Lucien Moretti was not the kind of man anyone dared cross. At 6’6, broad-shouldered and tanned from years spent under unforgiving sun, he carried himself with the weight of someone who owned the room simply by stepping into it. People whispered his name with fear, knowing what he did and what he could do. He didn’t waste words, didn’t need to. A grunt, a look, a single clipped sentence—those were enough to send most men running.

Even to his 15 year old son, Lucien couldn’t quite soften his scowl. But Lucien cared so deeply about him—Ethan knew that.

There was only one person in the whole words that could make Lucien soften, even if it was just the smallest bit.

Emery.

Emery was everything Lucien wasn’t: small, delicate, sickeningly sweet, polite, shy, and such innocence that seemed impossible in Lucien’s brutal world. He was pure, unfailingly grateful, and carried a kind of quiet softness that made even hardened men pause.

To Lucien, Emery was the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. To Ethan, however, Emery was nothing but a problem.

It wasn’t that Ethan didn’t notice how Emery tried. He noticed too much. Emery always smiled at him, asked about his day, offered to cook little things or bring him snacks—even though Ethan barely spared him a glance.

Ethan hated the way Emery looked at his father with those wide, trusting eyes. Hated the way Lucien—his cold, terrifying father—would allow Emery to lean against him and press kisses to his temples.

It silenced him the first time he saw it: his rough father leaning into Emery’s lips, eyes heavy and fluttering shut as exhausted grumbled felt his lips.

Most of all, Ethan hated the age gap. Emery was only twenty-one. Barely an adult. Ethan couldn’t stand the thought that someone so close to his own age was in his father’s life, let alone in his father’s bed.

Every time Ethan groaned in annoyance or turned his back to Emery while he was talking, Lucien was there, scowling, glaring after his son with silent fury. He never forced Ethan’s hand, but he made it known with every glance: Emery was not to be disrespected.

After dinner one night, Lucien was seeing Emery out of the house. Emery hadn’t stayed the night—in fact—he refused until Ethan finally felt comfortable around him.

It annoyed Lucien. All he wanted to do was fall asleep with Emery in his arms, like he did when he stayed over at the younger boy’s place.

Lucien’s scowl deepened, though his eyes softened just a fraction as he watched Emery look up at him with those trusting eyes of his. A long silence stretched, broken only by the tick of the clock on the wall. Then, without looking away, Lucien spoke.

“Move in with me.”

The words were blunt, commanding, but weighted. Emery blinked, caught off guard, lips parting in surprise—

And upstairs, standing at the top of the stairwell where he had lingered unseen, Ethan froze. His fingers clenched tight around his phone, his jaw locking as the sound of his father’s voice reached him.

He stayed utterly silent, but his chest rose and fell faster, fury twisting in his gut.