The private golf course looked like it belonged to another world.
The grass was unnaturally green.
The air smelled like money and polished shoes.
Men laughed softly, the kind of laughter that never reached their eyes.
Y/N's feet dangled from a stone bench near the edge of the course, her small hands wrapped around a juice box. She wasn't supposed to wander this far, but no one ever stopped her. Adults rarely noticed children unless they were being inconvenient.
She was humming to herself when she heard it.
A sound that didn't belong.
Smack.
Sharp. Loud. Ugly.
Y/N froze.
Her humming died in her throat.
She slid off the bench quietly, curiosity and something heavier pulling her forward. The hedges were tall, trimmed into perfect walls, but there was a small opening—just enough for a child.
She peeked through.
And saw him.
A man stood there, tall and commanding, dressed in expensive clothes, holding a golf club like a weapon. His face was twisted with rage.
In front of him stood a boy—no, older than a boy, younger than a man.
Nineteen, maybe.
His posture was stiff, shoulders squared, fists clenched at his sides.
Smack.
Y/N flinched as the man slapped him again.
"Look at me when I correct you," the man snarled. "You think my name will save you from discipline?"
The young man didn't cry out.
Didn't argue.
Didn't beg.
He simply lowered his gaze, jaw tightening as if pain was something he'd already learned to swallow.
"You are a reflection of me," the man continued coldly. "And today, you reflected weakness."
Then—like it meant nothing—
The man turned and walked away.
His laughter rejoined the others.
As if nothing had happened.
Silence fell.
The kind that rang in your ears.
Y/N's heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
Before she could stop herself, she stepped through the hedge.
The grass felt cold under her shoes.
The young man noticed her instantly.
His head snapped up, eyes dark and alert—too sharp for someone his age. His hand moved instinctively toward his cheek, as if to hide the mark.
"…You shouldn't be here," he said, voice firm but rushed. "Go back.
Now."
Y/N didn't move.
She stared at him.
Really stared.
His cheek was red.
His eyes were angry—but tired.
Not wild.
Not cruel.
Just… hurt.
"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.
He blinked, clearly not expecting that.
"…What?"
"Your face," Y/N said, pointing. "It's burning."
He scoffed quietly, turning his head away. "It's nothing."
"You're lying," she said.
That made him pause.
He looked back at her slowly, studying her small frame, her serious eyes, the way she didn't seem afraid of him at all.
"Kids shouldn't call people liars," he said.
"My mom says lying is worse," Y/N replied. "Because it makes the hurt stay longer."
Something flickered in his expression.
"Your mom talks a lot," he muttered.
"She talks when things matter," Y/N said simply. Then, after a moment, "Why did he hit you?"
The question hung between them.
Dangerous. Direct.
His jaw clenched.
"That man," he said carefully, "is my father."
"Oh."
A pause.
Then— "That's worse," Y/N concluded.
Despite himself, a quiet breath of laughter escaped him.
"You're not wrong," he admitted.
Y/N reached into her pocket and pulled out a small white handkerchief, the corners embroidered with tiny blue flowers.
She held it up to him.
"For you."
He stared at it like it was something fragile.
"I don't need that," he said.
"Yes, you do," she insisted, stepping closer. "It helps when someone hits you."
"…You've been hit before?" he asked, his voice dropping.
Y/N shook her head. "But I've seen people cry when they think no one is watching."
That did something to him.
Slowly, carefully, he knelt in front of her, bringing himself down to her level. Up close, she noticed how controlled he was—like every emotion lived behind locked doors.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Y/N."
He nodded. "I'm Kade."
"Kade," she repeated, smiling. "It sounds strong."
"It has to be," he said quietly.
She handed him the cloth again. This time, he took it, pressing it lightly to his cheek.
"…Thank you," he said.
"For what?" she asked.
"For not pretending I don't exist."
Y/N tilted her head. "Why would anyone do that?"
He looked away.
"Because it's easier," he said.
Footsteps echoed in the distance.
Kade stiffened immediately, rising to his feet.
"You need to go," he said. "Before someone sees you with me."
"Why?" Y/N asked. "Are you dangerous?"
He almost smiled.
"No," he said. "But they are."
She hesitated, then did something unexpected.
She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his pinky.
Just for a second.
"When people hurt you," she said very seriously, "it doesn't mean you're weak."
He looked down at their hands, breath catching.
"What does it mean then?" he asked.
"It means they're afraid," Y/N replied.
"And afraid people hurt others first."
That silence—
That one—
Stayed with him forever.
"You won't remember this," he said softly.
Y/N looked up at him. "I remember things that feel heavy."
He released her hand gently.
"Goodbye, Y/N."
She waved as she ran back toward the clubhouse, not looking back.
Kade stood alone on the green, the handkerchief still in his hand.
For the first time that day—
The sting on his cheek hurt less.
And years later,
when a woman with familiar eyes would look at him with fear instead of innocence—
He would remember the girl who saw him bleeding and didn't turn away.....