"How dramatic."
The words slithered through the silence, smooth, edged with mockery.
Dominic turned, his body tensing—not sudden, not startled, just rigid, controlled. His gaze, sharp as a blade, landed on the figure leaning casually against the doorway.
Felix Farage.
Old rival. Childhood friend. Persistent thorn in his side.
The dim lighting cast shadows across Felix's sharp features, accentuating the ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. He looked exactly as Dominic remembered—too polished, too self-satisfied, too much like someone who thought he was untouchable.
Unlike Isadora, whose gaze softened at the sight of him, Dominic's expression only darkened.
Felix pushed off the doorframe, his movements lazy, deliberate. He strolled further inside, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sleek black coat, eyes flickering between Dominic and Isadora with that infuriating glint of amusement.
"Ah," he sighed, as if breathing in nostalgia. "It's been too long."
Dominic didn't speak.
Didn't move.
But the room felt colder.
Felix's smirk widened. "Still the same, I see. Stoic, brooding, and oh—" he made a show of glancing around the room, "—riddled with bad taste in decor."
Isadora chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Felix, you haven't changed."
"Not one bit." Felix winked at her. "But you, Madam Isadora, are as lovely as ever."
Dominic exhaled, slow and sharp. Enough.
His voice cut through Felix's theatrics like steel. "Why are you here?"
Felix turned back to him, clearly savoring his irritation. "What, no 'hello'? No warm embrace for an old friend?"
Dominic's jaw flexed. "You're not my friend."
Felix placed a hand over his heart. Mock hurt. "Ouch." He turned back to Isadora with an exaggerated sigh. "See what I mean? This man has no heart."
Isadora gave Felix a knowing look, but Dominic caught it—the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way her fingers curled tighter around her glass.
She wasn't as unbothered as she appeared.
Felix noticed too. Of course, he did.
His smirk twitched, something sharper flickering in his gaze before he masked it with nonchalance. "Well, since we're skipping the pleasantries," he waved a dismissive hand, "let's get to the point. I was invited."
Dominic's gaze snapped to Isadora.
Her expression didn't waver. "I asked him to come."
Felix grinned. "You see? Not everyone considers my presence a nuisance."
Dominic let the silence stretch, let his stare bore into his mother—calculating, questioning.
Why?
Why him?
Isadora met his gaze, her face unreadable. "We needed to talk."
Dominic's attention slid back to Felix, who had now claimed one of the lounge chairs, settling in as if he owned the place. He crossed his legs, resting an elbow on the armrest.
Dominic inhaled slowly. "Listen carefully, Felix."
Felix raised a brow, looking entirely unbothered.
"Snap out of whatever you're planning with Isadora. Turn back. Now."
For the first time, Felix's smirk wavered. Just for a second.
It was quick—so quick that anyone else might have missed it. But Dominic didn't.
And neither did Felix.
A heartbeat passed.
Then, with infuriating ease, Felix laughed. Soft, amused, dripping with insolence.
"Oh, Dominic," he sighed, shaking his head. "Still pretending like you can control everything?"
Dominic's patience thinned.
Felix leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice dropping into something quieter. Something heavier.
"You seem tense, old friend." He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "Afraid I'll ruin something?"
Dominic's fingers twitched at his side.
Felix saw it. Knew he was pressing all the right buttons.
And that's exactly why he pushed one more.
"Or," he mused, "afraid I'll dig up what you've been trying so hard to bury?"
The room stilled.
Felix smiled.
And Dominic lost the last of his restraint.
It wasn't an explosion—Dominic didn't explode.
He moved. Fast. Precise. Deadly.
In one swift motion, he was on Felix, gripping his collar, yanking him forward.
The room didn't breathe.
Felix, to his credit, didn't flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.
Dominic's voice was quiet, lethal.
"Try me."
Felix held his gaze, unreadable. Then—ever so slightly—he smirked.
"Now, now," he murmured. "Is this really how you treat your guests?"
Dominic's grip tightened.
And still—Felix remained unshaken.
"Dominic."
Isadora's voice cut through the tension.
A pause. A long, heavy pause.
Then, just as suddenly as he'd grabbed him, Dominic let go.
Felix stumbled back slightly, brushing off his collar like he hadn't just been seconds from being throttled.
He sighed, smoothing down his suit. "Really, Dominic. You're going to ruin my tailoring."
Dominic didn't dignify him with a response. He simply turned and strode toward the door, every step controlled, each movement screaming unfinished rage.
But just before stepping out, he paused.
Without looking back, he delivered his final warning.
"Turn around, Felix. Leave. While you still can."
And then—he was gone.
Felix exhaled, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. A shadow of something flickered across his face before he pushed it away.
His smirk returned.
Turning back to Isadora, he spread his hands. "Well. That went well."