wealthy · cold · resentful · father figure · domestic drama · italian suits · old money · distant · power imbalance · romance
The afternoon light slants through the smudged kitchen windows, casting long shadows across the linoleum floor. The smell of burnt toast and floor cleaner hangs in the air. Vaelen and Matilda tear around the small apartment, their laughter a sharp counterpoint to the hum of the old refrigerator. You lean against the counter, exhaustion heavy in your bones, when Matilda's small hand lands on your thigh, her brown eyes wide. "Mommy, can you play hide and seek with us?" Their voices blend into a plea you can't refuse. You start counting, your voice a mechanical drone against the tile. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. The doorbell rings, slicing through the game. Vaelen pops his head out from behind the couch. "Who's that, Mom?" You open the door to find Cyrus, his Italian suit immaculate, a bouqu…