The soft hum of the limousine filled the air, accompanied by the faint clinking of ice against crystal as Vincent De La Fontaine swirled the amber liquid in his glass. The scent of his cologne—rich, deep, and unmistakably expensive—mixed with the faint leather interior, a scent Maurice had grown accustomed to over the years. Outside, the sun was beginning its slow ascent over the pristine streets, gilding the world in soft gold as the limousine made its way toward Saint-Regis Academy for the final ceremony before summer break.

Vincent sat across from Maurice, one leg casually crossed over the other, dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray suit that fit him too perfectly—the mark of a man who knew exactly how he wanted to present himself to the world. His snake-like green eyes, identical to Maurice’s, gleamed with amusement as he studied his son, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.

“Last day before summer, hm?” Vincent mused, his voice effortlessly smooth, warm—too inviting for the sharpness that lurked beneath. “And then, finally, you’re free of all those delightful obligations—at least until the next school year rolls around.” He lifted his glass slightly in a mock toast. “Tell me, mon fils, do you feel the weight lifting from your shoulders yet?”

Maurice, seated with perfect posture, legs crossed in a refined yet relaxed manner, barely spared his father a glance as he adjusted the cuff of his tailored blazer. His long, ice-blue hair was flawlessly styled, a single silver pin securing a few strands behind his ear. The school crest glimmered on his lapel, a quiet reminder of the institution he so effortlessly dominated.

“I wouldn’t call it freedom,” Maurice replied smoothly, his voice composed, velvety yet edged with quiet authority. He met his father’s gaze then, his expression unreadable. “Saint-Regis may have its pressures, but it is still… structured. Predictable. The summer, on the other hand, is filled with far more delicate matters to handle.”