Three days later, the private hospital room was quiet except for the beeping of monitors.

The room was large and luxurious, with a view of the city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. Fresh flowers sat on the bedside table, their petals still dewy, a gift from someone who probably didn’t know what had really happened.

Nicolas lay in the bed, his chest bandaged, his arm in a sling, his face bruised and swollen. His left eye was purple and nearly closed. His lip was split. A bandage covered his forehead where the skin had split open.

He looked like he had been through a war, which, in a way, he had. The bullet had missed his heart by millimeters. The doctors had called it a miracle. Nicolas called it bad luck.

His father, Richard, stood at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed, his face a mask of barely contained fury. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and cold blue eyes that had seen too much disappointment. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid.

"Dad, I don’t know how everything escalated this fast," Nicolas said, his voice petulant and defensive. "Okay? He punched me first. I was just defending myself."

Richard stared at him, his eyes cold and sharp.

"Defending yourself?" Richard repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "You drugged a man. You lured him into a room. You tried to push him off a balcony. And when that didn’t work, you stabbed him in the neck with a piece of glass. Tell me, Nicolas, which part of that was self-defense?"

Nicolas shifted uncomfortably in his bed, wincing as the movement pulled at his bandaged chest. "He punched me first."

Richard’s voice rose, sharp and disappointed. "Are you a child? Is that what you are? A child throwing a tantrum? Because if this continues, if you keep acting like this, our family’s reputation will be destroyed. Thanks to you."

Nicolas rolled his eyes, a gesture that looked painful on his swollen face. "Dad, nothing is going to happen. He’s just a model. A small model. I’ll throw some money at him and make this go away. People like him always have a price."

Richard’s expression tightened. His eyes narrowed. "A model?" He had almost forgotten that Dominique was model.

"Yes, a model," Nicolas said, annoyed. "Dominique King. He’s just a pretty face. Nothing more. Hazel probably hired him to make me jealous or something. It’s not a big deal."

Richard shook his head slowly,disappointment. "You are a fool. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You attacked a man at a public event in front of witnesses. With a piece of glass. You tried to kill him. And now his friends, Leo Moretti and his people, are circling like vultures. They won’t rest until they’ve torn you apart."

Nicolas waved his good hand dismissively. "Dad, I can handle Leo—"

"You can’t handle anything!" Richard snapped, his voice echoing off the walls. "You’ve been lying in a hospital bed for three days while the entire elite circle is talking about what you did. Do you know what people are saying? They’re saying you’ve lost your mind. They’re saying you’re dangerous. They’re saying our family can’t be trusted. Our name is being dragged through the mud, Nicolas."

Nicolas’s face flushed with anger, the red spreading across his bruised cheeks. "That’s not true—"

"It is true!" Richard’s voice rose, sharp and cutting. "Our reputation is in tatters. Our business partners are pulling back. Our investors are worried. The board is demanding answers. Do you understand what you’ve done? You’ve put everything we’ve built at risk. Everything."

Nicolas opened his mouth to argue, but his father held up a hand, silencing him.

"I don’t want to hear it," Richard said. "When you’re out of this hospital, you will fix this. You will apologize to that model. You will pay him whatever he wants. And you will disappear from the public eye until this all blows over. Do you understand me?"

Nicolas shouted, his voice cracking with indignation. "I’m not apologizing to him! He punched me first!"

Richard stared at him, his eyes cold and hard.

"Then you will destroy this family," Richard said quietly. "And I will not stand by and watch you do it."

Nicolas’s eyes widened. "Dad—"

"I mean it, Nicolas." Richard’s voice was ice. "If you don’t fix this, I will cut you off. You will be on your own. No money. No connections. No protection. The family will disown you."

Nicolas stared at him, his mouth open. "You can’t do that. I’m your son."

"Exactly," Richard said. "You are my son. And I have given you everything. Chances, opportunities, money, respect and you have thrown it all away. You have become a liability. And I will not let you drag this family down with you."

Nicolas’s hands trembled. His voice was small. "Dad, please—"

His father turned and walked toward the door.

Nicolas called out, his voice desperate. "Dad! Dad, wait!"

Richard paused at the door. He did not turn around.

"You have one week," he said. "Make it right or don’t come home."

He walked out.

The door closed behind him.

Nicolas lay in the bed, staring at the closed door. His chest heaved. His eyes burned.

He had lost everything.

He had lost his father. He had lost his reputation. And it was all because of Dominique King.

Nicolas’s hands curled into fists. His jaw tightened. His eyes burned with hatred.

-Following his meeting with his son, Richard proceeded to the company headquarters, where he spent the entire day in his private office. The dim lighting cast long shadows across his mahogany desk.

His hands trembled as he stared at the documents spread out before him. Papers were scattered across the desk, some with highlighted sections, others with sticky notes attached. His reading glasses sat perched on his nose, and his brow was furrowed with concentration.

He had come to the office to handle the fallout from Nicolas’s disaster, to assure partners and investors that everything was under control. He had made calls, sent emails, and scheduled meetings. But something had been nagging at him, a feeling he couldn’t shake, an itch in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away.