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3rd Person’s POV

The room smelled of old leather, fine scotch, and the sharp scent of burning paper. Keith stood behind the massive oak desk, his back to the door, pouring himself a generous glass of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler.

As the decanter clinked against the glass, it could’ve been a classy sound under different circumstances. He maintained a composed posture, shoulders squared in the tailored shirt he had put on after the earlier chaos, but there was a tension in the way he held the bottle, a slow, deliberate movement that hinted he was stalling for time.

The fire in the hearth crackled anew, flames dancing higher as another stack of papers curled at the edges and blackened. Adrien crossed the study in calculated strides, stopping just short of the desk, and without a moment’s notice, lifted his phone. His thumb pressed play.

Logan’s voice filled the room, raw and weary, the confession pouring out in the same exhausted rhythm they had heard before. Keith froze mid-sip. The tumbler hung near his mouth as the words hit him...Joanne’s suspicions, the affair with Helen, the tampered brakes, the deal, the blackmail.

The calm facade he had worn for years began to crack. His shoulders tightened first, then his fingers gripped the glass so hard his knuckles turned white. When Logan delivered the last line.

"Do it for her"

Keith slowly set the tumbler down on the desk with exaggerated care, as if the crystal might break under the weight of what he’d just heard.

For a long stretch, the only sound was the soft pop and hiss of the fire.

Then Keith let out a low, almost amused breath.

"Son," he said smoothly, adopting that paternal tone he used at board meetings and family dinners, "this is ridiculous. Your mother was unstable toward the end. Everyone knew it, she had... Mental issues. Paranoia...Logan was just exploiting that for his own benefit. You can’t really buy into a dying man’s desperate attempt to save himself from his debtors."

Adrien’s gaze stayed locked on his father’s face. The phone remained raised, its screen still aglow with Logan’s frozen image.

"Don’t," he said quietly, his warning weighty. "Don’t you fucking try to gaslight me. Not now. Not after everything."

Keith’s expression shifted, the warmth in his fatherly demeanor fading into something colder and calculating. He straightened up, setting the tumbler down with a purposeful click.

"You have no idea what you’re getting into, Adrien. This video changes nothing. It’s just hearsay from a criminal. I have influence here...judges, lawyers, people who understand how these things work. If you go down this path, you’ll only embarrass yourself and this family. Think about your future. Think about what this would mean for Helen, for Noah, for your future."

Adrien stepped closer, lowering his voice to a calm but dangerous level.

"You killed her. You killed my mother. You cheated on her, arranged for her car to be sabotaged, and then pretended to be the grieving husband at her funeral while you took everything she owned. You killed Logan because he got too greedy and tried to blackmail you. And you’ve lied to me my entire life."

His breath hitched, but he pressed on, finally letting the anger erupt. "You’re a monster. You killed my mother for her money!"

The last words came out raw, almost like a shout, reverberating off the bookshelves and high ceiling. Keith’s facade shattered completely. The composed businessman disappeared in an instant.

His eyes darkened, lips curling in a snarl as he lunged across the desk, reaching for the phone. "Give me that!"

Adrien instinctively jerked back, but Keith was quicker than anticipated. His hand closed around the device, yanking it from Adrien’s grip with surprising strength. Without hesitation, he slammed the phone down onto the desk’s edge once, twice, then crushed it under his heel on the floor.

The screen shattered with a violent crack, plastic and glass crunching beneath his foot. The sound felt final, brutal, and for a moment, Adrien could only stare at the wreckage in shock. This was his father, the man who had taught him how to tie a tie, who took him to his first board meeting, who always carried himself as the epitome of control And it empathy now reduced to a figure of violent, desperate destruction.

Keith straightened up, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as his polished image fell apart. He looked at his son with cold, unwavering eyes, the villain finally stepping fully into the light.

"Yes," he said in a low, steady voice, almost casual, as if they were discussing quarterly profits. "I killed her and I killed Logan. They were just pawns in a much larger game. I had to eliminate them to get everything I have now. Your mother was a good woman, sure. Even with her issues, she had grace, but I never loved her. Not really. She would still be here if she hadn’t found out about Helen and me. If she hadn’t decided to leave me and take the assets that kept my business alive. I was bankrupt, Adrien. Living off her fortune, her family’s vineyard money. I did what was necessary to expand the empire. To secure our future."

Adrien’s hands shook at his sides, the shock from the destroyed phone morphing into a deeper, more visceral rage. "Did you ever feel any remorse? For any of it?!"

Keith chuckled, a low, humorless sound that sent a chill down Adrien’s spine. He poured himself another measure from the decanter, as if their discussion were merely a minor inconvenience.

"I felt bad the first few months after she died. The guilt kept me awake at night. But I got used to it after a while. Life goes on, son. You learn to live with the choices you make when survival is at stake."

Adrien’s anger surged, boiling over like a dam breaking. He swung his fist before he could think, landing a solid blow against his father’s cheek with a sharp crack. Keith’s head snapped to the side, the tumbler slipping from his fingers and shattering on the floor, spraying crystal and scotch everywhere.

For a moment, both men stood frozen, father and son, divided by a desk and a lifetime of deceit...the air heavy with the scent of spilled liquor and the metallic taste of violence.

Keith gingerly touched his jaw, a thin line of blood forming at the corner of his mouth. He looked almost impressed, a dark smile creeping onto his lips despite the pain.

"There it is," he murmured. "The fire I always knew you had. You’re more like me than you care to admit."

Adrien’s chest heaved, his knuckles throbbing, but he held his ground. "I am nothing like you!"