sharply—the first crack in his control. Slowly, he reached out—hesitant—then cupped the side of her face, rough thumb grazing her cheek.

"You don't clean yourself before you come home," he murmured. "You come home so you can be cleaned."

And that was it.

Victoria broke, for the first time this month, since her initial breakdown at Liam’s over a month ago—a sob tearing out as she collapsed into him. Not romantically, not seductively, but like a drowning woman clinging to the only solid thing in sight.

Liam held her—strong, steady—his chin resting lightly against her temple.

Victoria barely noticed how long she cried in Liam's arms. It felt like the world had quieted—just the two of them, the rise and fall of Liam's breath grounding her.

Until the heavy scrape of the door broke everything, heavy footsteps echoed against the wooden floor.

The voice came with mocking, slow clapping. "Wow... how cozy here?"

Victoria stiffened at recognizing the voice. Her head whipped up—Liam's arms still loosely around her.

The voice was smooth, almost amused—with that mocking lilt Victoria knew too well.

Damon Liew leaned lazily against the doorframe, dressed too sharp for a place like this. He scanned the scene—Victoria crumbling in another man's arms—an arrogant smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes—they burned with jealousy.

"Well, isn't this... new?"

Liam's body shifted, his jaw tightening so hard Victoria could feel the muscle flex beneath his skin. But he didn't speak. Not yet. Instead, he subtly repositioned himself—still holding Victoria but adjusting just enough that his frame blocked Damon's full view of her.

Victoria trembled but forced herself to lift her head slightly. "Da- Damon...?"

Damon's grin widened, hands casually in his pockets. "You know... I couldn't help noticing you've been spending quite a bit of time here." His eyes flicked to Liam, narrowing. "I figured... maybe it's time I paid a visit. To catch up. You've been ignoring my messages."

Victoria's fingers curled into Liam's shirt. Liam didn't move, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.

Damon took a few slow steps forward, his voice dropping. "Never thought I'd see the day. Victoria Langford... in his arms. Getting cozy with a man, no less." He laughed—low, bitter. "What's next? Sunday church with your little purity ring?"

Liam's breath exhaled sharp—nostrils flaring—but he stayed silent, allowing Victoria to choose. Still, his body was a silent vow—a shield that would not move.

Damon's eyes darkened as he watched the unspoken support. "So, what is it, Vic? He saving you now? Gonna fix all that filth in your past, huh? Tell me... does he even know what you did?" He smirked. "What we did?"

"I never did anything with you," Victoria shot back, her voice shaking.

Damon's grin faltered.

Liam finally stirred—his hand lifting, not to touch Damon, but to steady Victoria. He gently guided her chin up until their eyes met.

"You don't have to answer him," Liam said quietly, just for her. "You owe him nothing."

Victoria's throat bobbed. "I... I want him gone."

That was all it took.

Liam stood, slow and deliberate, keeping Victoria slightly behind him. He faced Damon now—eyes hard, voice low but calm. "You heard her. Leave."

Damon laughed, but there was a crack in it now. "Oh, what—you think you're her knight now? You think this... means anything?"

Liam's shoulders rolled back. "It means everything to her. That's enough."

The air pulsed.

Damon's smirk returned, but his eyes betrayed him—flickering with unease. "She'll come back to me," he sneered. "You're just... a phase. A fantasy."

Liam didn't rise to it. "You came here thinking you still owned her. But you don't. Not anymore."

Damon's nostrils flared. For a second, he looked like he might explode—but then he forced a grin and gave a mock bow. "Fine. We'll see."

He shot Victoria one last look—laced with venom. "But you'll remember... what you really are."

And with that, he turned and left—the door slamming shut behind him.

***

No one spoke or moved after Damon left. The silence stretched—for how long, no one knew.

Finally, Victoria took a shaky breath. "Damon, he was… I thought… maybe, in a twisted way, he was saving me."

Liam's brows knit together. He didn't speak—just listened.

"My mom died... and my brother Victor, he was lost too. Too angry at the world to see me falling."

A humorless smile tugged at her lips. "Damon was one of the bigger brothers in our circle. He found me at my lowest."

Then there was a silence. Liam felt the knot in his chest tightening, he could see the struggle and shame that Victoria went through that showed on her face.

Then, Victoria's voice reached his ears, cracked. "He brought me to them, the young women about my age."

Liam's throat worked, but still, he waited.

"They were slightly older... experienced. He said it was safer. Safer than me... ending up in some random guy's car." She let out a bitter laugh, mocking herself being a joke.

Victoria glanced at him then, eyes glassy but sharp. "I let them touch me. Over clothes. On camera sometimes—for him. He watched." She spat the words like poison. "It was his thrill, knowing he'd put me there, seeing me... used but not fully taken. Like I was his... puppet."

Liam's fists clenched, but his expression stayed soft—no revulsion, no judgment. Only grief. Grief for her.

"I never... slept with him, Liam. Not once. Not with anyone. He wanted me... ruined, but not by him. That was his sick pleasure—keeping me just far enough that he could still call me his."

Her voice dropped, trembling. "And I let him. Because I didn't know what else to do. I thought that was where I belong, where I could become strong again, rising up from my mourning of my mom's passing."

Silence pressed heavy between them.

"I hate him," she whispered fiercely, but with a little trembling. "Especially now, I hate what he made me. What I let myself become. But I'm also scared of him. I don't know what else will he do to ruin me again now that I really want to try to start anew."

She turned fully to Liam, eyes pleading. "I needed you to know... because if you think I'm... pure, I'm not. If you think I deserve saving—"

"I don't think that," Liam cut in quietly but firmly.

Victoria blinked, startled.

"I don't think anyone deserves saving. That's not how grace works, Victoria." He inhaled shakily. "I'm not sitting here because you earned it. I'm here because... God didn't run from my mess either."

For the first time, her breath hitched—not from pain, but the hint of a sob she hadn't expected.

"I don't know what to do with you," Liam said, voice rough. "You terrify me... because you're everything I don’t understand. But you're also..." He swallowed hard. "You're someone God loves. And I—I don't even understand what I'm doing. Maybe it's just… me wanting to be your rescue."

Victoria's mind blanked. She grasped for the meaning in his words, trying to piece it all together.

Liam looked down, searching for what to say next. "But I know this—I'm not walking away."

Victoria let out a shaky laugh, damp with disbelief. "Even after… that?"

His eyes met hers. "Especially after that."

She broke. Quiet, trembling sobs that finally tore free—and Liam did the only thing he knew: he held her. No stroking hair, no cupping cheeks—just his arms around her, anchoring her to the ground, to reality, to the present where she was seen but not shamed.

When the tears subsided, she whispered, "He's still watching, Liam. Damon... he won't stop."

"I know." Liam's jaw tightened. "But he'll have to watch me stand here. And he'll know—you're not his puppet anymore."

***

It was near closing when Liam heard the door creak open. He didn't look up right away, expecting a late customer.

But the air shifted—a cold, unwelcome presence.

"I thought I'd find you here," Damon's voice oozed mockery. "The humble workshop. Suits you."

Liam wiped his hands clean, slow and deliberate, then finally met Damon's eyes. "What do you want?"

Damon smirked, sauntering in, his gaze trailing over the wooden projects like they were beneath him. "Funny, isn't it? A craftsman. A fixer of broken things." He leaned against the table. "Tell me, Liam... Can you fix her?"

Liam's jaw tensed. "Victoria's not your business anymore."

"Oh, but she is," Damon's grin widened, daring. "See, you're walking around here thinking you're her savior. But you don't know half of it, do you?"

"I know enough," Liam answered coolly, but inside, a storm raged.

Damon's eyes gleamed — he smelled the blood. "She told you how I found her?" he sneered. "How she came to me, lost, desperate? How I gave her something to feel again?"

Silence.

"She was mine, Liam. Long before you showed up with your Bible and righteous hands." Damon's voice dropped, mocking. "I watched her, touched by others... but it was me pulling the strings. She learned to feel from me."

Liam's fingers curled tight against the wood, knuckles whitening.

"She liked it, you know," Damon leaned in. "She liked being seen... used. She was good at it."

Liam's breathing slowed—his only sign of restraint. He looked Damon dead in the eye. "Are you done?"

Damon blinked, thrown off. "That's it? No fists? No righteous fury?"

"Oh, there's fury," Liam admitted quietly. "But not for you. You're not worth it."

Damon's face twisted.

"You see, Damon..." Liam stood, towering—not by size, but by presence. "You think you own her because you held her chains once. But you don't. Not anymore."

"You think she's clean now? Just because you believe?" Damon spat. "She'll run back to the dirt. That's what people like us do."

Liam's eyes flashed—steady, unwavering. "No, Damon. You run back to the dirt. Because it's all you know. But Victoria—she's learning she was made for more."

Damon sneered, "And you? Gonna marry her? Saint Liam, marrying the whore you rescued?"

The words hit like knives—but Liam didn't flinch. He breathed once, slow.

"She's not what you call her," Liam answered, voice low, steady. "She's a woman. Broken, yes. But so am I. Difference is... I know the One who heals."

Damon stared, stunned—as if he couldn't believe Liam wasn't breaking.

"You hate me, don't you?" Damon hissed.

"I pity you," Liam answered honestly. "Because you had her... right there... and all you taught her was how to bleed."

Silence—thick and suffocating.

"You come here thinking you can break me with your twisted truth. But hear this, Damon—" Liam's voice hardened, "I'm not fighting you for Victoria. I'm standing so she never has to fight you again."

Damon's jaw clenched. "You think you've won?"

"I already have," Liam said simply. "Because I'm still here. And you? You're just... noise."

Damon's chest heaved—rage, shame, and something close to fear flashing in his eyes. For the first time, he was the small one.

Without another word, Damon turned sharply and left—the door slamming behind him.

His laughter—cold, mocking—faded down the gravel path until there was nothing but the sound of the wind against the tin roof.

Liam stood frozen, fists still clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. He could feel the blood slowly returning to his fingers, throbbing as if his whole body was finally catching up to what just happened.

His chest heaved once. Twice.

The moment he knew Damon was truly gone—out of earshot, out of sight—Liam stumbled back, bracing himself against the nearest workbench. Tools rattled. His knees nearly gave way.

"God..."

The words barely left his lips, more like a breath—torn from a place deep inside. He dropped his head, shoulders trembling. Not from fear. But rage... humiliation... and a grief he didn't know how to name.

Damon's words still echoed—filthy, twisted things meant to provoke, to humiliate. And worst of all... they worked.

Liam had wanted to hit him. God knows he had.

He felt it—down to his bones—that split second when his fist ached to find Damon's face. To wipe that smirk off him. To fight like any other man would.

But he didn't.

Instead... he stood. Like a fool.

Or... maybe like a man.

He let out a sharp, bitter laugh and dragged a hand down his face. "Is this what it means to be a man, God? Standing there... while someone spits filth about the woman you—" He couldn't finish. Not yet.

Instead, Liam crumbled—slowly, quietly—sliding down to sit against the workbench, legs sprawled out on the cold concrete floor.

For a long while, he just sat there. Eyes closed. Fighting back the surge of tears—not for himself, but for Victoria. For what that man did to her. For what Liam couldn't protect her from.

"Lord... I'm not strong enough." The words cracked out, bare, honest. "I can't carry this... not if he's still out there, waiting. Watching. I'll kill him next time, God. I swear I will... unless You help me."

And just like that, Liam stayed there—long after the sun dipped low—until the rage bled out and all that was left... was a quiet, aching resolve.

When he finally stood again, his hands were steady. His face calm.

No one—not even Victoria—would ever see the storm Damon left behind.

That was between Liam... and God.

***

It was way past midnight. The workshop long dark, except for a single light he had left on by the old wooden table where his Bible sat—untouched since morning.

Liam hadn't been able to sleep.

Damon's words circled his mind like vultures. Every vile detail he had spat out, the way he had twisted Victoria's past—turning it into a weapon meant to cut Liam down.

And it worked.

Liam exhaled sharply, dragging his chair back with a screech that felt too loud in the silence. He sat, head in his hands, elbows on the worn table.

"God... I don't know how to pray this one." His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "I've prayed for strength. I've prayed to be a man after Your heart. But I've never... I've never wanted to hurt someone like I did today."

Tears stung his eyes, hot, angry. "You saw it. You know I wanted to break him. To break every bone in his body for what he said... what he did to her."

Silence answered. The kind of silence that forced a man to empty everything.

"I know revenge isn't mine. I know. But You have to help me, Lord. Because I love her... I—" He stopped, breathing hard. "I don't even know if it's love. Or just... wanting to save her. To protect what's left of her soul."

His eyes found the Bible. Hands trembling, he flipped it open—half hoping it would land on some psalm about vengeance, some proof he wasn't wrong to want Damon dead.

But it landed elsewhere.

2 Corinthians 12.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness."

Liam choked out a laugh. "Weakness? I feel it, alright." He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, voice hoarse. "I'm not enough for her, God. You see it. She's been through hell. And me... I'm just a boy who never even held a girl's hand before."

"She deserves a man strong enough to stand between her and the past. But here I am... scared I'll break if he comes back."

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Finally, Liam dropped to his knees—no grand words, no rehearsed prayers.

"If You really mean that... that Your power works best in weakness... then here. Take mine. All of it. I don't want to fight for her with my fists. Teach me how to fight for her soul."

"I don't want to own her. I want to love her like You would. Clean. Pure. Holy."

His chest trembled as the last wall inside him broke.

"Help me... be a man she can run to, not another one she runs from."

And somewhere between those broken words, peace came.

Not the kind that fixed everything. But the kind that settled in deep enough to quiet the rage, to remind him—he wasn't fighting Damon.He was fighting for Victoria. For her soul. For her healing.

And he wasn't fighting alone.

***

The next day, Victoria didn’t show up during the usual crafting hours.

Liam felt a little low—partly worried for her after what happened yesterday, but also quietly relieved. The time and space gave him a chance to sift through the chaos inside him, to let the storm settle.

The sky outside was streaked in deep orange when Victoria’s shadow finally crossed the entrance of the workshop, breaking the long, solemn silence.

"I should explain... about Damon," she murmured, her voice almost carried away by the wind.

Liam didn't pressure her. He set his carving knife down, hands steady, but his eyes searched her face. "You don't owe me anything, Victoria. But if you want to tell me, I'll listen."

Victoria let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "I was... fifteen. My mother had just passed. I was angry, lost... I didn't care what happened to me. Damon was a family friend, older by a few years. He was there, always there. I thought he was... safe. Until he wasn't."

Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to continue. "He was possessive... charming when he wanted, cruel when I pulled away. I didn't even understand what he was doing to me back then. He made me believe love is ownership. That my body wasn't mine." She swallowed hard. "That was the beginning of me... turning my back on everything. On God. On men."

Liam's jaw clenched so tightly a muscle ticked. He had no words—none could undo what she had endured. But he wanted to fight something. Anything.

"And now he's back," she whispered, staring down at her hands. "Seeing me... seeing you. I can feel his hate, Liam. And it terrifies me."

Liam shifted, his body turning to face her fully. His hand moved—not to cup her cheek, not this time—but to gently cover her clenched fists."He has no claim on you. Not anymore. You belong to no one but God, Victoria. No one."

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