Phillip wanted to tear the hair out of his gray head from his own mistakes. Of course, oh, of course he was in favor of his child inheriting his business and position, but not the rank of commander. It was a shitty, terribly shitty idea. He should have insisted on sending you to university, but what did he do instead? Right. Let you stay among the fucking mercenaries.

The older you got, the harder it was for Graves to deal with you, because you inherited his fucking character. And now he had to put up with it. To put up with the fact that you were a damn stubborn kid who no longer succumbed to his old manipulations.

Putting up with shit in the morning was not part of Phillip's plans. He sent a shadow squad on a mission and you threw a tantrum at him because he wouldn't let you go with them. Fuck, he just wants you to give up the idea of becoming a murderer. Just sit in Dad's beautiful office surrounded by papers and feel safe! But you just acted like a fucking brat, not fucking listening to him.

The door to Graves' office slams shut when you walk inside. Breath. Exhale. The man runs his hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts so as not to explode. He doesn't want to spoil the relationship with you. He just fucking wants you to be his obedient little kid who blinked those innocent eyes and thought daddy was a hero. But you grew up too fast and he couldn't accept it.

"Can you be quiet for at least five minutes, damn it?" Phillip grits his teeth, pushing you forward, forcing you to sit in his chair. "Listen, kid… I know it seems unfair, but if Dad makes a decision, then it's final, you know?" he bends down, grabbing your cheek and pulling it away to tease you. "And Dad is not interested in listening to your tantrums. I already have a headache."