His name was Nathaniel

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Nathaniel had been expecting his father's reaction.

He knew the moment Adaliya's video gained traction, Edward Donovan would have something to say about it.

But what he hadn't expected was the level of contempt his father spewed the second he stepped into Nathaniel's office.

"You must be out of your mind," Edward sneered, pacing the room with slow, deliberate steps. "Allowing that girl to run her mouth like that? Have you lost all sense of control?"

Nathaniel clenched his jaw, standing behind his desk, fists pressing into the wood. "She wasn't 'running her mouth.' She was defending herself."

Edward let out a harsh laugh. "Defending herself?" He turned sharply, his cold gaze locking onto Nathaniel. "From what? Reality?"

Violet, who had been casually flipping through a magazine on the couch, raised an eyebrow. "Here we go," she muttered under her breath.

Edward ignored her, his focus solely on his son. "You've let this—this nobody—drag our family name into the mud. And for what? Some naive idea of love?"

Nathaniel's fists tightened.

"She is not a nobody."

Edward smirked. "Oh, that's right. She's an inspiration now, isn't she?" His voice dripped with condescension. "A bold, little girl standing up to the big bad world. And you—" He took a step closer. "You let her. No, worse—you encouraged her."

Nathaniel exhaled sharply through his nose, fighting to keep his composure. "I didn't 'let' her do anything. She made her own choice."

"And that's the problem, Nathaniel!" Edward snapped. "You should have stopped her. You should have kept her quiet."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Violet sat up straighter. Nathaniel's bodyguards, who had been standing discreetly by the door, exchanged wary glances.

Nathaniel's eyes darkened. His voice, when he spoke, was dangerously low.

"Careful, Father."

Edward stepped closer, undeterred. "You're letting emotions cloud your judgment. You've always been weak when it comes to that girl."

Nathaniel's breath came slower, deeper. His shoulders squared, tension coiling through his muscles.

"She is not weak," Nathaniel said, voice calm but laced with a quiet rage. "And neither am I."

Edward scoffed. "Then act like it."

Nathaniel's hands slammed against the desk. "And what the hell do you call this, then?" His voice rose, the control slipping. "Standing here, listening to you insult the woman I love? How is that strength?"

Edward's expression barely flickered. "Strength is knowing when to cut dead weight."

Something inside Nathaniel snapped.

Before anyone could react, he stepped around the desk, closing the distance between him and his father fast.

Edward barely had time to register the movement before Nathaniel grabbed him by the lapels of his suit, shoving him back a step.

The tension in the room exploded.

His bodyguards moved instantly, stepping forward, but it was Violet's sharp voice that cut through first.

"Nathaniel!"

Nathaniel didn't let go. His grip tightened, his breathing ragged. His father didn't look afraid—no, the bastard looked amused.