The mansion was quiet, cloaked in the lavender hue of early dawn.
Ava Carter pushed open the door to her son's bedroom like it was a chapel. Reverent. Careful. Her silk robe shimmered with every soft step across the marble floor, heels traded in for silence as the sun peeked through floor-to-ceiling glass.
There he was.
Adrien.
Sprawled across Egyptian cotton sheets like a fallen prince — one arm thrown over his eyes, long lashes brushing cheekbones sharper than any boy his age should have. Six feet of golden skin and sleep-tousled hair, peaceful for once. Still hers, if only for this quiet hour.
She stood in the doorway for a second. Just watching.
"My baby," she whispered, walking closer. "Still looks like he's five when he sleeps. Well... five with abs."
She brushed the hair off his forehead, fingers light, motherly, possessive.
Adrien groaned. "Mom."
"I'm not doing anything."
"You're staring."
"I'm admiring," she corrected, climbing onto the edge of the bed and pulling the blanket up a little higher. "Mama missed you last night."
"You saw me at dinner."
"Dinner isn't cuddling," she said matter-of-factly. "Dinner isn't forehead kisses or asking about your day or braiding your hair—"
"I don't even let you braid my hair—"
"You used to." She gave him a dramatic pout.
He groaned again, but it broke into a quiet laugh. "You're impossible."
"And you're mine."
---
Ten minutes later, the kitchen was all espresso steam and soft music. Adrien sat at the island, scrolling through his phone, while Ava swirled oat milk into his protein smoothie with the concentration of a Michelin chef.
"Egg-white omelet or croissant?"
He didn't look up. "Croissant."
"You're so predictable." She slid it toward him with a flourish. "Try pretending you eat healthy once in a while."
He bit into it. "Try pretending you sleep past 5 a.m. once in a while."
She smirked. Touche.
When she offered to drop him off, he didn't say yes.
But he didn't say no either.
---
Adrien Carter stood near the school gates, jaw locked, phone in hand.
His bag hung off one shoulder in that effortlessly perfect way — tall, athletic, hair pushed back like it didn't dare mess with him.
He was that guy.
The one people whispered about in hallways.
Captain of the basketball team. Top of his class.
Every teacher's pride. Every girl's fantasy. Every guy's insecurity.
Perfect grades. Perfect face. Perfect life.
Until she pulled up.
The low purr of the engine hit first — not loud, but lethal. The kind of car sound that made heads turn before the car even came into view.
A sleek black Porsche coupe glided up to the curb like it didn't stop for red lights — only for royalty.
And then she stepped out.
Ava Carter.
His mom.
Red lips. Black shades. Heels tall enough to stab egos. A trench coat cinched at the waist like it was part of a hitwoman's uniform. Her diamond necklace caught the sunlight like it was challenging someone to speak.
She wasn't just pretty.
She was dangerous.
The crowd reacted exactly like he knew they would.
> "Wait… that's Adrien's mom?"
"She looks like she's twenty-five."
"She's hotter than half the seniors here."
"No way that's his mom. That's gotta be his sugar mama."
"Didn't his dad leave?"
"Well, I'd leave too if my wife looked better than me."
Adrien heard it all.
And hated every second of it.
He didn't hate her — God, no.
He hated the way the world looked at her like she wasn't his. Like her love for him was something to mock. Like her beauty gave people permission to invent their own stories.
He looked up from his phone just in time to see her strut past a group of wide-eyed seniors like they didn't exist.
And then she spotted him.
Her entire face lit up. "Hi, baby!" she called out — voice high, warm, and way too loud.
Adrien winced.
She was already hurrying toward him in those six-inch heels like she hadn't just exited a Bond movie.
Then came the arms.
Wide open. Full force. No hesitation.
"I missed you so much today," she said, hugging him like it had been years instead of hours. "Mama was thinking about you all day."
Adrien froze. Half a second too long.
His arms hovered like malfunctioning tech — stuck between not now and please don't ever stop loving me this way.
People were staring. Filming. Snickering.
But Ava didn't flinch.
She buried her face in his chest, breathing him in. "You smell like math stress and cafeteria fries. Still perfect."
"Mom…" he muttered.
Then — something in her tone softened. "You didn't call me after your quiz."
"It was fine. I just… forgot."
She pulled back slightly, enough to cup his face in both hands. "Was it fine or Carter fine?"
Adrien sighed. "Carter fine."
Her red lips curved into a smile like he'd handed her the world. "That's my boy."
Then someone whispered too loudly behind them, "God, she's extra."
Adrien flinched.
Ava didn't.
Instead, she leaned in close and whispered just for him, voice sharp like her heels.
"Let them look. You're mine. Not theirs."
And for one second, everything stopped.
He hugged her back — properly this time. Arms around her like armor. His forehead resting against her temple.
They stood like that, unfazed by the world.
She kissed his cheek, brushed an imaginary wrinkle from his hoodie, then finally stepped back.
"Come on," she said with a wink. "I got you something."
They walked to the Porsche — her arm looped around his like a queen with her crown prince.
She opened the door for him. Always did.
He ducked into the seat fast, but not before someone muttered, "Damn, I'd kill to be adopted by her."
She slipped into the driver's seat, tossed her sunglasses onto the dash, then reached into her leather tote.
"Guess what I drove an hour to find?"
She pulled out a sleek black box and handed it to him. His favorite — imported Belgian chocolate that sold out in minutes.
Adrien stared at it, then at her.
"You didn't have to—"
"Shut up and eat it," she said sweetly, leaning over to kiss his temple again. "You looked pale on your Instagram story."
"I posted a black-and-white photo."
"Exactly."
He didn't argue this time.
Because the only thing stronger than the engine purring beneath them…
was the love of a mother who raised a king.