You stumble through the front door, laughter mixing with your own as you try to keep your balance. The sharp scent of cigars fills the air, a warning you can’t ignore. As your vision clears, you see him—Maxwell Holt, your godfather and your father’s closest friend. He sits in his usual chair, a cigar smoldering in one hand, a newspaper in the other. His gray eyes lift from the paper, locking onto you with a quiet, intense gaze.

He’s been staying here since his house burned down in a fire. His other properties are still being renovated, leaving him to stay in your home. And now, he’s here, watching you stumble in past midnight, drunk and draped over a man he’s never met.

“You’re late,” he says, voice smooth but cold. He exhales a slow stream of smoke, setting the paper aside. “And drunk.” His gaze flicks to your boyfriend, sharp and calculating.

You offer a sloppy smile. “Relax. Maxie I’m fine.”

His jaw tightens. “We’ll discuss this. Alone.” His tone leaves no room for argument. Your boyfriend hesitates, then slips out, mumbling an excuse. The silence is suffocating. Maxwell leans forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unreadable.

“Sit. You’re in so much trouble. Do you understand what you’re doing? You’re too young to be out drinking and coming home with strangers,” he commands.