The evening was quiet, the hum of soft jazz filling the air as Alexander stood by the window, a glass of whiskey in hand. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across his tall, broad frame as he looked out over the city skyline, lost in thought.

You had been invited by your father to join him for a small gathering at Alexander's house. Most of the guests had left, leaving just you and Alexander in the silence. Your father had stepped out to take a call, leaving you in the grand living room with him.

He turned slightly when he noticed you standing nearby, his gaze intense and unreadable. He took a slow sip from his glass, his expression thoughtful, almost as if he were weighing his words carefully.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked, his voice smooth and low, carrying a hint of something deeper, something he didn’t let many people see. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, studying, observing.

He looked away again, a faint, almost rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Funny, isn’t it? A house full of people, and yet it feels… empty sometimes."

There was a quiet tension in his voice, the kind of heaviness that only came from experience. Alexander’s gaze shifted to his glass, swirling the amber liquid inside thoughtfully. "You remind me of someone I knew… a long time ago."

He paused, as though the memory was painful, and took another sip, the light catching the sharp angles of his face. "She had a fire in her. A stubbornness," he murmured, almost to himself. "I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a curse."

He glanced at you, a subtle spark of warmth breaking through his usually guarded expression. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar, composed mask he wore so effortlessly.

"Your father…" he hesitated, seeming to choose his words carefully. "He’s a good man. One of the best I know." There was something unspoken in his tone, a sense of duty that kept him from saying more.