Dinner invitation

The evening air wrapped around them like a soft whisper, cool but not cold, carrying the faint scent of rain that lingered from earlier. The school grounds were quiet now, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun, and yet, Kamsi's mind was anything but calm.

She still couldn't believe it.

Xavier Alastair was her boyfriend. Her boyfriend .

The same grumpy, arrogant boy she had bumped into that day in the elevator—the one who had annoyed her endlessly, the one who had somehow, against all odds, found his way into her heart.

Kamsi stole a glance at him, her fingers laced with his, warmth radiating between them. How had this even happened?

Xavier caught her staring and smirked. "What?"

She shook her head, biting back a smile. "Nothing."

He squeezed her hand slightly, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against her skin.

Her heart did a tiny, ridiculous flip. *God, get a grip.*

Taking a deep breath, she turned to him, hesitating for a fraction of a second before speaking. "Xavier… can I ask you something?"

His smirk softened into something more genuine. "Yeah, sure."

She bit her lip, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous for even asking. But it mattered to her.

"I… I want to keep this between us for now. Just until I tell my mom myself," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "She can be a little overwhelming, and I don't want her hearing it from someone else before I get the chance."

Xavier was silent for a beat.

The cool breeze ruffled his dark hair, making the shadows dance across his sharp features. His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he nodded.

"Yeah, sure," he said simply. No hesitation. No protest. Just understanding.

Relief washed over her so fast, she almost sighed out loud.

She hadn't realized how nervous she'd been about his reaction.

Xavier tilted his head, watching her closely, like he could read the thoughts running through her mind. Then, without a word, he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his warmth.

Her cheek pressed against his chest, where she could hear the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

His hand came up, brushing gently against her forehead before resting there, like he was grounding her, anchoring her to him.

"You don't have to worry," he murmured. "I get it."

Kamsi swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, their faces close, so close she could see the faintest hints of gold in his dark irises.

"Thanks, Xavier," she whispered.

His lips twitched. "For what?"

"For not being a pain in the ass—just this once," she teased.

Xavier huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. "Don't get used to it, Pug."

She gasped in mock offense, smacking his chest lightly.

His grin widened, his eyes dancing with amusement.

And just like that, the moment softened—turned into something easy, something warm.

Something undeniably theirs.

Xavier barely stepped into the apartment when he spotted the familiar figure waiting in the living room. His father.

Mr. Alastair stood up, smoothing the sleeves of his expensive suit, his expression unreadable but tense. Xavier's gaze flicked to his mother, who stood near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching carefully.

Xavier exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What are you doing here again ?"

His father offered a tight smile. "I was hoping we could have dinner."

Xavier arched a brow. "Maybe some other time."

Mr. Alastair's smile faltered, but he pressed on. "Tomorrow, then?"

Xavier scoffed. "Basketball practice."

His father's jaw tensed slightly. "The next day?"

Xavier was ready to say no again, but his mother gave him a look—not forceful, just… expectant. A silent plea.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine."

Mr. Alastair's shoulders relaxed. "Good. Six o'clock at the house."

Xavier stiffened. The house. Not his house. Not his home. Just the house. The mansion he had never lived in, the one his father shared with her —his wife—and their daughter, Jade.

His lips curled slightly. "Let me guess. She'll be there too?"

"She's my wife," his father said evenly. "Of course, she'll be there. And Jade's looking forward to seeing you."

His silence stretched, but his father didn't push. Instead, he gestured toward the neatly wrapped gifts on the coffee table. "I brought these for you."

Xavier barely glanced at them. "You don't have to do all this."

"I know." His father's voice was quieter this time. "I just wanted to."

Xavier didn't respond.

Mr. Alastair exhaled before nodding at Laura. "I'll see you both soon." Then, without another word, he turned and walked out.

The door shut, and Xavier let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His mother walked past him, her voice softer than before. "You didn't have to say yes."

Xavier let out a dry chuckle. "Didn't I?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving him alone with the unopened gifts and a feeling he couldn't quite shake.

---

Mr. Alastair barely had time to loosen his tie before his wife's voice sliced through the air like a knife.

"I can't believe you, Alastair," she seethed, her arms folded so tightly across her chest it was a wonder they didn't snap. "First, you parade your—your bastard around for the whole world to see after all these years, and now you're bringing him here? What's next? Moving him in?"

Her lip curled with disgust, but Mr. Alastair kept his expression unreadable. He had expected this.

"It's not like that," he said evenly. "And he is my son."

"Oh, really?" She gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "What do you call someone born out of wedlock?"

His jaw tightened, but he refused to take the bait. "I call him my son."

She let out a breath, slow and deliberate, as though reining in the urge to throw something. "You're actually serious about this, aren't you? You want to bring him into this house—our home—like he belongs here?"

"I want to get to know him," he corrected, voice calm but firm. "You're supposed to be helping me."

"Helping?" She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Helping you—helping him—what, exactly? Rebuild the little family you had outside marriage?" She took a measured step forward, her nails tapping against the marble countertop. "Right."

His patience was thinning. "He's not a threat to you, and you know it."

Her expression sharpened. "Don't I?"

For a moment, silence stretched between them. The distant sound of a clock ticking filled the room. Mr. Alastair exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Look, I know this is an adjustment, but Xavier is my blood. Whether you like it or not, he's part of my life."

Her voice dropped to something colder, silkier. "Then keep him there. Out of this house."

His eyes darkened. "He's coming to dinner."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine," she said finally, stepping back, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress. But then she met his gaze, and her next words cut deeper than a scream ever could.

"But don't mistake that for an invitation into this family."

She turned on her heel and walked out, the soft click of her heels the only sound left in the room.

Mr. Alastair stood there, staring at the space she had occupied just moments ago. His grip tightened around the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. He should have felt triumphant—he had won, hadn't he?

Then why did it feel like he had lost something too?