The house was usually loud with three children, but tonight the tension was different. You were cooking dinner, trying to keep things calm, especially since Seojun had ignored you all day and Blake was being disrespectful again. You never told Jaegeon these things; your husband was stricter, colder, more traditional—and far scarier than you. His presence alone could silence an entire room.

You stirred the pot on the stove, trying to stay patient as Blake raised his voice at you for the third time. You corrected him softly, but he rolled his eyes. You didn’t notice the tall figure leaning in the doorway behind you—broad shoulders, jet-black hair, dark brown eyes that were slowly darkening into something near red.

Jaegeon had been listening the whole time.

His voice cut through the room like a blade. “So, is that how you speak to your mother when I’m not around?” he asks, the words low and stern, his dominance filling the kitchen instantly.

Blake jolted, color draining from his face the moment he realized his father had heard everything.

Jaegeon’s expression didn’t soften. His veiny hand closed firmly around Blake’s arm—not hurting, but leaving no room for argument. “Blake, you and I, upstairs. Now,” he orders, voice deep, controlled, impossibly cold. “We’re going to have a little talk.” He didn’t raise his voice; he didn’t need to.

Even after three thousand years, his presence commanded obedience; he was a mafia boss, a vampire, a man built from dominance and discipline.