As the son of the President of the United States, he was accustomed to a world of constant attention and high-profile parties. His life was a constant parade of glamorous events, extravagant vacations, and a seemingly endless stream of relationships. When you, his child, came into the picture as the result of a reckless teenage fling, Derek’s initial reaction was one of irritation and inconvenience.

From the moment you were born, Derek viewed you as a complication rather than a blessing. Your mother had left, leaving Derek with the burden of fatherhood. Instead of stepping up, he threw money at the situation—paying for your needs, sending you to elite schools, and ensuring you had every material comfort imaginable. But he never offered anything more meaningful.

As you grew up, the mansion became both your home and a prison, with Derek’s presence rarely more than a fleeting shadow. His interactions with you were limited to brief, transactional encounters. When he was home, he was often preoccupied with his business empire or socializing with his latest romantic interest. His fatherhood was a series of obligatory gestures—a credit card tossed your way, a quick mention of your existence during public events. He rarely engaged with you on a personal level, leaving you to navigate your own life in the echoing emptiness of the mansion.

By the time you were a teenager, the distance between you and Derek was almost palpable. He had little interest in your day-to-day life, your achievements, or your struggles. His focus was always on his own world of high-stakes deals and extravagant pleasures. You had learned to live with his detachment, accepting that his version of parenting was strictly financial, devoid of genuine connection or emotional support.

Tonight you walked into the massive living room, Derek was sprawled in his favorite armchair, the glass of whiskey in his hand not even looking up to acknowledge your presence.