Aiden Reed held Dr. Richard Quinn's gaze with measured curiosity—like a student waiting for a professor to drop a pearl of wisdom.
Because real masters didn't come at you with force.
They drew you in, watched you misstep, then sliced through your argument like butter with a scalpel.
But here's the part Aiden hadn't shared:
He already knew the solution to the sow-crushing-her-piglets issue.
The answer? Embarrassingly simple.
You buy a farrowing crate. The mother stays on one side, piglets on the other, separated by safety rails. Heat lamps. Hygienic pads. Some models even had built-in soundproofing like it was a five-star piglet spa.
But he didn't say that.
Because right now?
He wasn't solving problems.
He was playing chess.
—
The smart thermostat blinked a cozy 75°F, but Richard Quinn was sweating.
And not just because of the standoff.
He really, really needed to pee.
Aiden had passed every phase of the unspoken interrogation.
Round One: The "knife at the door" stunt. No fear.
Round Two: The "you eloped behind our backs" guilt trip. Defused with grace.
Round Three: The "we're different classes" nudge. Parried with pig-farming finesse.
Three attacks. Three clean dodges.
The professor was running out of plays.
And time.
He grabbed a clementine from the fruit bowl and offered it like a white flag.
"Don't just sit there sipping tea. Have some fruit," he said, using the gesture to cover his exit.
Then he turned toward the hallway like a man heading into battle.
Tap. Tap.
"Victoria?" he called through the study door, voice calm despite the bladder pressure. "Why don't you take over? I'll, uh… start prepping lunch."
Click.
The door opened.
Victoria Quinn stood framed in the light, eyes as cold as a stainless-steel scalpel.
She didn't have to speak.
Her glare said it all: You failed.
Richard looked down, sheepish.
He hadn't cracked the kid. Not even close.
Victoria's face barely moved, but the temperature in the hallway dropped ten degrees.
She turned her eyes toward the living room—zeroing in like a drone locking onto a heat signature.
The boy hadn't cracked.
Fine, she thought. Time to send in the final boss.
"I'll cook," Richard said quickly, already half-jogging toward the guest bathroom.
Victoria raised a brow. Wait… weren't you headed to the kitchen?
—
Meanwhile, Leo Quinn peeked out from the study, still in pajama pants and socks that didn't match, stretching like he'd just woken from hibernation.
"Alright, Mom," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. "Let's get this over with. The guy's clearly—"
WHACK.
Valeria smacked him across the head without warning. "Touch him and I swear I'll break your wrist."
Leo yelped, clutching his skull. "Did you hear that?! She assaulted me!"
Victoria didn't even glance at him. "Enough. No one here is interested in your opinion."
"I'm still part of this family, you know!"
"Then act like it," Valeria snapped. "Or, I don't know, maybe get a job."
Leo's mouth opened, but the twin daggers in both women's eyes shut it fast.
He backed away like a raccoon cornered by two brooms. "Fine. I'll be in my room… playing Fortnite."
"Great," Victoria and Valeria said in unison.
—
Victoria turned toward the living room.
Valeria followed like a shadow.
"You stay," Victoria said, not turning around.
"I'll just sit nearby. Silent observer," Valeria replied, holding up both hands like a kid promising not to touch the museum exhibits.
Victoria said nothing, but her footsteps echoed like a judge walking toward the bench.
—
Aiden stood when he saw her enter.
This was it.
The real test.
Dr. Quinn had been the warm-up act.
Now the matriarch was here—and she didn't come to chat.
She came to cross-examine.
And possibly end him.
Aiden didn't let his earlier wins boost his ego. If anything, he straightened more. This wasn't a lap of honor.
It was sudden death.
—
Victoria sat down opposite him, back straight, gaze unreadable.
To be fair, if you ignored the whole my-daughter-eloped-with-you-without-telling-us detail, the kid wasn't bad.
Not conventionally handsome. Not obnoxiously charming.
But he had… presence.
Stillness. That subtle confidence people couldn't fake.
He didn't shrink under scrutiny.
Didn't overcompensate, either.
Victoria hated being impressed. Especially when she didn't want to be.
—
Aiden could feel the force of her stare dissecting him like a curator examining a stolen artifact.
In his mind, Victoria Quinn wasn't just Valeria's mom.
She was the living embodiment of institutional rigor. A woman who probably graded essays in red pen while drinking black espresso and silently judging the margins.
She didn't blink.
She calculated.
This wasn't a parent.
This was a PhD committee chair with tenure and zero patience for nonsense.
—
So he did the only thing he could.
He leaned into it.
"Mom," Aiden said, calm and clear.
Victoria blinked once. Barely.
Behind him, Valeria audibly choked.
Did he just call her Mom?!
Was he suicidal?
"You like books," Aiden said.
Victoria inclined her head. "That's true."
"I have a request," he continued, tone respectful but firm. "Not sure you'll say yes."
She narrowed her eyes. A request? From him? Now?
He hadn't even brought chocolates.
This was bold. Possibly offensive.
"Go on," she said.
Aiden leaned forward slightly. "I'd like to have the books you don't read anymore. Any you plan to donate. Or give away."
For a beat, the room was silent.
Dead silent.
Valeria's jaw dropped. Are you kidding me?
This woman laminated her receipts.
She dusted her books with a dedicated microfiber cloth.
You might as well ask to adopt her liver.
—
BANG.
From the kitchen came the unmistakable thud of a cutting board slamming onto the counter.
Dr. Quinn, clearly listening in, had nearly amputated a finger in shock.
First the marriage license.
Now the books?
What was next—Victoria's antique fountain pen collection?
—
But Victoria didn't lash out.
She didn't raise her voice.
She just… blinked again.
Slower this time.
She had expected an apology. A grovel. Maybe some tepid reassurance that he'd "treat Valeria right."
Instead… this?
Books?
—
She studied him again. Not irritated now.
Intrigued.
"…Why?" she asked. Her voice dropped a note—cooler, more curious.
Not judgment.
Not rejection.
But genuine interest.
For the first time since walking in, Aiden had her full attention.
And the boss battle had finally begun.