7|Summoned

As Liam cruised through the quiet, jacaranda tree-lined streets of Glen Eagles, an affluent suburb north of Rock Castle, it wasn't the meeting with his father that occupied his thoughts. He was still fuming over Eden, bewildered that she had the nerve to leave him.

It would have been comical if it wasn't so mortifying.

He stopped outside the massive, black iron-wrought gate in front of a sprawling mansion on the cul de sac, rolled down his window and jabbed at the intercom irritably.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently to the beat of the fast-paced dance tune shaking the metal walls of his Ferrari as he waited for one of several housekeepers and butlers to buzz him in. The Lamborghini he drove last night was at the garage. He vaguely remembered Steven, his driver, mentioning something about it needing maintenance before he left.

Within seconds the gate squeaked inward, and Liam eased into a circular driveway surrounded by manicured lawns and immaculate gardens. His childhood home was as vibrant now in the winter months as it was at the height of summer. The army of landscapers that came in twice a week made sure of it. With her love of plants, it was the one thing his mom, insisted on. Too bad she didn't have a green thumb; otherwise she'd do everything herself.

Richard stood tall and proud in his butler's uniform as he waited at the front door to welcome him home.

"Master Anderson," the head butler beamed as he gave Liam a bear hug and grasped his hand in a firm handshake. Richard was always an affectionate man but had become more sentimental as the grey hairs on his head multiplied.

"Good to see you again, Rich!" He went along with the effusive greeting even though they had just seen each other last week when he reported for the mandatory family dinner he and his two younger sisters had to attend weekly without exception.

"You kept your old man waiting, he's not happy with you," the butler chuckled as he dragged him inside the house.

Liam's stomach grumbled when he caught a whiff of something delicious–probably roast chicken, that's what they had on Saturdays– as he made his way through the house, past the gourmet kitchen leading into the formal dining room and lounge. Other than Dave's hangover cure, he hadn't eaten anything since last night.

He poked his head inside his mother's studio, directly opposite the guest bathroom.

Lois Anderson sat in front of the easel, staring at the colossal spouting fountain beyond her window. Her greying black hair floated on her back in a long French braid, contrasting with the pale pink satin blouse she wore over white cotton pants. Dainty-looking ballet pumps matching her shirt adorned her feet. From her slumped shoulders and the blank canvas, Liam figured inspiration was not in abundance today.

"There she is!" He said with a hint of a smile in his voice. "The most beautiful woman in the world!"

His mom turned, and a bright grin split her face when she saw him lingering in the doorway. But her pale green eyes remained moist with tears. She brushed them away quickly and danced into his outstretched arms.

"There he is, the most handsome son in the world!"

Liam kissed her cheek; her luxurious yet familiar fragrance tickled his nose. It's one of the earliest smells he remembered from his childhood, warm and comforting. If he had to describe love in one word, it would be his mother's scent.

"Still struggling to paint?" He asked when they eased apart.

Lois nodded but didn't say anything, a sad look in her eyes as she linked their arms, and they made their way to the study at the end of the hallway.

"Maybe you just need a break," Liam suggested. But she was on a break, and it was going on for six months now.

"Maybe I should quit, and take up another hobby."

"Hey, creativity can't be rushed," he consoled her as he squeezed her shoulder.

Clarke Liam Anderson Senior sat behind a large, mahogany executive desk in the centre of the room, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in a tight frown as he peered at the document in his hand. The bright sunlight streaming through the enormous French windows behind him, bathing him in its soft glow, gave him an almost ethereal quality. But in all fairness, the man had earned himself a god-like status amongst his peers with his achievements.

Watching his father was like seeing himself in another forty years or so. With their red hair, pale colouring and blue eyes, they were mirror images. Their towering, athletic frames were another thing they shared.

But that's where all the likeness ended.

Clarke was well-known and adored for his generosity, compassion and visionary leadership.

Liam, on the other hand, gave truth to all the cliches about redheads and their fiery tempers. It didn't take much to set him off, which would explain why Eden's stunt had pissed him off so much.

At twenty-eight he's had lots of success in his career. Still, his constant scandals playing out in the tabloids overshadowed all his achievements, and he suspected this was the real reason for Senior speeding up his succession plan.

"Where are your glasses, why aren't you using them?" Liam asked as his mother gently pushed him forward.

Clarke glared at him for a second before he dutifully pulled up the glasses dangling on a black string around his neck.

Liam sat on the brown Chesterfield armchair to the left of the grand fireplace. His mother propped herself on the three-seater facing the fire. She picked up a Business Insider magazine and leafed through it absently.

She seemed listless, almost as if she had a lot on her mind, and Liam wondered if it was more than just her inability to paint.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it, his eyes roaming over the array of family photographs lined up on the mantel, showing off decades of memories, mostly of the three Anderson children during various milestones and proudest moments in their lives. First and last days of school, matric dances, graduations. Important defining moments. But there were several missing from the neatly arranged timeline, and they all had to do with him—the most recent being his seventh tournament win.

Liam rested his arms over his taut stomach as he eased back in his chair and enjoyed the fire; he didn't realise he was cold until he felt the warmth in here.