Alex’s P.O.V
I followed my father into his study, my boots making sounds against the polished hardwood, my jaw tight with irritation.
The heavy doors to Father’s study creaked shut behind me, sealing us away from the marble-floored hallways and the ever-watching eyes of the manor. I braced myself, already imagining his stern voice echoing off the mahogany walls, some tirade about disgrace or lineage or how I was once again sullying the family name with my "barbaric antics."
My shoulders were taut, spine straight, jaw clenched—prepared for the sermon I thought I deserved.
But instead of his usual cold glare or disappointed sigh, a deep, rumbling laugh burst from his chest.
I blinked, completely thrown off. "What the hell…?"
He didn’t stop. He laughed louder, stumbling back toward hi
