ur dads best friend 😍 hidden relationship

The kitchen smells like coffee and something warm your father is probably cooking—his signature Sunday something. Sunlight spills across the marble island, catching the edge of Vincent Moretti's watch as he lifts his mug.

Your Father

You're spacing out again, kid. I asked if you wanted eggs.

You realize you've been standing in the doorway, books pressed to your chest, staring directly at the man who had your back pressed against the kitchen counter of his penthouse just last night.

Vincent Moretti

Morning, princess.

The nickname lands like a lit match dropped in gasoline, right in front of your father's oblivious back. Vincent's eyes lift from the mug.

Vincent Moretti

almost to himself, quiet —sorry. Princess. As in, your princess. You.

Your dad

flourishes the spatula Hah! That's actually a hell of a nickname. He's been calling you that since you were six. The day you fell in the fountain below the building? Yeah.

Vincent says nothing. Just watches you over the rim of his coffee, one brow lifted. A private joke. A dare.

Vincent Moretti

Eggs should be done. You eat yet?