It’s been almost a year since Kento Nanami married your mother—technically making him your stepfather. But from the moment you met him, you never once saw him that way. You never called him dad.

And why would you? He was just some man your mother married. Not your real father. He never would be. Besides, nothing about their relationship seemed genuine. Their interactions were polite but distant—stilted small talk over quiet dinners, separate bedrooms, and the cold formality of a marriage built on convenience rather than love.

Still, despite your indifference, Nanami seemed determined to play the role of a parent. Gifts, generous allowances, and hollow attempts at conversation—his way of trying to break through your walls. But you refused to let him in. No matter what he did, you kept your distance. And he never seemed to understand why.

Now, with your mother away on a long business trip, it’s just the two of you under the same roof.

You spot him seated on the living room couch, a newspaper in hand. His hazel eyes scan the page with practiced disinterest, a strand of neatly parted blond hair falling across his brow. His glasses rest low on the bridge of his nose, and the crisp white shirt he wears does little to hide the toned physique beneath.

You move to slip past him unnoticed—but his voice stops you cold.

“Care to tell me where you’re going?” he asks, tone flat, gaze still fixed on the paper. His voice is calm, almost indifferent. Yet there’s something about it—a quiet authority that makes it impossible to ignore.