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“How to expose Liam Gallagher in 10 days”

he might’ve ignored the incident in the bathroom that night, but he couldn’t stay away for long. And even while you were writing all of his secrets, you are still keeping some for yourself — specially when it involves you.

an: this one is a long one, also I was writing and halfway through it didn’t save, I was genuinely fuming. — 5.3k words

Part 4 | part 3 | part 2 | part 1 | series

warnings: smut, pnv, f-oral receiving, dirty talk, creampie, manhandling, lots of kisses, fingers in mouth, bit angsty at the end

As I sat by my desk — typing away for my draft that reveals every little secret the media doesn’t know about Liam, I kept thinking about last night.

About how his lips felt against mine, about how his hand trailed down with no hesitation.

How his breath mingled with mine so easily — I pressed my thighs together at the thought. Swallowing thickly I move my fingers against the keyboard, forcing myself to concentrate just a little bit.

The newsroom buzzed around me.

Phones rang.

Editors barked headlines.

Someone shouted that a television soap star had been caught leaving a hotel with the wrong spouse.

Business as usual.

"You've typed the word however five times."

I looked up.

Janice leaned over my desk with a mug of tea in one hand and the sort of expression only women who've survived twenty years in tabloid journalism could perfect.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine." I grumbled, I was still a bit pissy that Liam had the audacity of leaving me hanging dry.

Janice glanced back at my screen — “Liam prefers to talk about himself’” she paused “Riveting investigative journalism."

“It gets better” I sigh.

“It wants to” she muttered.

Before I could answer, one of the reception girls appeared at the end of the newsroom holding something absurdly enormous. "Delivery for you — flower guy was taking them to your flat and Lottie saw him when passing by. You’re lucky because the flowers would’ve been messed up by then.”

Every head lifted.

Journalists were vultures.

Anything unexpected was immediately everybody's business.

The bouquet arrived before I could stop it.

Another pair of fucking flowers like the first weren’t enough.

For a second I thought that Liam figured where I worked, that I was a journalist, that he knew my secret — but fortunately Lottie a fellow co-worker that lives by my place caught the flower guy.

"Oh," Janice whispered.

"...fucking hell."

A tiny black envelope sat tucked between the flowers.

No signature.

Just four words.

Still owe you.

I stared.

No apology.

No explanation.

No acknowledgment that he'd disappeared while I stood in a stranger's bathroom wondering if I'd imagined the entire evening.

Just...

Still owe you.

Typical.

"I hate him," I muttered.

Janice smirked "You've gone all dreamy."

"I have not."

"You've got flowers bigger than your flat." She raised her brows at me.

"They're guilt flowers."

"They're expensive guilt flowers." She pointed out

"I don't care."

She leaned closer — “you my friend, might be getting distracted.”

I scoffed and looked up at her “how am I getting distracted?”

She grinned and leaned back on my desk, her arms crossed against her chest — “I told you, you might. If you don’t stop whatever feelings you’re experiencing, this Column won’t get written.”

“It’s going to be written” I argue.

She shrugged “sure it will.”

She untangled her legs and walked away from my desk with a strut, and I looked back at the computer with unfinished sentences.

I didn’t know what to do with myself anymore, I wasn’t supposed to get this close to Liam.

———-

18:30

I got off work like usual, I was halfway done with my column about Liam.

It wasn’t polished, but it’s almost there.

My heels clicked on the wet pavement, one raindrop to the nose and I knew I was fucked. I’ve forgotten my umbrella because apparently British weather is this shit.

Rain battered hard enough that the city blurred into streaks of amber and grey.

By the time I reached my block of flats, my hair clung to my face despite the sprint from the cab I was forced to pay for.

I fumbled with my keys — cold fingers. muttering every curse I knew until the stubborn lock finally gave way.

The warmth of my flat hit first.

Then the silence.

I shrugged off my dripping coat, dropped my handbag beside the sofa, and was halfway through kicking off my heels when the telephone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I narrowed my eyes at it "...You've got to be kidding."

On the fourth ring, I picked it up.

“Hello?"

A familiar chuckle answered "Thought you'd screenin' my calls."

I rolled my eyes "I was considering it."

"Didn't."

"Barely." I sigh

"Good enough."

There was a comfortable pause, filled only by the rain drumming against the windows.

"What do you want?" I broke the silence.

"Bit rude."

"You disappeared last night."

Another pause.

Longer this time.

"...Yeah." He paused “can I still make it up to you?”

I glanced around my flat, phone against my ear. Hair frizzy and damp.

“How?” I asked.

“Let me come over” he spoke — “want you to forgive me.”

And how can I say no? I needed more details about this man.

“Okay” I whispered.

———-

Now that Liam was coming over, there was another thing that needed tackling.

And that was the entirety of my flat — the papers laying around, the journals that needed to be hidden.

Anything that gave away — that I am indeed the enemy, the journalist every famous person needs to stay away from.

I hid everything in cabinets, awards inside the closet, or tugged under the bed.

From then on I had to change my appearance, fix the rats nest on my head.

Applied a little bit of makeup, change clothes, and spray on some parfume.

The final spray of perfume was still settling in the air when the sharp, impatient knock echoed through my front door.

Knock-knock-knock.

It had a rhythm to it. Aggressive, rock-star energy.

I took one last frantic look around the living room. The coffee table was clear. My bulletin board of Liam’s alleged infidelities—complete with red string and blurry paparazzi photos—was safely shoved beneath my mattress. The framed Scandal Magazine "Journalist of the Year" nomination was face-down under a pile of dirty laundry.

I was no longer the ruthless investigative reporter. Right now, I was just the quirky, totally harmless girl he’d met at a pub, who definitely didn't have an article titled

“Liam Gallagher: Rock Royalty or Serial Heartbreaker?”

sitting in my laptop's drafts folder.

Opening the door, I braced myself.

Liam was leaning against the doorframe, hands shoved deep into the pockets of an oversized green parka, a slightly crooked grin plastered across his face. He looked effortlessly cool, infuriatingly handsome, and completely oblivious to the fact that he was walking into a lion's den.

"Alright?" he said, his Mancunian drawl cutting through my sudden spike of anxiety. He held up a brown paper bag. "Brought peace offerings. Well, actually, I brought takeout. But it functions as peace."

I smiled softly and stepped out of way, “Chinese?”

“Right-o” he chuckled, brushing past me into the flat. He tossed the bag onto the counter and immediately collapsed onto my sofa, kicking his boots up onto the coffee table.

"Boots off the table, Gallagher," I snapped, closing the door.

"Right, sorry, proper strict you are," he muttered, though he didn't move them. He watched me as I walked over, his eyes scanning my face, lingering on the fact that I had clearly tried to look nice. A smug, knowing look crossed his face. "You look mega, by the way. Even if you are trying to act like you hate me."

“I do” I lied seamlessly, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, keeping a safe distance.

Liam’s smile faltered, replaced by something entirely genuine. He sat up, swinging his legs down, and leaned closer. The smell of cigarettes, expensive leather, and rain drifted over to me.

"Look, I'm serious. I just got drawn away" he said, his voice dropping an octave. He reached out, his thumb gently catching the edge of my wrist. "I'm a lot of things. A loudmouth, a prick sometimes. But I wouldn't mess you around. I like you. Properly.”

If he was manipulating me, I’m very gullible.

But looking into his eyes, which were surprisingly soft beneath that famous, heavy brow, the words caught in my throat.

He wasn't acting like the arrogant front-man the tabloids painted him out to be. He just looked like a boy trying to make a girl smile.

"You're a smooth talker," I murmured, my voice losing its sharp edge. "I bet you say that to every girl who writes you a bad review."

"Don't care about reviews. Care about you," he said softly.

Then, breaking the heavy tension, he smirked and grabbed the takeout bag. "Now, eat this greasy curry before I eat it all myself, and you can tell me all about why you're so obsessed with keeping your shoes off the furniture."

As we ate right out of the plastic containers, laughing as he loudly ranted about how modern music had "no soul" and mocked his brother Noel's guitar solos, I found myself genuinely laughing.

He was witty, sarcastic, and fiercely protective of the people he actually cared about.

Then, Liam stood up to stretch. "I need a drink. Where's your kitchen?”

"Oh, just through there—"

I froze. My heart stopped.

The kitchen. The kitchen counter. Where I had been formatting my notes right before he called. Where my professional, high-end Dictaphone recorder was sitting in plain sight next to the toaster.

"Liam, wait!" I jumped up, but it was too late. He was already stepping through the doorway.

So I grabbed his arm, making him stop — I had to come up with a distraction.

grabbed him by the lapels of his green parka, wound my fingers into the heavy fabric, and yanked him down.

Liam let out a muffled grunt of surprise as I slammed my lips against his. It wasn't a gentle, polite kiss. It was an "oh-god-please-don't-in-there" explosion of pure, unadulterated panic disguised as passion.

For a fraction of a second, Liam froze, his body rigid with shock.

But he was Liam Gallagher. Shock lasted all of two seconds before his rock-star instincts kicked in.

With a low growl that vibrated against my chest, he dropped his hand and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. The kiss shifted instantly.

It went from a desperate distraction to something deeply, intoxicatingly real.

He tasted like the spicy curry and the cold rain from outside, his lips moving against mine with a fierce, possessive confidence that made my knees go completely weak.

He backed me up until my spine hit the wall.

“Right,” Liam breathed against my lips, breaking away for a split second, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded as he looked down at me. A smug, breathless grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "So that’s how we’re playing it tonight, then?"

"I just..." I gasped for air, my heart hammering against my ribs for two entirely different reasons now.

I reached blindly behind my back, my fingers scraping against the cold plaster wall. "I just missed you. A lot."

Clearly," he chuckled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.

He leaned back in to kiss my jawline, his hands sliding up to cup my face, his thumbs tracing my cheekbones. "Fucking hell. If I knew leaving you high and dry got me this reaction, I’d do it more often."

“Don’t push your luck” I whispered.

Liam’s lips found mine again, gentler this time, lingering and sweet in a way that completely contradicted his wild public persona, a sickening realization washed over me.

I was supposed to be exposing his secrets. I was supposed to be finding proof that he was a heartless, unfaithful fraud to secure my front-page splash.

But as his arms tightened around me, keeping me safe and warm in the middle of my messy flat, I realized the only person being fraudulent here... was me.

“Still want me to make it up to you?” He whispered.

My lips trembled slightly, eyes wide as I nodded.

Stupid stupid stupid

He didn’t reply, just leaned back in and kissed me deeply. Slow and sweet.

His lands moved down my body, tugging and pulling. He pulled away for a brief moment to tug my shirt up and over my head — I obeyed and lifted my arms up to help him.

Suddenly I was standing there in a bra, the soft glow of my flat framed every curve of mine.

He didn’t comment, didn’t say anything cheeky, he just pressed another kiss on my mouth. Then trailed his mouth down my jaw….neck…collarbone..

Each touch was feather - light at first.

Until —

“Fuck” he breathed between kisses down my neck, “you’re so fuckin’ pretty”

Not very smooth or poetic, but enough to make you clench your thighs together.

I felt his rough finger tips trail up my spine until he found the clasp of my bra — fumbling slightly before unhooking it with shaky fingers.

He tugged the piece of fabric down. “Christ” he muttered as the bra fell onto the wooden floor, his hands instantly mapped my bare shoulders, then drifted lower over the swell of my breasts.

His thumbs brushed over one nipple gently — testing — I couldn’t help but gasp softly.

“Need you..” two words that slipped before he could stop them, no words left my mouth as he yanked his park off — tossing it aside without a care, revealing the white T-shirt underneath that hugged his biceps.

The shirt came off next — pulled over his head in one swift motion. No flexing for show, just pure focus.

Now he’s bare-chested, dark hair faintly on his chest, warm skin with faint scars from old memories.

“Where’s your room?” He breathed.

“It’s down—“ I yelped before I finish my sentence, he yanked me away from the wall and scooped me up into his arms.

He carried me through what he assumed was my bedroom, his grip was tight. He wasn’t letting go until my breath got knocked out from being pushed down onto my bed.

Before I could react, he was looming above me. One knee between my legs, hands caging either side of my head against the pillow.

And then his mouth found mine again — this time hotter, deeper, more demanding than any kiss we’ve shared so far.

Just pure need.

Liam didn’t waste his time at all, he kissed along my jaw — his thumb brushing against my nipple. Rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

His hands trailed down to yank my trousers down along with my panties, tossing them somewhere onto the floor.

Once they were off, and I was laid bare beneath him — he started to trail kisses down my stomach.

Slowly. Reverently.

His hands brushed my thighs apart so he could settle between my legs, his thumb finding my clit and immediately making soft circles against it.

A tiny, involuntary squirm escaped me before I could stop it.

With slow circles of that same thumb - light pressure at first, barely-there strokes meant to drive me insane. Watching every micro-expression on my face: parted Lips, fluttering lashes...

I couldn’t help but let out a tiny whimper, one in which made him smirk against my skin.

Then he kissed up the inside of my thigh — agonizingly slow, each press of his lips deliberate and maddening.

So he kept teasing - alternating between soft kisses on sensitive skin... then that infuriating light thumb-circle over my clit again.

Not enough to really satisfy. Just enough to keep building heat... frustration... need.

I begged for more by moving my hips upward, needing everything.

And that’s when he finally lowered down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss right on my heat.

He followed up by licking a long stripe against my glistening folds, his blue eyes glanced up once before focusing and latching his lips against my clit.

His hands found my hips, drilling me down onto the mattress so I wouldn’t squirm away or jerk my hips upward.

His tongue traced slow, wet circles first — exploring the taste. And learning what makes me gasp, Liam’s lips were warm. Wet — relentless in their rhythm.

he devoured. With quiet focus, like this was the most important thing he'd done all week. His tongue flicked over my clit with precise strokes... then sealed his mouth around it again to suck gently.

I could feel every vibration of his breath against sensitive skin.

Not when I was already trembling beneath him. Not when soft whimpers kept escaping between bitten-off moans that only made him want to tease harder...

He didn’t stop there — he couldn’t.

Instead he moved one hand away from my hip and added something new, slowly — carefully he slipped two fingers into my pussy.

Curling them just right the second they were inside.

The stretch was gentle at first, his lips still flicking his tongue against my sensitive buds all while his fingers began a soft pumping rhythm; in and out, deeper with each stroke.

The combination? Devastating.

My back arched off the bed despite being held down, a sharp gasp tore from my lips — and Liam felt every pulse like a victory.

My heat made unmistakable soft, wet squelches with every movement of his fingers.

Liam could hear it. Feel it.

Every-time he pushed back in, my body responded immediately: soaked and ready from the build up.

He pulled away just slightly to speak “fuck you’re drenched” he grunted.

He curled his fingers deeper — finding that spongy spot high up that made most women lose their minds - while keeping pressure steady with both thumb and lips now: alternating between sucking my clit and licking around it like a man obsessed.

Very soon the room filled with the quiet, intimate sounds - my breathing ragged, the slick rhythm of his fingers moving inside, the occasional pop when he pulled them out only to slide back in.

Liam's jaw was tight with focus. His blue eyes flicked up once - just to watch my face unraveling above him.

Eyes half lidded and glazed over pleasure.

It didn’t take long before my breathing got quicker and hips squirmed just enough to be a warning.

My thighs tensed around his shoulders, my fingers clenched the sheets beside my head.

He didn’t slow down, instead he intensified — “oh fuck Liam” I gasped.

His fingers curled deeper inside just right, finding that spot again and pressing hard while sucking my clit in one long, firm pull.

My chest rose, my eyes closed as my lips parted.

He couldn’t stop his movements, not even if he wanted to.

Not until I cried out and trembled against his mouth, my body tensed, then shuddered violently against his mouth as the orgasm ripped through me.

My thighs squeezed around his head instinctively, hips jerking in helpless little pulses.

Liam pulled his mouth away and sat back on his heels, fingers still inside moving slowly — letting me ride it out.

Low murmurs escaped him “that’s it…fuckin’ perfect”

He then wiped his glistening chin and mouth with the back of his hand, leaning back down to trail kisses up my stomach, ribs, chest…until they reached my mouth.

Liam kissed me properly — letting me taste the salt of my skin on his lips.

His fingers finally slipped out gently from between my thighs, until suddenly he pulled away entirely.

In one smooth languid motion — he rolled me onto my stomach, my face pressed into the pillow as Liam hovered over me.

Straddling slightly, his hands slid down the curve of my spine . . . Then lower — gripping my hips before leaning down to press an open - mouthed kiss right between them.

He pulled back and smacked my ass gently “Up” he commanded.

His hands gripped onto my hips pushing them upward — I moved my knees up so my ass is in the air.

Back arched and face sideways on the pillow.

His hand squeezed my asscheek just enough to make a tiny noise escape me, using his other hand he parted my cheeks to view the mess between my legs.

He ran a finger between my slick folds, still warm, still sensitive.

Then he brought his finger up — holding it in front of my face before pressing it between my lips for me to taste.

I parted my lips gently for him to push his finger between them, letting me taste myself. Closing my mouth against his forefinger and letting my tongue curl against it.

He finally pulled it out with a soft pop, not even I could believe what I was doing.

He had one hand palming himself against his jeans, already straining against the blue washed denim.

He couldn’t waste time, in a swift motion he unbuckled his belt in impatient motions.

The button popped open, the zipper came down fast.

And just like that? His jeans and boxers were shoved down past his hips in one go — he was thick and straining, precum glistening against his pink tip.

He threw his jeans away onto the floor somewhere.

With his cock in hand, he slid it slowly between my thighs — not entering yet, just gliding through the wetness still coating my skin. Using my arousal to slick himself up.

A low groan escaped him at the heat and slickness there, he rocked forward slightly — dragging his length from my clit down to my inner thigh and back again while he watched me tremble.

“Fuck..” Liam’s voice came out gruff.

He didn’t stop his motions, letting every fluid cling to him.

Then he added quietly “been thinkin’ ‘bout this? ‘Bout me fuckin’ you like this?”

I do feel pathetic for nodding against the pillow.

And without a proper warning; one firm thrust and his cock slid into me completely — sinking deep in one smooth push until our hips met.

Making my lips part and my hands grip onto the bed sheets, a rough grunt left him.

He stilled for half a second just breathing through it, before gripping my hips hard again . . . Pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in with more force.

Each thrust sent a jolt through the both of us, my body stretched around him perfectly. Taking every inch with only the softest whimpers muffled by the pillow.

Liam didn’t speak again — not yet.

Just set a relentless rhythm: hips snapping forward with controlled power, his fingers digging into my skin like they might leave marks.

The bed creaked under their movement.

The sound of skin hitting skin filled the quiet room, his breath came in ragged bursts — hot against my back as he leaned over slightly to press messy kisses between my shoulder blades.

Just grunts and low growls each time he bottomed out inside, he still managed to angle his hips just right on every inward stroke.

Hitting my g-spot repeatedly that made me get louder each time.

A gasp turned into a moan, a whimper twisted into a cry.

He was targeting, finding exactly where and what made me louder.

Between heavy breaths and the slick, slapping sound of skin on skin. His dirty mouth finally opened — “fuck…you feel s’ good”

Then, lower: “Tight little cunt…takin’ me so well”

Just filthy truth.

He grunted, hips snapping harder as he watched my body jolt with each push.

His voice dropped even lower — rougher — when I clenched around him involuntarily from the pleasure;

“Yeah…squeeze my cock like that again. Fuck.”

No filter. No shame.

Just raw hunger spilled into words meant only for me to hear.

The bed rocked violently beneath them as sweat broke across both their bodies . . . The air smelled like sex and heat.

With a quick, rough motion, he spat — right onto where their bodies were joined. A slick glisten of saliva mixed with sweat and her arousal.

Not romantic. Not elegant.

Immediately he shoved back into her with even more force, diving deeper.

I buried my face onto the pillows enough that muffled every squeak.

She felt it in her gut: that coil tightening low and hot. The pressure building with every slap.

He stopped talking dirty, just focused fucking as he chased his own release.

He reached down under my tummy and down till his fingers found my clit through the slickness, pressing tight quick circles.

The pace of his dick penetrating did not falter, the double stimulation was brutal. I could’ve screamed if not by the pillow smothering every sound, instead? My body stiffened — back arching slightly as pleasure spiked.

Liam felt it instantly: how I clenched around his dick, how soft squelching sounds came out.

“That’s it, love…come on my cock” he urged, thumb still working on my clit relentlessly while his hips hammered into me without mercy.

And just like that?

Shattered.

A silent scream escaped against the pillow as my orgasm ripped through — wave after wave of pure ecstasy crashing down. Walls clenched around him in rhythmic pulses, so tight it nearly made Liam lose control.

But he held on, just barely, helping me ride it out with thrust that kept dragging pleasure every second.

With a guttural groan that rumbled from deep in his chest, he buried himself inside her to the hilt — staying there — as his release tore through him.

Hot and pulsing, thick waves of it filling me up.

No pulling out, no thinking about anything but the white-hot pleasure burning through every nerve ending.

Just pure ecstasy — skin on skin…breath mingling… hearts hammering against each other’s bodies.

————————-

The adrenaline had completely dissolved into something else entirely.

Liam had a way of stripping away all the noise, the cynical walls I’d built as a journalist, and the frantic pace of my everyday life.

everything felt slow, electric, and dangerously real.

There were no cameras, no headlines, and no rumors. Just him.

Afterward — The room was quiet, save for the hum of the city outside and the sound of our breathing.

I was curled up against his side, my head resting on his bare chest, tracing the line of his collarbone. The heavy green parka was thrown onto my bedroom chair, and for the first time, he looked entirely vulnerable.

"Alright over there?" Liam murmured, his voice a sleepy, gravelly rumble in the dark. He shifted, wrapping an arm tighter around my bare shoulder.

"I'm fine," I smiled, poking him lightly in the ribs "Just wondering how long before you start singing Oasis lyrics in your sleep to boost your own ego."

Liam let out a breathy laugh, the sound vibrating against my cheek. "Oi, watch it. Those lyrics are poetry. People pay good money to hear me shout 'em. You're getting a private performance for free."

"You call screaming 'Live Forever' at three in the morning poetry?" I teased, looking up at him through my eyelashes. "You're a menace, Gallagher."

"Yeah, well. I'm your menace tonight," he said, leaning down to plant a soft, lingering kiss on the top of my head.

His tone softened, losing the sarcastic edge. "You're not like the others. You don't treat me like I'm a god, but you don't look at me like I'm a monster either. It’s nice. Just being a bloke for five minutes."

A heavy weight settled in my stomach. The guilt was back, sharper than before. If only you knew, I thought.

"Go to sleep, Liam," I whispered, closing my eyes and burying my face into his neck, unable to look at the genuine warmth in his eyes anymore.

"Yeah, yeah. Night, babe."

Within minutes, the exhaustion of the day took over, and I drifted off, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Liam stayed awake. He wasn't used to sleeping early, his internal clock permanently set to late-night studio sessions and after-parties.

He lay there in the dark for an hour, listening to my soft, rhythmic breathing, a rare feeling of peace settling over him.

Thirsty

he carefully slid out from under the covers, trying not to wake me. He grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulling them on, and scanned the dimly lit bedroom for his pack of cigarettes. He swore he’d left them near the nightstand.

He bent down, looking near the base of the bed, and his foot knocked against something hidden beneath the dust ruffle.

Thud.

Curious, Liam reached under the bed, his fingers brushing against a thick, leather-bound notebook.

He pulled it out, assuming it was just a diary or a sketchbook. He sat on the edge of the bed, the moonlight filtering through the curtains illuminating the cover.

He opened it to a random page.

His eyes scanned the handwriting. Then, he froze.

Subject: Liam Gallagher. Target Date: End of the month. Rumors of infidelity in Madrid—need to verify with hotel staff. The 'rock star' persona is an easy shield, but the cracks are showing. If I can get close enough, the Scandal front page is ours. He’s predictable. Arrogant. Just another cliché.

Liam’s breath hitched. The blood in his veins turned to pure ice.

He flipped back to the first page. There, pasted inside the cover, was a press badge. Your name. Investigative Reporter, Scandal Magazine.

Page after page was filled with timelines of his life. Photos of him stapled to the paper. Lists of his ex-girlfriends, notes on his favorite bars, and draft titles for articles that made him look like a piece of absolute trash.

The girl sleeping peacefully beside him wasn't a sweet, sharp-witted escape from his chaotic life.

She was a vulture.

A dark, terrifying rage exploded inside Liam’s chest. The vulnerability he had shown her just an hour ago felt like a violent humiliation.

"You absolute fucking snake," Liam roared, slamming the journal down onto the nightstand with a deafening crack.

I jolted awake, my heart leaping into my throat. The room was dark, but I could see the towering, tense silhouette of Liam standing by the edge of the bed. He was shaking.

"Liam?" I blinked, confused and half-asleep. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?!" he shouted, his voice cracking with a raw, furious pain that echoed off the walls. He flicked the bedside lamp on, the harsh yellow light blinding me.

In his hand, he held my black leather journal.

My world completely shattered.

"Liam, wait—" I scrambled up, pulling the sheets against my chest, my face draining of all color.

"Don't 'Liam' me! Don't you dare!" he screamed, tossing the journal onto the bed. It landed open, right on the page detailing his alleged affairs.

"Is this what tonight was? A fucking stakeout? You let me into your bed so you could print lies about me in your pathetic little rag?!"

"No! No, it started out as an assignment, I swear, but it changed!" I cried, tears pricking my eyes as I reached out for him. "Liam, please, listen to me. I didn't want to do it anymore. I was going to drop the story!" — was I?

"You're a liar!" he spat, stepping back from the bed as if my touch would poison him.

His face was twisted in a mixture of pure fury and deep, agonizing betrayal.

The arrogant rock-star mask was completely gone, leaving behind a man who had actually trusted someone, only to have them rip his heart out.

"I actually thought you were different," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh, lethal whisper that hurt worse than the shouting.

"I sat here telling you I liked you. I let my guard down. And the whole time, you were just calculating how many copies you'd sell."

"Liam, that's not true—"

"Save it," he snarled.

He looked at me one last time, his eyes dead and cold. "You want your scoop? Write this down. Liam Gallagher thinks you're a parasitic, heartless bitch. Put that on the front page."

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the bedroom.

A second later, the front door slammed shut so hard the windows rattled, leaving me entirely alone in the suffocating silence of my own trap.

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