Xavier's shadow stretched long across the barren living room, his footsteps heavy, a dull echo in the silence. 7:00 P. M. The clock mocked him with its steady tick, a reminder of the void expanding within the walls that once thrummed with life. He stopped pacing, fists clenching and unclenching as he fought the rising tide of unease.
"Come on," he muttered, glaring at his phone.
It vibrated. His heart leaped. But the text shredded any flicker of hope.
"Hi, we won't be coming back tonight; Bella needs to spend time with her grandfather."
"Fuck." Xavier scoffed, venomously lacing his words. "What about me? Don't I fucking deserve to spend time with my daughter?" Anger crackled in his voice, a whip snapping in an empty room.
"Is she avoiding me?" The words hung in the air, unanswered.
He spun on his heel, his eyes catching the crimson digits of the clock again. 7:59. An hour was lost to waiting and hoping. No more.
"Fine," he spat out, snatching the car keys, their metallic jangle a harsh symphony to his abrupt decision.
"If they're sleeping at my father's place, so am I." A declaration to the shadows.
Xavier descended, each step down the staircase a drumbeat to his resolve. The night swallowed him whole as he strode through the garage, the familiar scent of leather and oil greeting him like the embrace of a conspirator.
The roar of the engine was a battle cry. Streets blurred past, just dark smears against the night. His father's house loomed, a fortress of stone and secrets.
Inside, the world narrowed to the soft glow from his childhood room. There, Cathleen, his wife, an enigma wrapped in silk, was breastfeeding their daughter. Bella, small and perfect, oblivious to the tempest her absence had stirred. The scene before him was perfect.
A solitary tear betrayed him, a silent witness to the love that clawed at his chest, raw and relentless. As he turned from the threshold, a figure emerged, solid and imposing.
"Xavier." His father's voice was rough as gravel.
Their gazes locked in a collision of wills. At that moment, Xavier stood on a precipice, the truth of his heart teetering on the edge.
"Why are you crying?" His father broke the stillness.
"Something entered my eye." Xavier's voice was a strained whisper.
The old man's chuckle scratched the air. "Join me in my study."
Xavier trailed behind, the sharp tap of his father's cane on hardwood echoing through the silent hall. The study door groaned open, revealing walls lined with leather-bound secrets and the scent of aged Bourbon.
"Here," the old man gestured to the decanter with a gnarled hand, his eyes twinkling in the dim light.
Xavier poured, the amber liquid sloshing into the crystal glass, a temporary balm for the tempest within. Whiskey kissed his lips; fire slid down his throat.
They settled into the leather chairs, the weight of unspoken words heavy between them. Old Mr. Knight watched as his son lifted the glass again, stopping it midway.
"So, what are you going to do about Olivia and the baby?" The question hung like a guillotine, poised and ready.
"Nothing," Xavier replied, a cold finality etching his tone. His father's brow creased.
"What do you mean when you say nothing?" Skepticism laced the old man's words.
"That baby can never be mine, Father. I am content with Cathleen." The words tasted bitter on Xavier's tongue, whiskey failing to wash it away.
"Is that so?" The elder's gaze pierced him, sharp and knowing.
Xavier drained his glass with defiance in every swallow. He wielded silence like a blade, slicing through the tension.
"Many would kill for a son, but not me. Bella is perfection." The admission, raw and naked, stripped bare the facade.
"Is that why you were crying?" His father prodded further.
"No, damn it! Something in my fucking eye," Xavier growled, the clink of ice against glass punctuating his frustration.
"Your tears are your own, boy. It's okay to cry." A soft encouragement from the man carved from stone.
"Father..." Xavier's voice trembled. "I fear for them. Without my girls... I'm nothing."
A small and sad smile graced the old man's lips. He understood the torture of love and the exquisite pain of vulnerability.
"Then fight, Xavier. Fight for those who give your life meaning." His father's words were a quiet command.
"Always," Xavier vowed, the taste of whiskey and resolve mingling on his tongue.
"I knew you would fall for her," the old man mused, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Like a fool."
Xavier's jaw clenched. This was not the time for I-told-you-sos.
"Happy?" Xavier spat the word as if it were poison. "Is that what you call this fucked-up circus?"
"Take care of them," his father said, ignoring the venom. "They need you, Xavier."
The old man rose, his movements deliberate. Liquid gold danced in his glass, mocking Xavier's unraveling composure. "Something else you should know..." His voice trailed off as he poured himself another drink. A deep breath. "Olivia's baby is a Knight."
The shards scattered like fractured memories across the polished floor. Xavier's hand trembled, a silent testament to the tempest within. His father's declaration hung heavy in the air, a noose tightening around his throat.
"Fuck!" The curse burst from Xavier's lips. Glass crunched underfoot as he staggered back. "That baby isn't mine!"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." The old man's voice was calm, a stark contrast to Xavier's mounting fury. "Never said the brat was yours."
"Meaning?" Xavier's gaze drilled into his father's, seeking truth-or lies.
"He looked like a Knight," the old man admitted. "So I dug deeper. I did another DNA test."
"I never saw him. I never held him," Xavier confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Turns out," his father continued, the words slow and heavy, "the kid's Finn's."
The old man sipped his drink and then went on, "Are you mad that Finn is the father?"
Laughter, harsh and hollow, erupted from Xavier's chest. "Mad? Why the fuck would I be mad?"
"Olivia was yours first," his father reminded him, a hint of concern lacing his tone.
"Was she?" Xavier's shrug was nonchalant, a mask for the chaos inside. "Cathleen was Finn's fiancee before she was my wife."
"Careful, son," the old man warned. "Your heart's showing."
"Fuck the heart," Xavier growled, his eyes as cold as steel. "It's just a muscle."
"Indeed," his father agreed, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "But even muscles can bleed."
Xavier's breath hitched, a storm of emotions clashing within him. He turned away, his jaw clenched so tight it could shatter diamonds. He couldn't let the old man see the cracks in his armor. It was not because Olivia had a baby with Finn; it was because he couldn't stand not being around his family.
"Is that all?" Xavier's voice was a growl, each word sharp as a blade.
"Isn't it enough?" The old man's eyebrow rose, challenging.
"Enough to what? Ruin me?" Xavier spat out, his heart hammering against his ribcage. "Of course, people will talk, but I don't want anyone talking shit about my wife."
"Protect yourself, boy." His father's tone was stern now, a command rather than advice. "Your empire, your family."
"Empire be damned," Xavier muttered, though they both knew it was a lie.
"Then what will you do? If the world finds out that your wife was your nephew's before she was yours and that your nephew's baby mama was your girlfriend before she was your nephew's," The question hung in the air, heavy and expectant.
"Fight," Xavier said, simple and final. "For Cathleen. For Bella. For whatever fucking semblance of peace I can scrape together."
"Good." Approval warmed the old man's voice. "Because Knights don't surrender. We conquer."
"Or we die trying," Xavier added, the truth of their legacy a weight on his shoulders.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," his father said, raising his glass in a silent toast to the battles ahead.
"Hope is for the weak," Xavier replied, even as he accepted the unspoken truce, clinking his own glass against his father's.
"Then be strong, Xavier. Be the man I raised you to be."
The silence between them spoke volumes, filled with unvoiced fears and unbreakable bonds. They were Knights, after all-forged in fire, destined to rise above the ashes of their enemies. Or burn alongside them.