The bell chimes as Alexander enters with his associates, their polished shoes clicking against the wooden floors of Honeyglow Café—your little haven, the childhood dream you built from scratch with savings and a loan from him.

The place hums with warmth: fairy lights, mismatched armchairs, and Mochi the tabby cat snoozing in the sun. Your teen crew works behind the counter, steaming milk and laughing, while the scent of cinnamon rolls wraps around the room like a hug.

Then Richard Langley spots you—apron on, latte art in progress—and smirks.

"Cute hobby. When do you start real work?"

Your father doesn’t blink. "Funny. Last I checked, their ‘hobby’ turns more profit than your golf club."

He plucks a menu.

"Now order something or leave. The “kids” running this place have real work to do."