Desmond rode directly home instead of to his dorm. The tall iron gates of the Lennox mansion swung open automatically as he rode his bike in.
The guards and gardener greeted him politely.
"Welcome, Master Desmond."
He only gave a curt nod and walked toward the house. Before he could reach for the door, it opened for him the butler standing there.
"Brother!" Daisy's squeal rang out, and a small body launched itself at him.
Desmond caught her easily, crouching low to hug her back. A rare smile tugged at his lips.
"I missed you," she whispered quickly.
"I missed you too," he said, touching her nose.
"You're lying," Daisy accused, wrinkling her nose. "If you really missed me, you would have come home last week."
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"You didn't even let me come to your class building."
He raised his brows. "I've never let you crash my classes before, you just—"
"Is that what you're supposed to say?" She cut him off sharply.
"…I'm sorry," he repeated quickly.
"Good boy." She patted his hair like he was the younger one, and his smile deepened despite himself.
"This little girl," he muttered, ruffling her hair.
"Don't mess up my hair!" she squealed, trying to smack his chest, but he dodged and strode into the vast living room and she ran after him.
"I told you not to run and jump everywhere. You'll fall."
"No, I won't. You'll catch me. That's what your big scary muscles are for, right?" she teased, poking his arm.
"You're annoying."
"And you smell like trouble." She smirked.
Desmond blinked, startled again by how sharp she was for ten years old. "How old are you again?"
"Don't ask me. You know."
"And where's Mom?"
"I'm not talking to you." She folded her arms dramatically.
"I got you a gift."
Her pout vanished. "Really?"
He pulled a small velvet pouch from his pocket and revealed a delicate bracelet, her name Daisy sculpted in tiny flowers along the gold strand. He'd asked for it while repairing Juliana's bracelet.
She gasped. "I love it!" She hugged him tightly and planted a kiss on his cheek before darting off upstairs.
"Mommy! Mommy! Look what Desmond got me!"
Desmond shook his head. "Such a baby."
From the staircase, Mrs. Lennox appeared, elegant as always, having watched quietly from the shadows of the landing. Daisy showed her the bracelet proudly before running back down.
"Mom." Desmond's voice softened instantly.
"My baby," Mrs. Lennox said warmly, embracing him.
"Baby?" Daisy giggled.
"And what are you then, little girl?" Desmond shot back.
"You're a big baby." She laughed.
"You're so annoying. Keep it up and I won't take you shopping this weekend."
"You'll take me shopping?" Her eyes lit up, ignoring his glare.
"Depends on your behavior."
"Yaaay!" she sang, running to flop beside their mother. "Desmond will take me shopping! Desmond will take me shopping!"
"I'll be in my room," he muttered, already moving.
"Not so fast." Mrs. Lennox stood, removing his jacket herself before handing it to a maid.
"Mary, his bag to his room, jacket to the laundry."
"Mom, I can—"
"When you're at the dorm, you handle yourself. Here, they do it for you."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Now go freshen up. You smell like sweat. Then come downstairs to eat."
"I'll eat in my room."
"I said downstairs."
"Yes, ma'am," he said again, though the flatness in his tone made it clear he wasn't planning to.
"And before I forget," Mrs. Lennox added, smoothing Daisy's hair, "your father is in the study. He wants a word."
Desmond froze mid-step. His cold aura returned instantly, shoulders tensing.
"Uh oh," Daisy whispered loudly.
"Mr. Lennox is home this early?" Desmond muttered.
His mother gave him a look. "I said a word, not a war."
Without another word, he turned toward the stairs.
Desmond knocked once before pushing open the heavy oak door. It closed behind him with a muted thud, sealing him into the room. His father sat behind the massive mahogany desk, glasses perched low as he scribbled on a file. He didn't look up immediately.
"You've been at the dorm all week," Mr. Lennox finally said, his tone even but sharp. "This house is not a hotel you check into once in a while."
Desmond leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. "The dorm is closer to school. Saves time."
"You have drivers. Cars. An entire staff at your disposal. That excuse is thin."
"I prefer the dorm."
Mr. Lennox set his pen down, gaze lifting, cool and heavy. "Do you prefer defiance too? If you refuse, I'll have your dorm locked and your privileges cut. Don't test me, Desmond."
Desmond's jaw tightened. He straightened, already turning toward the door. "Then lock it. I didn't ask for your privileges."
"Desmond."
The word stopped him cold. His hand stilled on the knob.
"You think this is about control, but it isn't." Mr. Lennox removed his glasses, setting them aside. His voice softened, almost reluctant. "It's about your mother, who waits every evening hoping you'll join us for dinner. About Daisy, who hasn't stopped asking when her brother will come home. And yes—about that girl. The scholarship one. The one you seem oddly particular about. Don't push me, Desmond. I can take it back before the welcome program next week."
Desmond turned sharply, eyes flashing. "Dad?"
"Mr. Lennox." His father didn't even blink.
Something inside Desmond twisted at the word, but he let out a bitter laugh instead. "Do whatever you want." His voice was low, laced with annoyance.
"You do care," his father pressed, calm but firm. "We had a deal."
"And this wasn't part of it," Desmond shot back.
"All I'm asking is that you stay with your family."
"And all I want is my peace," Desmond snapped, his voice rising. "You, Raymond, Laura—everyone. Just let me breathe!"
The room fell silent. His chest rose and fell sharply, trying to steady the anger boiling beneath his skin. His father said nothing, simply watching, assessing.
Finally, Desmond exhaled, his tone quiet but laced with steel. "Do what you want. I don't care anymore. But you're a businessman, Mr. Lennox. You know deals mean something. If you won't uphold your end, I won't uphold mine." He turned toward the door.
"Then do it." The reply was cold. "But if you walk away, understand this—you don't get to come back. Not even to your brother."
Desmond's grip on the knob tightened, his throat working against the words he refused to let out. His father was blackmailing him in every way possible, and he had no escape.
"Dad…" His voice cracked despite him.
"Think about it," Mr. Lennox said quietly.
Desmond swallowed hard, twisted the knob, and left the study. His mother was waiting outside. He brushed past her wordlessly, retreating to his room.
Mrs. Lennox lingered at the threshold, then stepped inside.
"He's your son, not your rival," she said, her voice sharp with disapproval. "Why speak to him like that?"
"Because he's old enough to understand reasoning."
"This isn't reasoning, it's blackmail. I asked you to persuade him, not to play on his weaknesses."
Mr. Lennox pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know how stubborn he is."
"No you are the stubborn one," she shot back. "We both know why he avoids this house. You wouldn't admit it then, and you won't admit it now. He's warm inside, but he's hurt. And you… you meet his pain with coldness. If both of you stay cold, you'll only repel each other. One of you has to be warm. I'm asking you, love. Be the one."
Mr. Lennox finally looked at her, his expression softening against his will. She sat on the edge of his desk, eyes pleading.
"You know I don't like seeing you upset," he murmured, sliding an arm around her waist.
"So what will you do?" she asked.
"I'll think about it," he said after a pause.
"Good." She smiled faintly and started to stand, but he caught her back.
"And where are you going?"
"To clean up the mess you made."
"Or maybe you just need an excuse to run away." He bent to kiss her neck.
She rolled her eyes. "Really? I spend the whole day with you, and the one moment I want to give to my son, you get jealous?"
"Jealous? Why would I be?" he asked, feigning innocence.
She arched her brow.
"Besides," he added smugly, "that boy is practically my copy. The look, the height, the aura,he's 'me junior."
"Except the attitude," he added.
"And I didn't contribute anything?" she added, mock-offended.
"You did." His lips curled. "You gave him your stubbornness."
She laughed softly, prying his hand from her waist. "I enjoy being with 'you junior,' and right now he needs me more than your papers do. Let me go."
"Fine, fine." He raised his hands in surrender.
She kissed his cheek, then left the study, with determination in her steps. She would find Desmond, and she would not let him feel alone.
When the door closed behind his wife, silence settled over the study. Mr. Lennox leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty space where his son had stood minutes ago.
Desmond.
His chest tightened, though his face remained composed as always. To the world, Desmond was his reflection, a proud, unbending young man. But all Mr. Lennox could see was the boy who once shadowed him in the garden, quiet but alert, taking in every word, every gesture. A boy who looked at him like his hero.
That boy had slipped away last year.
Raymond.
Desmond had chosen him, the same way he always did with people drawn by instinct, ready to protect. That was his son's nature, which has landed him some of his best clients, Desmond liked them and he just goes with it. He didn't connect often, but when he did, his loyalty was unshakable. He would guard those he cared for, even if he stood cold and distant on the surface. Sometimes even in silence, even in hiding, Desmond carried the weight of others on his back.
It was why Mr. Lennox had used the scholarship girl as leverage. He knew the type Desmond was. Touch someone Desmond felt bound to, and he would react. Always.
And when the fight came, Mr. Lennox's fury had been immediate—at his son's loss of control, at the stain it threatened to leave on their name. He hadn't asked. He had only condemned. It is not like his son was saying anything, he wasn't explaining why he punched his best friend and created a scene.
The look in Desmond's eyes that day, the hurt, the betrayal still haunted him.
Mr. Lennox pressed his palms together, resting them against his lips. He knew his son had once adored him. He knew his own pride had broken something between them. Every word since had only raised the walls higher.
But how could he bend? He was a father, yes, but also a man who had clawed his way to power. He understood discipline, structure, and control. Not softness. That was his wife's strength.
He wanted his son back. He just didn't know how to reach him without force. And force o
nly pushed Desmond further away.
With a heavy sigh, Mr. Lennox slid his glasses back on and bent toward his papers, though the ink blurred before his eyes. Work was simpler than fatherhood. Work followed rules. Desmond did not.