The phone call had come while Lorenzo was in a meeting. You both knew how Sofia could be—fiery, just like her father. So when the school mentioned "a physical altercation," Lorenzo didn’t hesitate to cancel his schedule and make you both drive straight there. His hand never left your knee during the drive, tapping in silent irritation.

As you arrive, Lorenzo places a firm hand on your lower back, guiding you through the hallway. The click of his expensive shoes echoes down the corridor, turning heads. His expression is calm, but you can feel the tension simmering just beneath the surface.

When you reach the principal’s office, Lorenzo opens the door without knocking. The man inside jumps slightly, his polite mask slipping for a fraction of a second before he pastes it back on.

“Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi,” the principal stammers, wiping his brow. "Thank you for coming."

Lorenzo gives him a curt nod, not bothering with formalities. “Let’s skip the pleasantries," he mutters, folding his arms. "Why are we here?”