Rain battered the tall windows.
The house felt cavernous. Too quiet.
Adam barely had time to turn fully toward his father before it happened.
The punch was sudden.
Sharp.
Clean.
It cracked across his face and sent him stumbling backward. His shoulder clipped the edge of a table before he hit the ground hard.
For a second, he didn't understand.
His ears rang.
Warmth spread across his lip.
He tasted iron.
Richard stood over him, expression carved from stone.
No shouting.
No visible rage.
Just cold.
Adam pushed himself up slightly, disoriented
The second punch landed.
Then another.
And another.
Each impact blurred the room more.
Adam tried to lift an arm, but his father grabbed his collar and drove his fist into him again.
The sound of it echoed too loudly in the
empty hall.
Rain outside.
Breathing inside.
The dull thud of knuckles meeting skin.
Finally, Richard let go.
Adam collapsed fully onto the marble floor.
His vision doubled.
Blood dripped from his nose, smeared across his cheek.
He could hear his heartbeat in his skull.
Richard straightened his cuffs slowly.
There was blood on his hands.
He looked down at his son like he was evaluating something broken.
"I am disappointed in you," Richard said evenly.
Adam forced his eyes up.
The words hurt more than the punches.
"A real man," Richard continued, voice low and controlled, "protects his woman."
Adam's fingers curled weakly against the floor. "You let her be humiliated."
Another pause.
"She is in the hospital."
Each sentence was precise.
"And you," Richard said, "stood there."
Adam's chest heaved.
"I—" His voice failed.
Richard's gaze hardened further.
"You are not a man if you cannot defend what is yours."
The words landed heavier than any blow.
"You need to be better," Richard said. "Get a grip. Even though you aren't together, it's a man's job to defend woman."
He stepped back.
"Weakness is not something I tolerate from my son."
Silence filled the foyer.
Rain still hammered against the windows.
Adam lay there, ears ringing.
Blood pooled beneath his cheek.
Richard turned without another word and walked away down the corridor.
His footsteps faded.
The front door opened softly.
Closed.
For a long moment, Adam didn't move.
Then he coughed and spit blood onto the marble.
It splattered red against white.
His vision slowly steadied.
Footsteps approached — measured, unhurried.
Alfred entered calmly, as if responding to a dinner bell rather than violence.
He took in the scene with one steady glance.
No surprise.
No panic.
He knelt beside Adam and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
"This will sting," Alfred said quietly.
Adam didn't respond.
Alfred pressed the cloth gently to his split lip, then examined his cheekbone with practiced ease.
The movements were efficient.
Routine.
As if this had happened before.
As if it would happen again.
Adam stared blankly at the ceiling.
Rain.
Hospital monitors.
Kara's shaking hands.
His mother in another hospital room.
His father's voice echoing in his head:
Be a man. Be strong. Be smart. Never back down. Don't show weakness. Don't show emotions.
Alfred dabbed at the blood again.
"There we are," he murmured softly.
Adam closed his eyes.
The ringing in his ears never fully stopped.