"Thank you, Mr. Aiden, for gracing this occasion. The students loved it—it's a dream come true for most of them," the Dean of Student Affairs said, stretching out his hand with a wide grin.
I shook his hand, my gaze straying momentarily to the small crowd of students gathered nearby. Even while trying to stay discreet, they couldn't hide their excitement—some were blowing kisses, others snapping pictures from every angle they could find.
It was almost funny to be here now, considering how tedious the last two hours had felt while I gave a speech I hadn't exactly been thrilled to deliver.
I managed a polite smile as I shook the dean's hand, noticing out of the corner of my eye a young photographer—maybe a student intern—trying to capture the moment. He was practically contorting himself, adjusting his camera over and over, looking for the perfect shot of me and the dean. The poor guy had been at it for hours, and judging by his furrowed brow, he still wasn't satisfied.
The dean droned on, talking about his days as an alumnus and how he and my mother had been best friends back in the day. I nodded absently, my focus drifting back to the photographer who was now squatting at an odd angle.
I gestured subtly, pointing to the side. "Try from over there—you might get a better angle."
The dean glanced at him, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Oh, he's good," he remarked, "One of our photography students. Very talented."
The photographer's attention finally shifted to me, and for a split second, he seemed taken aback, as if my words had lingered a bit too long. Then he broke into a shy grin, adjusting his stance once more to take the shot I suggested.
"Thank you," he murmured, his boyish grin widening as he clicked a few final shots. I gave him a quick thumbs-up, and he nodded back, pleased.
Turning back to the dean, I was ready to wrap up. "Alright, Dean," I said, signaling the close of our little exchange.
"We'd love to have you again next time. It's such an honor to have you here today. Your mother would be so proud—please send her my regards," the dean said, walking alongside me toward my car. "She and I used to come here all the time, always up to something with Student Affairs. We were quite the pair back then," he added with a nostalgic grin, gesturing toward the paths leading to his office. "Didn't realize how much trouble we caused until I took on this role myself."
"I'm glad I could help today," I replied with a polite nod.
I glanced to the side, catching my assistant's eye, and signaled for him to move ahead. Giving the dean one last nod, I picked up my pace toward the car.
But as I started down the path, a few faculty members I hadn't had the chance to engage with earlier moved toward me, effectively halting my steps.
"Mr Aiden, I hope we'll get a chance to speak more in the future," one of them said, offering a warm handshake. "Your presentation on AI in architecture was fascinating—truly unique."
"Thank you," I replied, shaking his hand and nodding at the other professors gathered nearby. They were all accomplished in their fields, and on any other day, I'd have been genuinely interested in continuing the conversation.
"We'll have to revisit those topics sometime," added another professor whose name I couldn't quite recall, though we'd spoken earlier.
"I'd love that. Look forward to an invitation from me soon—I'd be delighted if you could join," I replied.
They all nodded with friendly smiles, and after a few more quick goodbyes, I finally reached my car. As soon as the door opened, I slid in and shut it, feeling an immediate sense of calm as the outside noise faded, leaving just the quiet hum of the car interior. I leaned back into the seat, closed my eyes, letting the relief settle in and momentarily pushing the day's obligations from my mind.
I'd finally escaped Ms. Victoria's relentless insistence about this event, which had practically been forced down my throat.
"I'm so proud of everything you've achieved—I just have to show you off!"
As the car jerked forward, signaling we were on the move, I sighed, sinking deeper into the seat. Just as a sense of peace began to settle over me, and edges of exhaustion pulling me toward much-needed rest.
A faint buzzing against my jacket snapped me out of my rest, jolting me slightly. My eyes flew open in surprise until I realized it was just my phone. I fished it out, glanced at the screen, and sighed when I saw "Ms. Victoria" flashing across the caller ID. Without a second thought, I swiped to ignore the call and toggled the phone to flight mode. Then, I tapped the shoulder of my assistant, seated beside me, and handed it to him.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes again, letting myself sink into the welcome silence. Just as I was slipping back into a calm, muted voice came close to my ear.
"Sir?" It was my assistant, hesitant yet persistent. A second "Sir?" followed, cutting through the fog of near-sleep.
I blinked, gathering my bearings. One glance around and I realized we'd arrived—I was home.
I nodded to my assistant, who was already reaching to open his door. "It's fine," I muttered, making a move to open mine. But he ignored the cue, stepping out quickly to open it for me anyway. As I climbed out, he held up my phone, waving it gently.
"I spoke to Ms. Victoria earlier. She... well, she'll probably keep calling until you pick up," he said, handing me the phone with a sympathetic smile. In his careful way, he was letting me know that my mother was throwing yet another fit over my lack of response to her latest errand.
I took the phone from him with a quiet "Thanks."
Ms. Victoria is predictable that way; her impatience comes hand in hand with selfishness, maybe even a bit of manipulation. But, honestly, it was part of what made her so resilient—almost admirable in a twisted way. For better or worse, my mother knew exactly how to take care of herself.
And she needed to. Every Kensington carried that same armor: stubborn, unapologetic, and ready to defend themselves by any means necessary, even if it came down to something as cutthroat as blackmail.
In the past year alone, my mother had somehow managed to cycle through her usual routine: harassing her household staff, getting sued by one of her so-called friends, and, most recently, reigniting an old legal battle with my father's family. Life with Ms. Victoria was never dull.
I allowed myself a slight smile, already bracing for whatever storm would hit next—which I planned to avoid as much as possible.
My mother's "love language" for me—if you could call it that—was public display. The child she'd left with the Kensingtons since he was four, who she only visited occasionally to announce a new sibling somewhere across the country, was somehow someone she'd flaunt. Maybe because I was her only child whose family was the wealthiest.
Growing up, I was lucky to see her once, maybe twice, a year. When she came, she was good at performing all her motherly duties in two weeks before vanishing again. We had lots of pictures, toys, and stories—you'd think we'd spent my entire childhood glued together.
People who glimpsed our dynamic often offered unsolicited advice: "Cut her off." I'd hear it almost daily. And while the idea made sense, I wouldn't. At least she was there, even if only in name and for show. She wasn't much different from anyone else in my life, if I'm honest—maybe even the easiest to manage. The Kensingtons are generally around, and a constant pain in my ass.