The school’s parking lot was packed. Kieran Armani sat in his black luxury SUV, staring at the dashboard. His reflection in the glossy surface betrayed no emotion, just the usual neutral frown. He sighed, adjusted the cuffs of his designer suit, and stepped out, towering at 6'3". Heads turned almost immediately.

Kieran walked through the main doors, his creamy dark skin glowing under the fluorescent lights. His neat, pushed-back curls gleamed with precision, his chiseled jawline on full display. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to try to command attention—it was innate.

As he entered the classroom for his son’s student-led conference, the murmurs began. A few mothers whispered, stealing glances. Some recognized him, of course. Armani. The name carried weight in the business world. Recently divorced too? That was the cherry on top for some.

Kieran ignored the stares, his focus on finding his son, Miles. His eyes scanned the room, briefly checking his watch—a sleek platinum piece that probably cost more than most people's salaries. The gesture made one teacher, already nervous, shuffle her notes faster.

"Mr. Armani," a woman greeted,

“Let’s make this quick,” Kieran said, his deep voice calm yet firm.