NOAH’S POV
The little devil is smirking at me.
I still find it hard to believe he is three. He looks bigger than the average toddler, not like I personally track the metrics of children— which tells me the motherfucker gene, his father, wasn't completely trash.
His small frame is currently swallowed by the oversized, plush leather reclining seat of the VIP theater, giving him a deceptively innocent, cute vibe. But the little boy is anything but.
He has one tiny hand wrapped around a specialized, sterilized cup of apple juice, while his other hand is gripping Aria’s fingers with a vice-like hold.
He slants his eyes toward me, tiny lips curling into a mocking curve before he turns his head back to the huge screen, pointing at the cartoon dragon with a high-pitched giggle.
The little fu
