The Harris Company stood as a testament to success, its sleek, towering structure a beacon of power amidst the city's sprawling skyline. The sun reflected off the pristine glass façade, casting shimmering patterns onto the vast expanse of neatly organized parking lots.

Rows of luxury cars glinted under the morning light, each one a silent declaration of the employee’s achievements and the company’s status. Not just wealth—but order. Reputation. Control.

Inside, the reception area exuded precision and sophistication. Marble floors gleamed so perfectly they could reflect secrets.

Employees moved with purpose. Clipped heels, rustling papers, the occasional polite greeting as someone walked past. The building lived and breathed my father’s legacy... and now, it breathed mine.

The elevator opened on the top floor with a soft, obedient chime. The hallway was silent save for the quiet hum of the central air and the soft tap of polished leather against tile. My footsteps.

I stepped into the CEO’s office—the crown jewel.

The view was endless. Glass walls stretched across one side of the room, capturing the city in all its chaos and offering it to me like a tribute. Below, cars crawled through the streets like ants. I ruled from above.

Sunlight poured in, gilding the space in gold. The desk was flawless. Oak, hand-finished. On one side, a crystal vase held a fresh bouquet of flowers. On the shelves, Dad’s trophies gleamed beside mine. Side by side. Father and son. Legacy and successor.

And then there was the chair. My chair.

I sat on the chair, reaching out for the pen. The ink glided smoothly beneath my pen, dancing across the crisp paper. Everything I signed bore the weight of my name, my legacy—one I earned with blood, sweat, and an unshakable hunger to rule it all.

My beige shirt was neatly pressed, sleeves rolled just enough to show the edge of my watch—silver, precise, just like me. The brown tie, snug against my throat, didn’t choke me. Control was never a noose to me. It was home.

And then followed two knocks. My eyes lifted from the document, “Dad.” The word left my lips naturally, warm in contrast to the chill that usually wrapped around my tone.

I leaned back slightly. He didn’t need an invitation—he never had. He crossed the room like he still owned it. He sat across from me, his presence still echoing the king he used to be—before he handed the empire to me.

“What brings you here, Dad? Any work?” My voice remained gentle, but sharp. Because I saw the flicker of something behind his eyes. Excitement. Like he had a surprise he was dying to unwrap.

He chuckled lightly. “No, no work. I came to talk to you about something.”

I tilted my head, my gaze narrowing in quiet amusement. “You could have just called, you know. Why come all the way here?”

“I was nearby,” he waved off with that charming grin. “Besides, this is something I wanted to discuss with you in person.”

I nodded once, giving him space to speak. But inside, I was already reading between the lines.

He leaned forward. Eyes hopeful. Smile genuine. “Your mother and I were talking, and we think it’s time for you to settle down. We’ve even thought of someone perfect for you.”

And just like that… the temperature dropped. The smile on my face didn’t move, but the warmth behind it died. My hand stilled. The pen—once twirling—now rested between my fingers like a blade sheathed.

Settle down? With someone they picked?

“Who are you talking about?” My voice didn’t waver. It was still calm. Still sweet. But if you knew me well, you’d hear it—the edge.

“Relax, son. I’m talking about Aria.” Dad chuckled, like he hadn’t just sent a bolt of chaos through my chest seconds ago.

And there it was—her name. Aria. Like silk on skin. Like a match flicked in a room soaked in gasoline. The storm inside me stilled, replaced by something deeper. Possessive. Tender. Wild.

My spine relaxed into the chair again, a faint smirk curling my lips as my fingers tapped once on the desk. “Oh. I thought you meant someone else. Sorry. But… have you spoken to Aria about this?”

I tried to sound casual. I didn’t want to seem too eager. But the pulse beneath my skin betrayed me—fast, loud, and aching for her.

“No, not yet. I was planning to visit Arlo and discuss it with him first.” Dad’s words came easily, but my jaw clenched the second he said that.

No. Not yet.
Not until I’d made her mine.

I didn’t want this to be arranged for me, no matter how perfectly it aligned. I didn’t want anyone else putting thoughts into her head. She needed to hear it from me—from the man who’s been drowning in her smile, haunted by her scent, living for her voice.

I looked away, letting the sunlight outside the window catch my gaze for a beat—like they held the answer. Turning back, my eyes locked with Dad’s. “Dad, could you hold off on that? At least for now?”

His brow furrowed, concern flickering across his face. “Why? Don’t you like her? I thought you’d be happy about this.”

I do. God, I do. But this… this wasn’t a deal. This wasn’t a company merger. This was Aria.

“I do,” I said, my voice low, softer now, stripped of the usual polish. “But I want to tell her how I feel first. I need to know if she feels the same way.”

Silence hovered for a breath and then he smiled. That knowing, fatherly kind that reminded me he hadn’t always worn suits and built empires. He used to chase Mom barefoot in the rain. “Ah, I see. You scared me for a moment. I thought maybe you didn’t like her anymore.”

My smile faltered. Didn’t like her?

Dad had no idea. He had no clue how deep this went—how far I’d fall, how fast I already had. Liking Aria was such a laughably small word. That girl owned me.

Her laughter was a melody that lived in the background of my thoughts, soft and intoxicating, threading itself into the quietest corners of my mind. Her smile? Hell, it was the first thing I searched for in a crowded room and the last thing I saw when I closed my eyes.

But love didn’t quite capture it.
No.

This wasn’t flowers-and-love-letters. This was something darker. Wilder. A craving I couldn’t put into words. The kind that made your chest tighten and your fingers itch to touch—just to prove she was real.

Aria is mine. Every moment she smiles, every word she speaks—it belongs to me. And soon, she’ll understand that. She won’t just love me. She’ll need me the way I need her. The way I burn for her.

“Alright, son. I won’t say anything for now. But don’t keep her waiting too long,” Dad said, breaking into my reverie.

I pulled myself out of the fire she always set inside me and nodded. “I won’t.” My voice came out low, but steady like a vow written in blood.

Dad stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt like the visit hadn’t just stirred up my entire world.

I rose too, walking with him to the door. Part of me didn’t want him to leave—not because I couldn’t handle being alone, but because he was the last thread tying this moment to something real. “You could stay a bit longer.” I offered, almost reluctant to let him walk away.

He smiled, warm and knowing, waving me off. “You’ve got work to do. Take care, son.”

And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him.

I let out a breath, one hand dragging through my hair as I turned toward the glass wall. My fingers slipped into my pockets, and I stepped closer, my eyes scanning the endless sprawl of the city—cars, people, buildings, noise. Life moved at a hundred miles an hour out there.

But it was all… static. Meaningless. Because she wasn’t in it. Not yet.

God, even thinking her name made everything inside me twist. My thoughts blurred, slowly sharpening into a vivid picture of her: those soft waves of hair brushing her shoulders, that delicate smile she wore like a secret, and that laugh—fuck, that laugh—that could bring me to my knees.

In my head, she was already mine. Wrapped in my arms, her breath against my neck, her lips whispering things I’d kill to hear. Her scent clinging to me. Her touch making everything else irrelevant.

A faint smile tugged at my lips, but my eyes—they burned with want, with purpose.

She’ll see it soon.
How much I love her.
How much I need her.

And when she does?
She won’t ever want to leave.

The evening sun cast its final golden rays over the mansion, filtering through the sheer curtains of the expansive hallroom. I sat alone on the plush couch placed precisely at the heart of the room, surrounded by familiar silence.

The tiles beneath me gleamed under the gentle hue of the chandelier above. Every corner of this hall echoed wealth and elegance, with the detailed wall moldings and expensive oil paintings hanging like forgotten memories.

A faint sigh escaped me as I adjusted the reading glasses on the bridge of my nose and turned another page of the book resting on my lap. My fingers tapped absentmindedly at the edge of the paper.

I wore my off-white cashmere sweater and a pair of beige lounge pants that felt just right for quiet evenings like this. Retirement had given me time, but not peace. The serenity of the room often clashed with the unrest inside me, especially when I thought of him.

And just then, as if summoned by thought, I heard his footsteps. Calm, steady, echoing down the hallway like they had every right to disturb the stillness. Ronan entered with the composed presence he carried so naturally now. He wore a plain white t-shirt and dark gray joggers, casual but effortlessly dignified.

My son—my grown man of a son—looked every bit the CEO the world praised. Yet to me, he was still the boy who used to fall asleep on couch with his head on my lap.

He walked toward me and sat down beside me with slow, purposeful movements. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned slightly forward, his gaze focused on the floor, not on me. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air—fresh, clean, distant.

I turned my head, watching him from the corner of my eye. I placed my book and glasses on the glass table before me with practiced care, not wanting to disturb the moment more than it already was.

A warm smile touched my lips, though it trembled ever so slightly as I looked at him. That expression—his cold, unreadable face—it always stung. He never used to look at me like this. He never used to not look at me. My heart ached in quiet places it had grown used to nursing.

“You’re home early today. Not much work?” I asked gently, my voice filled with a softness I couldn’t unlearn, no matter how much colder he became.

Ronan nodded briefly, his sharp features betraying no emotion. “Where is she?” he asked, his tone clipped and cool.

That one question, so simple in form yet so heavy in meaning, cut into the quiet like a blade. I didn’t need to ask who he meant. He never did call her by name—not anymore. Not in years. The word Mom hadn’t passed his lips in what felt like a lifetime. The fire in his eyes whenever Gloria was brought up—it had once shocked me. Now, it simply hurt.

The bond we had shared as father and son had frayed in the shadows of that unspoken feud, and I knew it. I had tried, again and again, to fix what was broken between them… and between us. But everytime, I stay a man who just ends up sitting in his own silence.

“She’s not home,” I replied softly, keeping my tone as neutral as I could, though the weight in my chest didn’t hide well. “She’s been out since the afternoon. Should be back in about an hour or so.”

He gave a small nod—barely a movement—but said nothing more. The air between us grew heavier, wrapped in silence, as though even the hall itself dared not breathe. Only the ticking of the antique clock on the far wall punctuated the moment, steady and uncaring.

I stared at my son for a long while, his posture rigid, his gaze distant. He wasn’t just quiet. He was troubled. I leaned forward, slowly, my voice lowered, colored now with concern that was impossible to hide. “Is something bothering you, son?” I asked carefully.

He looked at me, finally. That cold, expressionless exterior softened—only slightly, like a crack in ice that threatened to spread but held firm. Still, I noticed. I always noticed.

And then he spoke, his voice quiet, but every syllable carried a hidden storm. “I found her.” Those three words held more than he was willing to say.

They floated in the air, thick with meaning, curling around the silence like smoke. I straightened up slowly, brows furrowed, unsure what he meant—hoping it wasn’t what I feared. “Found who?” I asked, my voice low, almost hesitant. Because deep down, I had a feeling I already knew and it scared me.

Ronan hesitated, his eyes momentarily dropping to the floor beneath our feet. Then, with a quiet sigh, he finally spoke. “Aria.”

My breath caught. I blinked, not fully grasping it at first. Aria?

My expression must have shifted, because a small smile crept across my face, unbidden. Surprise, disbelief, delight—each emotion hit me in waves, so quickly I could barely hold them together.

“Aria? Aria Romano?” I repeated, the name barely leaving my lips as my heart stirred with recognition and memory. “When did you meet her?”

“At a café,” Ronan said, his tone even, though something softer lingered just beneath it. “The one I went to with Bianca. She owns it. I wasn’t sure it was her at first, but I had my suspicions. Then, I saw her again at Alex’s party. After that, I visited the café again and confirmed it. She’s Aria.”

And as he spoke, I saw it just for a moment. A softness in his eyes that had long vanished. The tightness around his jaw relaxed, the familiar warmth I hadn’t seen in years flickered alive in his voice.

It was as though time had briefly reversed, and I was seeing my son—my boy—before the bitterness had hardened him.

I smiled again, gently, holding onto that flicker like it was something fragile. “Does Gloria know about this?” I asked, careful with my tone, cautious not to let my worry show too much.

Ronan’s gaze darkened, the softness swiftly replaced by a quiet intensity. He shook his head. “No, and she doesn’t need to.”

My heart dropped slightly, the name—Gloria—once again forming a barrier between us. His next words made my chest tighten. “But… something’s odd. As far as I remember, she didn’t have a brother.”

I stiffened. The air felt suddenly heavier, and I found myself swallowing past the dryness in my throat. My hands folded slowly in my lap, the fingers trembling ever so slightly. “Have you met her family?” I asked, keeping my voice light, even as a creeping unease made my skin prickle.

He shook his head again. “Only her brother. He said he idolizes me, so I gave him an internship at the company. But he didn’t show up today, probably because of his father.”

I gave a low chuckle, though there was something tight behind it. A memory, buried deep, trying to claw its way to the surface.

“Well, I forgot to mention it before.. but, Sofia was pregnant back then.” I said, my voice quieter now, fading slightly as I drifted through thoughts I hadn’t revisited in decades. “things were kind of messed up at the time.”

A long pause settled, filled only by the muffled sound of the wind brushing against the windows. Then I turned back to him with a gentler tone. “Anyway, did you and Aria talk about old times?”

Ronan’s expression turned cold once more. His eyes hardened, and the frustration on his face was impossible to miss. He looked away, his jaw tightening as if to contain the irritation rising within him. “No. She acts like she doesn’t remember me. I don’t know why she acts like that.”

I couldn’t help but smile, even laugh a little at his obvious annoyance. It was rare to see him like this—vulnerable, almost childlike in his frustration. “Maybe because you were the devil of her life?” I teased, the corners of my lips lifting in amusement. My tone was light, deliberately so, hoping to ease the weight pressing between us.

Ronan clicked his tongue in response, not amused. “I wasn’t that bad.”

A soft chuckle left my throat, watching the way he refused to meet my gaze. That stiff jaw, the slight twitch of his brow—he was still the same kid inside, whether he admitted it or not.

“Don’t let this stress you too much,” I said, leaning back slightly as I eyed him. My tone was still teasing, a father trying to lighten the moment. “It’s not like she was your girlfriend who forgot about you, and now you're upset.”

But as I looked at his face—at the tightly drawn brows, the irritation written all over his features—my smile began to fade. A sigh slipped from my lips, as I reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. My fingers rested there with reassurance.

“Come on, son,” I said quietly, the teasing now replaced with understanding. “She was too little to remember those times.”

But Ronan’s eyes met mine, sharp and accusing, filled with something deeper than just anger—confusion, maybe even hurt. “But if I can remember, then why can’t she?” he said, his voice steady but laced with quiet intensity. “She wasn’t that baby to not remember anything.”

I drew in a breath, the memories of that time pressing in again like a storm cloud. “Her past was complicated, Ronan. She was trau—” I stopped, swallowing the rest of the word before it could surface.

Then I went on, gentler. “Maybe Arlo told her to stay away from you,” I said, my voice calm but heavy with sadness. “Maybe that’s why she acts like that.”

Ronan's eyes narrowed immediately. A cold sharpness settled over his face, and I could tell a name—a face—had just crossed his mind. He leaned slightly toward me, the air around him suddenly colder.

“Dad, I know I never asked about this before,” he began, his voice low, deliberate. “But I want to know. Why didn’t you div—”

But before the question could leave his mouth, the soft click of the front door opening echoed through the hall.

Both of us stilled.

We both turned to the sound of heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. Gloria entered with the usual flair she carried into every room—draped in a sleek black dress that hugged every inch of her carefully maintained figure.

A string of pearls glimmered against her collarbone, her earrings catching the chandelier’s golden light with a smug kind of sparkle. Her hair was pulled into one of those elegant updos that only seemed to magnify how calculating she was underneath it all.

A designer purse hung from her forearm like a badge of status. She looked every inch the woman she’d always wanted to be—flawless, powerful, unreachable. But beneath all that sophistication were those eyes. Sharp. Cold. Always watching, always ready to cut.

Her gaze swept over Ronan and me like we were nothing more than strangers lingering too long in her space. And then her lips curved upward, that familiar cruel tilt I’d grown to despise over the years. “Well, isn’t this a rare sight? Father and son bonding.”

The sarcasm in her voice wasn’t even veiled. She never missed a chance to twist the knife, not even now.

I didn’t turn to her. I couldn’t. Not immediately. I was too busy watching Ronan—his body tensing, his jaw clenching. He stood up abruptly, as if the very air had turned too toxic to breathe. “Goodnight,” he muttered, curt and cold, and walked away without a single glance behind.

My heart ached, watching his retreating form. Every step he took away from me, from us, felt like another crack splitting through the glass I’d been desperately trying to keep intact.

I turned to Gloria, finally meeting her gaze. “Do you always have to push him away?” I asked, my voice calm, but not soft—not anymore.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes with that same smug arrogance she wore like perfume. “Don’t blame me for his attitude. He’s always been stubborn.” No remorse. No reflection. Just deflection and ice.

I let out a slow, bitter breath. There was no point in fighting her anymore. I’ve done it for years. So I said nothing. I let the silence speak. But it was thick and cruel, pressing against my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake off.

I could still feel Ronan’s presence in the room, even though he was long gone. Could still feel the tension between us—between him and her—clinging to the walls like shadows that refused to be swept away.

Sometimes I wonder what might’ve happened if I had walked away years ago. If I had chosen peace over endurance.

But I didn’t.

And now I sit here, watching the pieces fall, unable to catch them.