THE GOLDEN SON
377 Words
Adrian poured himself another drink but didn’t offer her one. “My father doesn’t like… surprises,” he said finally, swirling the amber liquid. “You’ll forgive me if I’m making sure you’re not the kind that embarrasses me.”
She speared a bite of food, chewed slowly. “Sounds like he runs a tight leash.”
Adrian’s jaw twitched — just enough to notice. “Leash?” He smirked, but it was brittle. “No. He doesn’t leash me. He just… has a way of reminding people where they stand.”
She tilted her head, watching him over the rim of her glass. “Even you?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his smile sharpening. “Especially me.”
That told her everything. The golden son with a shadow over his head. The man who wanted the throne but still had to kneel.
She set her fork down, letting her fingers drum lightly on the table. “Must be exhausting,” she said casually, “proving yourself to the man who gave you his name.”
His gaze flicked to hers, hard and searching. “Careful,” he said quietly.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, keeping her voice light, “if I had a father like that, I’d make sure the next time he looked at me, he’d see an equal… not a son.”
Adrian’s knuckles tightened around his glass. The faintest crack appeared in his perfect composure. She almost smiled.
“You have a dangerous tongue,” he said, his voice low.
“And you like it.”
He chuckled, but this time, there was something darker behind it. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I’m wondering if I should cut it out before it gets you killed.”
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, closing the space between them. “If you were going to kill me, Adrian… you would’ve done it already.”
For a long moment, they just stared at each other.
Finally, he sat back, the tension easing from his shoulders. “You might just be the kind of trouble my father hates most,” he murmured. “Which means I’m keeping you around.”
Her smile was razor-thin. Perfect.
- Writer
