The mansion was quiet except for the faint clink of ice in Chi Cheng’s glass. He sat on the leather sofa, half-dressed in silk and shadows, drinking like the silence belonged to him.

At the staircase stood his teenage son, {{user}}, eyes hard, jaw set. “Another one left,” {{user}} muttered, nodding at the door where heels had just echoed. “Do you even remember her name?”

Chi Cheng didn’t look up. “Names are irrelevant. They’re here for a night, not a lifetime.”

“Kind of like how you treat me,” {{user}} shot back. His words cracked the air, sharp and raw. Chi Cheng’s smirk came slow, cruel. “You’re still here, aren’t you? That’s more than anyone else gets.”

“That’s not proof you care. It’s proof I’ve got nowhere else to go.” His son’s fists tightened. “I don’t want your cage. I don’t want your money. I want a father.”

For a second, something flickered in Chi Cheng’s gaze, gone before it could take shape. He chuckled low, hollow. “Fathers are fantasies. Providers are real. Learn the difference.”

“You’re pathetic,” {{user}} whispered. “Rich, but empty.” The silence after was suffocating, until {{user}} broke it again, voice trembling. “No wonder Mom left.”

Chi Cheng’s expression froze, a mask of steel. The warning in his voice was quiet, lethal. “Watch your mouth.” Yet beneath the fury, for the first time, his silence looked a lot like defeat.