Page 5 of Misconducts & Temptation

And of course, my father wasn’t here. Late to a meeting he had called himself. Typical.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cigarette, the smooth paper crinkling between my fingers. It was off-season; I didn't give two shits about smoking and hockey right now. I lit it with a silver lighter engraved with our family crest—a lion roaring, surrounded by vines—and took a deep drag, letting the nicotine flood my veins.

I hated this place. Hated this city. Everything about it felt like a cage, gilded but suffocating all the same. The skyscrapers outside the window stood tall and unyielding, monuments to ambition and greed. Just like him.

Smoke curled around me as I exhaled slowly, my eyes narrowing at the city below. Every building seemed to mock me, reminding me of the life mapped out without my consent. A life dictated by power plays and business deals disguised as family obligations.

My father’s desk phone rang, an abrupt intrusion into the oppressive silence. I ignored it, letting it ring out until it stopped on its own accord. My mind drifted back to Crestwood Academy, where at least on the ice I felt some semblance of control. But even that was tainted by his influence.

I took another drag from the cigarette and flicked ash into an ornate crystal ashtray shaped like a blooming rose—a gift from some sycophantic associate, no doubt.

I wanted freedom—desperately—but here I was waiting in his world on his time.

The door swung open with the kind of casualness that only he could muster. My father strolled in, his presence commanding the room even before he spoke. He was dressed in a tailored suit, every detail immaculate. The epitome of control and precision. He stopped short when he saw the cigarette between my fingers, his eyes narrowing in that way that signaled a storm was brewing.

“Keaton,” he began, his voice cold and clipped, “I thought I made it clear that smoking is beneath you. And look at how you're sitting. Have you forgotten everything I've taught you about presentation?”

I took a long drag of his cigarette, tuning him out, focusing instead on the way the sunlight hit the decanter, casting fractured rainbows across the dark wood of his desk. I leaned back further in my chair and kicked my feet up onto his desk, the soles of my shoes leaving a mark on the polished surface.

His eyes flared with anger, but he kept his voice level. “You think this is a joke? This is your legacy we’re talking about. Your future. As my only child, you have responsibilities. You can't just coast through life expecting everything to be handed to you.”

I picked at an imaginary piece of lint on my shirt, refusing to meet his gaze. His words washed over me like a wave of static—meaningless noise I’d heard too many times before.

“You need to earn your inheritance,” he continued, his tone growing more insistent. “You think your name alone is enough? It’s not. Every penny of this empire has been built on hard work and discipline—something you sorely lack.”

I rolled my eyes, finally locking onto his steely gaze. The man was relentless.

“You’re going to take control one day,” he pressed on, undeterred by my obvious disinterest. “But not if you keep acting like a spoiled brat who thinks he's above it all.”

He stepped closer, leaning over the desk so that our faces were inches apart. “Do you understand me?”

"Sure," I muttered, barely disguising the sarcasm dripping from my voice. His glare intensified, but it didn't faze me. He’d hit me enough times growing up that his threats and consequences had lost their edge.

He clenched his jaw so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. “You have an obligation to this family, Keaton. To take over this business and continue our legacy.”

I stared at him, unmoved. The city outside the window seemed more alive than this stifling room.

“I’ve humored you long enough with this hockey nonsense,” he continued, his voice rising. “It’s the only thing you seem to be remotely good at. You’re barely passing your business classes, Keaton. You’re embarrassing the family.”

I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair, feigning a yawn. “Here we fucking go,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

His frustration boiled over, his face reddening. “You think this is a joke? This is your life we’re talking about! You’ve already graduated—barely. Now it’s time for you to step up and get serious.”

I flicked another glance out the window, wishing I could be anywhere but here. His words were a broken record I’d heard too many times to count.

“You need to understand the weight of this responsibility,” he continued, pacing behind his desk. “Everything I’ve built will one day be yours, but only if you prove yourself worthy.”

I let out a sigh, feeling the familiar tension coil in my chest. His idea of proving myself meant bending to his will completely—something I had no intention of doing.

He stopped pacing and leaned on the desk again, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that might have made someone else squirm. “You will take this seriously, Keaton,” he said quietly but firmly. “Or there will be consequences.”

I held his gaze, unblinking. “Yeah? Like what?”

For a moment, he looked almost defeated—a flicker of vulnerability that quickly vanished as he straightened up and adjusted his tie.

“Like losing everything you take for granted,” he replied coldly.

I stared at him, unblinking. “You think I give a shit?” I asked, my voice dripping with disdain. “Leave me destitute for all I care.”

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