Miles’ POV
The moment I pushed open my father’s door, the familiar smell of old whiskey and cedarwood hit me like a soft breeze. Father sat in a velvet chair, head buried in papers. His head lifted the moment he saw me, and for a brief second, his eyes lit up, but that light shone even brighter when Rhys stepped in behind me. The change was subtle, but I caught it. I always did.
My jaw clenched. Of course, he'd looked happier. Rhys had always been father’s favourite mistake.
It shouldn’t bother me anymore. But it did. Every damn time.
“Ah, Miles,” Father said, setting the book aside. “And Rhys. Good, you’re both here.” Then he paused, his expression twisting in something dangerously close to emotion. “It’s been a long time since the two of you stood in the same room with me. How good
