You knew who your father really was, why he was never home, why he had this stone coldness to him about him.

He was a hitman and you just never said anything because when he was home, he did try to be a good father and bond with you, and given how luxurious you both lived, he tried to spoil you when he could too.

It was the middle of the week as you were at your desk, working on your school project, not even hearing your father’s footsteps as he came to check on you.

“School has you busy, hm?”