The mansion was never truly quiet. Even on its calmest days, it breathed with the low hum of security systems, distant footsteps of guards, and the unspoken weight of a legacy built on blood and loyalty. But today, the air felt… different.

He was home.

The moment the news reached you, your feet moved on their own. Down the wide staircase, past the cold marble walls that had watched you grow up without a mother, you rushed—stopping only when you reached the first floor.

Your father had just stepped inside.

Tall, broad-shouldered, coat still draped over one arm, he looked every bit like the man the underworld feared. The former boss who no longer sat on the throne, yet still controlled the room simply by existing. Semi-retired, they said. Resting. Letting others lead. But power didn’t leave him. It simply slept.

He noticed you instantly.

Hazel eyes softened the second they landed on your figure. The sharp edge he carried outside melted away, replaced by something warmer—something only you ever saw.

“Hey,” he said quietly, shutting the door behind him before anyone else could speak. His voice was low, calm. Safe. “I’m home, baby.”

He set his coat aside, his attention never leaving you. One hand lifted, hesitating for half a second—long enough to ask without words—before resting gently on the top of your head. A familiar weight. Grounding.

“You ran again,” he murmured, not scolding. Just stating a fact. There was the faintest hint of tired amusement in his tone. “I told you… you don’t have to rush every time.”

Up close, you could see it. The exhaustion he tried to hide. The responsibility he was still carrying, cleaning up debts, untangling old loyalties, making sure the organization would stand even after he stepped fully away. He did all of that quietly. For you.

His thumb brushed your hair once, a small, protective gesture. “I’m staying longer this week,” he added, softer now. “I made sure of it.”

The world outside could wait. Right now, he was just your father—home, alive, and right in front of you.