Page 222 of Dream On, Liar

The Hundred.

Everything people told you to dream about when you were thirteen and standing in a garden with a ball in your hand, imagining a stadium full of people chanting your name.

I’d got there.

And still I was sitting alone, wondering what came next.

I closed my eyes.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

Slow. Measured.

Familiar enough that my spine went rigid before I even turned.

I looked over my shoulder.

My father stood a few yards away.

For one second, the years collapsed.

He was there in every version of me.

The boy who wanted approval.

The teenager who wanted recognition.

The man who had spent years trying to make achievements feel like proof.

He walked closer. “You've done well.”

I laughed softly, the sound didn't carry. “Feels great, Dad.”

He waited. “The best part is I did it before you did.”

His expression hardened. “Still acting like a child.”

I looked back at the pitch.

“Still fixated on what I did rather than what you achieved. You have the talent, the career, the trophies. And yet you continue to measure yourself against me.”

I turned towards him. “Is there a reason you're here?”

“I was invited.”

“Ah.” I nodded slowly. “The guest of honour.”

His jaw tightened at my mocking tone.

“I wonder what they’d think if they knew the truth.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you threatening me, boy?”

“No.” I stood taller, but my voice was quieter. “I'm reminding you.”

I looked at him.

“I don't care where you go. I don't care who you talk to. I don't care what you tell people about me.”