[Music recommendation: Runaway by Aurora]
Xavier swirled the champagne in his glass, watching the golden liquid catch the light as conversations and laughter buzzed around him. But his mind wasn't in the present. It drifted, pulled back to the afternoon, to Kamsi.
He hadn't expected to see her that day, much less have her effortlessly push her way into his carefully laid-out plans. Yet there she was, slipping in like she belonged, knocking down the walls he had put up without even trying.
"I never thought I'd get to see you today, especially not in a suit," she had teased, her eyes flickering with amusement as she took in his unusually polished appearance.
He had smirked, tilting his head as he met her gaze. "Enjoy it while it lasts."
She had laughed, but then her expression softened, the teasing giving way to something more serious. "Xavier, you have to let go of the hate," she had said, stepping closer, her voice dipping into something quieter, something meant just for him. "Moving on requires forgiveness, and forgiveness doesn't come easy. But it's for your sake, not for your father's. You have to forgive him to move on from the pain."
His jaw had tensed, his usual deflection faltering under the weight of her words. "And what do I get in return?" he had asked, trying to keep his tone light, but something in his chest had tightened as he waited for her answer.
Kamsi had smiled, soft but sure. "Happiness. Peace of mind."
His gaze had locked onto hers, dark and unreadable. "I mean, what do I get in return from you?"
She had barely had time to react before he pulled her close, his hands sliding around her waist, feeling the warmth of her body against his. He had expected her to push him away, to scold him for turning the moment into something else—but instead, she had only arched a brow, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"You're doing this for yourself, bro," she had quipped, her voice light, but the way she held his gaze told him she knew exactly what he was doing.
He had chuckled, fingers pressing into the curve of her waist. "But don't you think if I behave properly, I should get a reward?"
Kamsi had smirked then, slow and knowing. "How about you behave properly before seeking a reward?"
Xavier had laughed, leaning in until his breath ghosted over her lips. "Okay," he had murmured, his voice rough with something unspoken.
She had let the silence stretch for a beat before her lips brushed his, barely there, sending a spark skittering through his veins. "How about this?" she had whispered, teasing, intoxicating. "If I hear you've behaved well throughout the night, then you can ask me anything."
Xavier had smirked, his mind immediately spiraling with all the things he could ask of her, all the things he could do to her. The possibilities were endless, and the anticipation of it curled in his chest like a slow-burning fire.
Now, standing in the middle of the grand hall, surrounded by people who meant nothing to him, he felt the ghost of that moment linger. He took another sip of his champagne, his smirk barely contained as he thought about what the night would bring.
Patience, he told himself.
The reward would be worth it.
Just then,Mr. Alister gestured for Xavier to follow him, leading him away from the crowd and into a quieter corner of the grand hall. The distant hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the rustle of expensive fabric—it all blurred into a dull buzz.
"So," Mr. Alister began, adjusting the cuff of his pristine suit, his tone light with forced ease. "How do you like my big announcement?"
His smile brimmed with pride, expectation gleaming in his eyes. He anticipated gratitude, maybe even relief, as if this grand gesture could patch up years of absence.
Instead, Xavier's expression hardened, his stance rigid as if bracing for impact.
"What's there to like?" he said, his voice a slow, deliberate drawl dripping with disdain.
Mr. Alister's smile faltered.
"You think standing on a stage, declaring me as your son, erases years of neglect?" Xavier continued, his fists clenching at his sides. "Spare me the theatrics."
The words cut deep. Mr. Alister inhaled sharply, his broad shoulders sagging beneath the weight of them. His hand twitched slightly—a tell, a sign of unease—but he held his ground. "No, Xavier, it doesn't erase anything. But it's a start. I'm trying, whether you see it or not."
Xavier let out a sharp, humorless laugh, stepping closer. His piercing gaze locked onto his father's, filled with nothing but cold calculation. "Trying?" he mocked. "Is that what you call this circus act? A hollow proclamation? Look around you. The stairs, the house, the guests whispering behind their champagne glasses—it screams desperation for appearances. Respect isn't commanded; it's earned."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Mr. Alister's usually commanding presence seemed to shrink beneath the weight of Xavier's words. His face paled, but still, he held firm.
"I don't want their respect for my sake," he said quietly. "I want it for yours. Because whether you believe it or not, you deserve it."
Something flickered across Xavier's face—anger, anguish, something in between. His throat tightened as his father's words pressed down on him like an unseen force. "Deserve it?" His voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. "What have I done to deserve anything? Nothing. I don't want your name. Your name means nothing to me. To hell with it."
The crack in his voice betrayed him.
Mr. Alister flinched. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable, though he remained rooted in place. "I'm sorry, Xavier," he said, the words raw and unguarded. "I know you hate me—perhaps I deserve that. But can't you see? I'm trying because I need you. Because I'm still your father, and I still need my son."
For a fleeting moment, Xavier faltered. His lips parted slightly as if to respond, but before he could, the sharp, deliberate clicking of heels echoed through the corridor. The sound was slow, calculated—like a predator stepping into view.
Mrs Alaister.
She stopped just inside the room, her presence slicing through the air like a blade. She wasn't flustered, wasn't ruffled. Instead, she carried herself with the cold elegance of a woman who had spent years perfecting the art of veiled cruelty.
"If the Alaister name offends you so much," she said smoothly, her lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smirk but wasn't a frown either, "perhaps you should go to court and change it. Hart, wasn't it? The man your mother married? Surely that suits you better."
Xavier turned to her slowly, his expression darkening into something unreadable. Then, he tilted his head, his lips curling into a smile—not warm, not pleasant, but sharp, mocking. "Ah, the wicked stepmother graces us with her presence. You've been lurking in the shadows, haven't you?"
For the first time, Mrs Alister's composure cracked. A faint flush crept up her neck, her carefully controlled mask slipping ever so slightly. "How dare you speak to me that way? I have done nothing but—"
Xavier's laugh cut through the air, dark and razor-sharp. "Done nothing? Exactly."
He took a slow step toward her, lowering his voice, making sure each syllable landed with precision. "You opposed me being acknowledged, didn't you? Feared the disruption I'd bring to your perfect little life. Well, congratulations, I'm here. And you'd better get used to it because I'm not going anywhere. Not until this family knows my pain. Every. Last. Ounce."
The room became a vacuum, heavy with tension so thick it threatened to suffocate.
Missus Alister opened her mouth, but for once, no words came.
Xavier didn't wait for a response. With one final glance, he turned and strode out, his boots echoing against the polished floor, each step a silent promise of reckoning.
Behind him, Mr. Alister pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, exhaling a ragged breath. The weight of his choices pressed down on him like an inescapable shroud.
I should have found him sooner. I should have—
"What have I done?" he whispered, barely audible over the silence.
Missus Alister's gaze remained fixed on the doorway where Xavier had vanished, her expression sharp, unreadable. Then, slowly, she turned to her husband, arms crossing over her chest.
"You've brought a stranger, a ticking time bomb, into our lives and called him your son," she said, her voice quieter now, dangerously smooth. "And now he's threatening our family. Our daughter."
She took a slow step closer, her next words like ice against his skin.
"Fix this, Alister. Before I do."
Without another word, she pivoted and strode away, her heels clicking against the marble with finality, each step an unspoken warning.
Mr. Alister remained where he stood, his world unraveling thread by thread.
And somewhere, in the midst of it all, Xavier thought bitterly to himself as he disappeared into the night, well there goes his reward.