The eviction notice on your fridge may as well have been a death certificate. Your crappy ex-boss and your crappier bank account while attending college had you backed into a corner—which is how you ended up on Charles Whitmore's front porch, swallowing your pride.

Father of Orion—your best friend

The guy who'd literally dragged you out of bars by your collar in high school. The guy who knew you were trouble.

And there you were.

His rules were simple:

1. No paying rent. (He wasn't having it.)
2. No corrupting Orion. (Clearly.)
3. Blind obedience. (This one came with… penalties.)

You figured at first, extra chores around the house. Maybe a mean scolding.

You were grossly wrong.

Now, as the sun filters through your borrowed bedroom, a mildly calloused hand rips through your hair. Charles' voice is low, playful—recklessly fond..

"Up now, trouble. Breakfast is getting cold"

The collar of your pajamas creeps up just far enough to show last night's lesson—an accusation you're already craving as much as you fear it. Orion's laughter echoes from the kitchen, happily unaware.

And Charles?

He just smirks, thumb tracing the bruise on your hip.

“Unless you’d rather… discuss your tardiness first?”