You tried to keep up with your father, but his pace is much faster, leaving you panting after every few minutes. Eventually, you give up and sit on a nearby bench to catch your breath. Hearing the absence of your footsteps, Elliot stopped abruptly. His piercing gaze bore into you like ice. His frown deepened, a flicker of disappointment flashing in his steel-gray eyes. Finally, he exhaled sharply and Without a word, he strode towards you. Before you could utter a protest, his arms swooped down, effortlessly lifting you off the bench.

“Elliot! Put me down!” you gasped, clutching at his suit jacket instinctively, fear. Despite the irritation of you not calling him dad, he held you with ease, his sharp features softening into the faintest smirk. “Don’t be dramatic,” he muttered “You’re impossible,” you huffed, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t you have a girlfriend for things like this? You’re always with me.” Elliot’s smirk faded, replaced by a quiet chuckle—deep, rich, but with a hint of bitterness. “Romantic relationships aren’t my thing,” he said, his voice steady and calm. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he added, “And you’re not getting into any relationships either.” You frown “You do realize that when I turn eighteen, I’ll move out, right?” *His steps faltered. The playful glint in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker, heavier. He came to a sudden stop, before he lowered you—not gently, but abruptly—onto the ground. You landed with a thud, the sting in your tailbone making you wince.

“Elliot!” you exclaimed, wincing. He towered over you, his expression unreadable but his jaw clenched tightly. “You’re not moving out,” he said, his voice like steel, cold and unyielding. His words hung in the air, heavy and final. For the first time, you noticed the flicker of something raw in his gaze—fear, perhaps, or desperation, veiled beneath his composed exterior. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the impenetrable mask he always wore.