When they reached the large double doors leading to Sirius's study, Jonas knocked twice before pushing them open.
Inside, Sirius was already seated behind his massive mahogany desk, his back to the door, eyes glued to a report. The man didn't bother to look up, didn't even acknowledge his son's presence as Dick entered the room. The dismissal was obvious, but it wasn't anything new. Sirius had always treated him like an afterthought.
"Sit," Sirius muttered, his voice low and uninterested.
Dick complied, dropping into the chair across from his father with a nonchalance that bordered on disrespect. His hood still shadowed his face, concealing the transformation that had taken place in the past month. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable, as Sirius continued to read, flipping through pages as though Dick wasn't even there.
Finally, Sirius spoke again, still not bothering to look up. "I hear you've been driving a McLaren." His voice carried the same cold disgust it always did when directed at Dick, as if speaking to him was a chore. "How exactly did you come by it?"
Dick leaned back, hiding his smirk. "I won it in a contest," he said casually, voice devoid of the respect Sirius always demanded. "Game contest. Beat Brian Harper's record."
The flicker of interest on Sirius's face was immediate. He finally looked up from his papers, the barest hint of recognition crossing his cold features. "Brian Harper?" he repeated slowly, setting the report down. "Victoria Harper's grandson?"
Dick could feel the shift in the room. "Yeah," he lied smoothly.
It was a lie he and Victoria had come up with. Victoria had ordered Brian to play along, claiming that Dick beat him in some made-up competition. It was simple enough, and Sirius wouldn't care to dig deeper as long as it didn't interfere with his business.
Sirius leaned back in his chair, a glint of curiosity breaking through his usual cold demeanor. "Brian Harper," he repeated, fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "Is it legal? Did you get the papers? If not, return it to them. I don't want to deal with that witch."
Dick grinned, leaning forward slightly, enjoying the moment. "Everything is legit," he replied. "No need to worry."
Sirius nodded once, satisfied, though his expression remained unreadable. He turned back to the papers on his desk, effectively dismissing his son without another word. Typical. But Dick didn't care. He stood, slipping his hands into his pockets, and left the study without so much as a backward glance.
As he made his way back through the hallway, he heard footsteps approaching from the opposite direction. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Clara, striding down the hall in her usual designer clothes, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. She was talking on her phone, probably sweet-talking David Trent again.
Dick slowed his pace as Clara's eyes flicked up to meet his. She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling slightly in a knowing smile as she ended the call.
"You look sad," Clara remarked, her voice oozing with that familiar fake charm. Her lips curled into a smirk as she stopped just a few feet from him, her eyes gleaming with thinly veiled condescension. "Did Daddy ask you to return the car?"
Dick chuckled softly. "No," he replied, letting his gaze travel up her figure, taking his time. "Wanna take a ride?"
Clara's smile faltered, just for a second. She raised an eyebrow, her hand still gripping her phone, as if debating whether to engage in whatever game she thought he was playing. "I don't have time for your little fantasies, Dick," she retorted, her tone dripping with condescension. Then, without warning, she raised her skirt slightly, revealing her lacy panties, turning just enough to show the curve of her ass. "Still leering whenever you see me. Go ahead, carve it into your mind so you can use it later when you're playing with that prick of yours."
Dick's gaze didn't waver, but he wasn't going to bite. Instead, he let a slow smirk creep across his face. Clara was always pulling shit like this—taunting him, teasing him like she had the upper hand.
"Careful," Dick replied coolly, stepping closer, his voice lowering into something more dangerous. "You keep tempting me like that, Clara, and I might just take you up on it."
Clara's smirk wavered, but she quickly masked it, her hand falling back to her side. She kept her posture tall, but the flicker of unease in her eyes was unmistakable. "You're getting bold, Dick. Don't forget your place."
Dick chuckled, stepping in just close enough that Clara had to tilt her head up slightly to maintain eye contact. He didn't bother hiding the way his gaze lingered on the spot between her legs. "Hehe," he leered at her pussy, "I might be searching for a new place. Something... easy."
"You can only wish, Dick." She scoffed, though her voice had lost some of its edge. "As if I'd ever let you."
Dick shrugged, pointing at himself with a lazy grin. "You don't drop this Dick from your mouth, Clara. You know where the next is." Before she could retort, he brushed past her, shoulders barely grazing as he moved down the hallway.
The next morning, Dick pushed open the heavy doors of the Iron Core Gym. It was early—barely 7 AM—but he liked starting his day before the world stirred. He flicked on the lights, illuminating the rows of weights and machines lining the walls. It smelled of iron and sweat.
As he moved to the front desk, Dick's checked a few things. Karen would be in around ten, but until then, he had the place to himself. The early birds—dedicated athletes and fitness junkies—would filter in soon enough, and by eleven, Paige would show up for her training session. Coaching her was an easy gig. She was fit, determined, and didn't need much hand-holding.
Dick flipped through the schedule, noting the regulars. A few were already marked down for early sessions. Nothing unusual. He set his water bottle on the counter, leaning back as the gym's front door chimed.
The first person to stroll in was Ron, one of the morning regulars. Dick gave him a nod as the older man headed straight for the free weights, wasting no time. Ron wasn't one for conversation, which suited Dick just fine. He liked the quiet at this hour. No need for small talk or bullshit.
As Ron settled into his workout, Dick headed to the back room to check on the equipment. The leg press machine had been acting up yesterday, and if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was broken equipment. He tested the weights, running a hand over the steel frame. A quick adjustment, and it was as good as new.
Returning to the main area, Dick's eyes scanned the gym. A couple more people had filtered in. Jack, a college kid, was working the bench press, grunting loudly with each rep. The guy always overestimated how much he could lift, and Dick made a mental note to keep an eye on him before he inevitably dropped something on his face.
The gym had a certain rhythm in the mornings. Everyone focused, locked into their routines. Dick liked that. As the morning wore on, the gym started filling up. By 10 AM, the usual buzz had settled in. People moving from machine to machine, some chatting between sets, others focused solely on their own progress. Karen arrived, taking over the front desk duties.
Dick gave her a nod before heading to the locker rooms.
He changed into his training gear, pulling a sleeveless shirt over his head. His muscles, sculpted from months of grinding, flexed as he adjusted the fabric. By the time Paige walked in, Dick was already warming up near the squat rack. She strolled over, earbuds in, her eyes flicking briefly to him before setting her bag down on the bench.
"You ready?" Dick asked, rolling his shoulders as he stepped under the bar. Paige pulled out one earbud, giving him a half-smirk.
"I was born ready. Let's see if you can keep up this time."
They'd been training together for days now, and while Paige still had her sharp edges, the tension between them had eased. The sarcasm was still there, but the hostility? Not so much. "Let's start." he said flatly after the warm up, nodding toward the squat rack. "We're starting heavy today."
Paige rolled her eyes but followed him without a word. She might be demanding, but when it came down to it, she respected his expertise. Their sessions had always been intense, and Paige liked results. She thrived on them. As she slid under the barbell, Dick stood behind her, spotting her form closely.
"Back straight," he muttered, his voice low but firm as he adjusted her posture with a nudge. "Stop half-assing it."
Paige grunted, pushing through the set, sweat already forming on her brow. She was strong, no doubt, but Dick could tell she was holding back. He'd seen her at her best, and this wasn't it.
"Focus," he barked, stepping in closer as she strained under the weight. "I want ten perfect reps. Don't stop until I say."
Paige shot him a glare, but she didn't protest. She knew better by now. Her muscles quivered as she ground out each rep, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. When she finally racked the bar, her legs trembled, but there was a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. That's what Dick wanted—progress, no matter how painful.
"You're getting better," he said, stepping back and crossing his arms. "But don't get too comfortable."
Paige smirked, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Comfortable? You're a goddamn tyrant, you know that?"
Dick grinned. "And you love it."
She didn't argue. Instead, she grabbed a towel and moved to the next station, her confidence restored. It was always the same with Paige—push her hard enough, and she'd rise to the occasion. That's why she kept coming back to him. She needed someone who wouldn't let her coast.
By the time they finished their session, Paige was drenched, her muscles screaming from the effort, but there was a smug sense of accomplishment on her face. She tossed the towel over her shoulder and shot him a sideways glance.
"You know, for a guy I used to think was a total loser, you're not half bad," she said, her voice light, but the sarcasm still lingered underneath.
Dick chuckled. "I'll take that as a compliment."
After finishing his workout and having a shower, Dick left the gym and headed straight for campus. The university was already buzzing with students, most of them dragging themselves through the afternoon rush.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw a message from Nate. The guy was nice enough, always eager to help Dick navigate the chaos of campus life. Dick didn't mind him—he was easy to manage, and having someone like Nate around had its uses.
Nate's text was straightforward: "Hey, did you finish the paper for Wilkes? I'm stuck."
Dick smirked. Nate had been struggling with Professor Wilkes' class from the start.. Dick wasn't worried about the class. Psychology was becoming more of a tool than a burden—everything Wilkes droned on about could be applied to the games Dick was playing with those around him.
"Yeah. I'll send you something," he replied. Nate was one of the few people Dick didn't mind throwing a bone to.
He reached the lecture hall just as Wilkes was starting, the professor pacing at the front of the room, gesturing dramatically as he talked about the cognitive dissonance theory. Most of the students were already checked out, heads down, tapping away on their phones or scribbling notes they'd never look at again.
Wilkes' voice droned on about ego, superego, and id, the lecture dragging as usual, something about how people justify their contradictions. Everyone around him was full of contradictions—Wilkes, the asshole professor who flaunted his authority while "secretly" fucking his assistant; Nate, the eager classmate who acted like Dick's friend while clearly angling for help; and even Lisa, who played the role of the obedient assistant but had more resentment simmering beneath the surface than she let on.
After class ended, most of the students filed out without a second glance. Dick remained seated for a moment, letting the others rush past him. He wasn't in any hurry. His phone buzzed again, but this time it was from Alice.