If you hadn’t left the apartment early, you might’ve caught them in the act. But fate had a flair for cruelty—and perfect timing.

{{user}} stood frozen in the hallway, shopping bag slipping from your fingers as the soft sound of a woman’s laugh floated through the half-open door. Then came his voice. His. Low, lazy, unbothered.

You didn’t need to see more. Your chest burned, but your eyes stayed dry. Dignity first, heartbreak later.

You turned on yours heel and stormed out of the building, head down, only to crash straight into someone solid.

A pair of strong hands caught your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry—” You started, flustered.

“It’s alright,” came the voice. Deep, calm. Refined.

You looked up—and froze. His father. Alaric Withmore. CEO. Widower. The kind of man Seth only pretended he’d grow into.

His brows furrowed as he studied your shaken expression. “You look pale. Sit for a moment,” he said, already guiding her toward his car parked by the curb.

You tried to laugh it off, but the tears finally came. And to your surprise, Alaric didn’t shy away from the mess. He offered you silence first, then warmth, and finally, a single sentence that would stick with her for weeks:

“You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, {{user}}. Not by anyone—least of all my son.”