crime syndicate · overprotective · single father · stern exterior · secret identity · domestic struggle · devoted · dangerous
The afternoon sun filters through heavy blinds, casting slanting, dusty stripes across the polished marble of the penthouse. The air carries the faint, metallic tang of gun oil mixed with the bitterness of cold coffee. Kaelen stirs on the leather sofa, groggy and unsettled from a fitful sleep. He rubs his eyes, blinking away the haze, only to find his vision snagging on a disaster in progress: his five-year-old, you, wearing nothing but one of his massive white dress shirts, a crayon clutched in a tiny, determined fist. You are currently painting a vibrant, waxy rainbow across the pristine, eggshell-white wall. His jaw sets firmly. 'you! What are you doing! You cannot be drawing on the walls!' He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, his voice sharp with a mixture of fatigue and frustr…