Like Father, Like Son

Rain Chen's POV

New York City | 1:37 a.m.

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He moves like he owns the goddamn city.

Sebastian Maddox.

I watch him step out of the club like he's walking off a runway—tall, sharp-edged, radiating that kind of hot-headed confidence that only the young and stupid get to enjoy. He's got a girl hanging off his shoulder, something blonde and short-skirted and smeared in lip gloss. He doesn't even look at her. Just keeps striding down the sidewalk like the night exists to serve him.

It's hilarious, really.

Because the boy has no idea.

He thinks he's untouchable. Unseen.

But I've been watching him for weeks.

Every vice. Every mistake.

Every cracked smile that hides a fire in his gut.

He's like me.

That thought should make me sick.

Instead, it makes me smile.

I take a slow drag from my cigarette and follow him. Not too close—never too close—but close enough to see the bruises on his throat, the ring of sweat on his collar, the way he walks like he's got nothing left to lose.

He stops at a 24-hour deli. The girl's gone now—probably dumped in an alley or kissed goodbye with zero memory of her name. He buys gum. Water. Lights a cigarette. And leans against a wall like he's waiting for the next thrill to come to him.

That's when I step out of the dark.

"Big night, huh?"

He doesn't flinch.

Just glances at me with the kind of bored irritation you give a panhandler or a street preacher.

"Who the hell are you?"

I take one more drag. Let it curl slow out my mouth before I say anything.

"Someone who knows you better than you know yourself, Sebastian."

His body language shifts.

He doesn't like that.

No one says his full name. Not unless they mean something.

"…What?" he says carefully. "Do I know you?"

I smile. "Not yet. But we're long overdue."

He narrows his eyes. Looks me up and down like he's trying to place me. But he won't.

She made sure of that.

"She doesn't talk about me much, does she?" I tilt my head. "Sky."

His jaw tightens.

There it is. That name.

I keep going, because I want to see him crack.

"She was different when I knew her. Softer. Sweeter. Used to smile like the world wasn't designed to break her."

He stiffens. "You're one of her exes or something?"

"'Ex' is a funny word," I murmur. "So clean. So polite. I broke her, Sebastian. Over and over. She loved me like an idiot girl in a bad song. And I left her the moment she told me she was pregnant."

His entire face twists.

"No."

I smile. Wider now.

"Yes."

"You're lying."

I step closer. He doesn't move. His hands curl into fists, but he's not hitting. Not yet.

"Rain Chen," I say quietly. "The one name she'll never say to you. Because saying it would make you real."

Silence.

Just the streetlight buzzing and the slow, unraveling breath he didn't know he was holding.

"You've got her eyes," I say. "But don't flatter yourself—you're me in every other way. Drinking. Lying. Sneaking out. Screwing girls whose names you don't care to learn."

"You don't know anything about me."

"Oh, but I do," I murmur. "She still believes you're good. She sets your dinner out on warm plates and buys you shit from Paris and asks if you've eaten, if you slept, if you're happy."

A beat of silence. His throat bobs.

"She doesn't know what you are. But I do."

I look at him.

Really look at him.

His fury. His silence. The guilt he hides under bravado and cologne.

"You've been running around like a damn prince in this city. But I know every club you've walked into. Every lie you've told. Every girl you've used. And now... now I know you."

I lean in. Drop the cigarette. Crush it under my boot.

"And here's the thing, Sebastian Maddox," I whisper. "If you don't tell her the truth, I will."

He shoves me, hard, teeth bared. "Touch her and I swear to God—"

I laugh. Loud, sharp.

"Still protecting the woman you're lying to every night?" I mock. "How noble."

He looks unhinged now. Chest heaving. Eyes wild.

"You want to be nothing like me?" I hiss. "Then stop acting like me."

He glares.

And it's there—the moment the truth sinks in.

I grin.

"Good talk, son."

And then I disappear back into the dark.

Leaving him alone, breathing like he's drowning in open air, not knowing whether to punch a wall or scream or cry or throw up.

He won't tell her.

I know it.

Because lies are easier than shame.

And soon?

He'll rot from the inside out.

Just like me.