Meanwhile, at Dylan's mansion…
The morning light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow across the sleek, modern dining room. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread filled the air.
Mason sat at the long wooden table, absently pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate with a fork. Across from him, Dylan sipped his black coffee, watching his son with an unreadable expression.
The silence between them stretched—thick with unspoken tension.
Finally, Mason sighed and set his fork down. "So… last night."
Dylan didn't react. "What about it?"
Mason gave him a dry look. "You know what about it."
Dylan leaned back in his chair, his expression calm. "You mean the part where your friend was in trouble and I stepped in?"
Mason's jaw tightened. "I mean the part where I find you holding her."
Dylan arched a brow, his fingers lightly tapping the rim of his coffee mug. "She was in shock. She nearly collapsed."
Mason exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I know, okay? I just… it was weird."
Dylan said nothing.
Mason studied him for a long moment before shaking his head. "You're not even going to deny it, are you?"
Dylan finally set his coffee down, meeting Mason's gaze. "Deny what?"
Mason hesitated. He wasn't even sure what he was accusing his father of. It wasn't like Dylan had done anything wrong. But the way he had looked at Lana last night—
Mason had seen that look before.
Not from Dylan, but from men who knew exactly what they wanted.
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Never mind."
Dylan didn't press. Instead, he glanced at his watch and stood. "I have a meeting soon. Do you need a ride back to campus?"
Mason waved him off. "Nah, I'll take the subway."
Dylan nodded, grabbing his suit jacket from the back of the chair. But before he left the room, he paused.
"She's interesting."
Mason stiffened. "Who?"
Dylan gave him a pointed look. "Lana."
Mason's grip tightened around his fork. His jaw clenched before he forced himself to ask, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Dylan's lips twitched slightly, almost as if he found Mason's reaction amusing. He shrugged, adjusting his cufflinks. "Just an observation."
Mason's stomach twisted. "Yeah, well… don't observe too much."
Dylan chuckled—low, deep, unreadable. But he said nothing else.
He simply walked out of the dining room, leaving Mason alone with a sinking feeling in his chest.
Because for the first time, he wasn't sure what his father was thinking.