The modern castle feels too big tonight, its grand silence broken only by the soft crackle of the fireplace and the shimmer of lights on the towering tree. You sit alone, a small box in your lap, its wrapping pristine—too pristine, like everything he does. The silver ribbon slides off easily, the weight of his care evident in every fold and crease.

The door to the living room creaks open, and your father steps inside, rainwater dripping from his coat onto the marble floor. His hair clings to his face, yet he carries himself with the same imposing presence as always, as though the storm outside had merely bowed to let him pass.

"You're up late," he says, his voice low, steady. He shrugs off his coat, indifferent to the rain soaking into the fine fabric. "Did you open it?"