Silence in our house weighed more than any argument could manage. I moved through marble hallways beneath chandeliers that caught every surface except my reflection. The echoes belonged to other people's names.
London pressed grey against the windows that morning. My Master's degree from Imperial College sat in its leather folder on my desk, pristine and unacknowledged. I dressed in navy trousers and a white blouse, hair pulled tight enough to feel the tension across my scalp.
Downstairs, my father skimmed financial news on his tablet. Margaret sipped tea with her spine perfectly straight, her face arranged into practiced neutrality. Maria sat with her legs crossed, eyes already lifted before I reached the coffee pot.
"Most people take breaks after graduation," she said.
I poured coffee into my cup, watching the steam rise between us.
"Another conference where they pretend you earned your seat." Her voice carried that particular smoothness she used before cutting deeper.
The cup trembled slightly. I tightened my grip until my knuckles went pale.
"I have a fintech event this afternoon."
My father glanced up without raising his head. "Maria."
She smiled and stood, her chair scraping loud across the floor. "You live in our house and pretend you built yourself."
I met her stare directly. "I earned everything I have."
"Did you?" She tilted her head, satisfaction pulling at the corners of her mouth.
I left the table before my father could decide whether to intervene further. Upstairs, I leaned against my bedroom door and breathed through the tightness spreading across my ribs. My laptop showed sales figures from my online store. £9,847 this week. I had built that number myself through late nights and calculated risks.
I packed my bag with notes on AI-driven payment routing and regulatory frameworks. The blazer I wore cost me three weeks of profit, but I bought it without asking anyone for money. The girl in the mirror stood straighter when I checked my reflection one last time.
The Grand Connaught Hotel smelled like polished wood and expensive ambition. I gripped the bathroom sink and steadied my breathing before walking into the registration hall.
Liam Scott sat near the desk with his shoulders taking up space the way they always had. Recognition hit somewhere between my chest and throat. Imperial labs and posted rankings and whispered comments about money I supposedly never worried about. He had said those things three years ago without knowing I stood close enough to hear every word.
He looked away first when our eyes met.
I collected my badge and chose a seat far enough away to avoid accidental contact. Professor John Dean spoke about collaboration and the myth of solitary brilliance. I asked a question about AI compliance and post-Brexit regulation that made several panelists nod in agreement.
Then Liam discussed machine learning bias in credit scoring with confidence that didn't match his accuracy. I corrected him publicly, my voice steady and my explanation backed by recent case law. Professor Dean confirmed my position without hesitation.
Liam's jaw tightened visibly. He nodded once and said nothing else.
When Professor Dean announced the partnership assignments, my lungs seemed to forget their function entirely.
"Daisy Owen and Liam Scott will collaborate on the fintech compliance framework."
Applause rippled around us while we stood without looking at each other. Opportunity and punishment felt identical in that moment.
Outside the hall, he finally spoke directly. "This partnership doesn't change anything between us."
"I'm here to build something functional," I said.
He studied my face as though recalculating an old equation. "Don't expect me to ignore your advantages."
I smiled without warmth. "Then keep up with the pace I set."
He walked away before I could register whether his expression had shifted.
The pub three streets over kept its lighting dim. Maria leaned across the table, her third gin and tonic leaving a wet ring on the scarred wood. Liam sat close enough that their knees touched beneath the surface. Cigarette smoke curled between them while half-eaten kebabs sat on greasy paper.
"You should have seen her face when Dean announced the partnership," Maria said, dragging on her cigarette. "She looked absolutely gutted."
Liam worked the shish meat off its skewer. "She corrected me in front of everyone. Made me look like an amateur."
Maria's hand found his thigh beneath the table. "She does that to everyone. Acts like she's the only person who ever studied."
"Six months of working with her." Liam drained half his pint.
Maria stubbed out her cigarette and lit another. "You know she lives rent-free in our house while playing entrepreneur. Her online shop barely covers anything."
Liam shifted closer, his arm sliding around Maria's shoulders. The pub's warmth and the alcohol had softened his edges. "She always acted superior at Imperial."
Maria turned her face toward his. "She's just good at pretending."
Their mouths met over the debris of their meal. The kiss tasted like gin and tobacco and shared resentment. Maria's hand moved higher on his thigh while his fingers tangled in her hair.
Maria's lipstick had smeared across his mouth. She grabbed her coat and he followed her into the cold night.
They stumbled up the front steps with Maria's laughter muffled against his shoulder. Inside, she pressed him against the darkened hallway wall, her hands already working at his belt.
"Upstairs," she whispered.
They climbed with Maria leading. Liam's hands stayed on her waist, pulling her back against him on the landing. She gasped and dragged him toward her bedroom.
The door closed with a soft click. Maria pushed him toward the bed, her dress already sliding off her shoulders. Liam caught her waist and pulled her down, his mouth finding her throat while her hands worked at his shirt buttons.
They moved together with practised urgency. Maria's breathing came faster as Liam's hands explored familiar territory. She arched against him, her fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
When they collapsed against the pillows, Maria's hair spread across Liam's chest. His hand traced patterns on her bare shoulder while their breathing slowed.
"Six months," Maria murmured. "Think you can tolerate her that long?"
Liam's arm tightened around her waist. "I'll manage if it means I get this afterwards."
Maria smiled against his skin.
That evening, I returned to the house after the networking reception ran late. The lights stayed dim in most rooms. Maria's door showed no light beneath it. I moved quietly through the hallway, grateful for the temporary peace.
Then I heard laughter coming from downstairs. Low and male and unmistakably familiar.
My throat constricted. I stopped at the top of the stairs and recognised Liam's voice carrying up from the living room. Maria answered him with warmth I'd never heard directed at me.
I stepped closer despite knowing I shouldn't. My heart hammered against my sternum.
"She thinks she's better than everyone," Maria said clearly enough for me to catch every syllable.
Liam's response came too quietly for me to distinguish words, only tone. Agreement lived in that sound.
I backed away slowly, my feet finding the carpet without making noise. The house pressed in from all sides, tighter than it had been that morning.