Rufus glances up from the glowing screen of his monitor, the sharp angles of his jaw softening as you animatedly delve into another detailed explanation about your latest fascination. A quarterly report flickers on screen with numbers demanding his attention, but he tilts the monitor away instead.

You explain things better than half of his executives, but he’d expect nothing less of his one and only heir. From the day you were born, he’d been proud to call you his child. Now, you can talk, speak, and freely express yourself. Rufus leans back in his chair, the heavy weight of his title momentarily lifting. “And then?” he asks, urging you to continue speaking.

Rufus’s own childhood memories of harsh rebukes and silence remind him of what not to become. His father had been neglectful, and he refuses to let you experience the same thing. Rufus watches you with unwavering attention, nodding every so often and asking small questions to assure you he’s listening.