07-02-2024, 11:31 PM
Nikolai's curiosity was piqued. Over the years, many had tried to leverage his name for their own gain, spinning tales of blood relations in hopes of securing his favor or fortune. He had learned to dismiss such claims with a practiced indifference, eventually delegating the screening tasks to trusted staffers. But this girl, a waitress, had presented something the others had not: evidence. The kind that could not be created easily.
As he reached the door to the suite, he paused, contemplating. Children. The concept was almost abstract to him, a distant consequence of transient liaisons. He had always taken precautions, but if one was to exist, he had no inclination to seek them out, nor had he felt any paternal longing. His life was devoted to the Custody, to the empire he had built and maintained. Personal attachments were weaknesses, distractions. Yet, here he was, about to confront a possibility he had never seriously entertained.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the atmospheric room. The suite was as extravagant as any other, adorned with relics of a bygone era that he’d seen a million times. He found her seated in a chair, a picture of composed nervousness, or so he assumed. Her gaze met his, and for a moment, he simply observed her, measuring the weight of this encounter. Wondering.
“Well, you’re certainly as pretty as your mother,” he greeted, his voice a smooth baritone, carrying the authority of his position mixed with the sort of charm that won him that power. He moved further into the room, placing the previously removed mask on a nearby table. The gesture felt symbolic, shedding the pretense of the masquerade for the raw truth of their impending conversation.
“Do you have any proof?” he continued, his tone neither warm nor cold, but mixed with skepticism as much as intrigue. He remained standing, a deliberate choice to maintain a semblance of control and distance. He had no emotional investment in the prospect of fatherhood, no guilt over a life left unacknowledged. But the evidence she seemed to have – that was something he could not ignore.
As he reached the door to the suite, he paused, contemplating. Children. The concept was almost abstract to him, a distant consequence of transient liaisons. He had always taken precautions, but if one was to exist, he had no inclination to seek them out, nor had he felt any paternal longing. His life was devoted to the Custody, to the empire he had built and maintained. Personal attachments were weaknesses, distractions. Yet, here he was, about to confront a possibility he had never seriously entertained.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the atmospheric room. The suite was as extravagant as any other, adorned with relics of a bygone era that he’d seen a million times. He found her seated in a chair, a picture of composed nervousness, or so he assumed. Her gaze met his, and for a moment, he simply observed her, measuring the weight of this encounter. Wondering.
“Well, you’re certainly as pretty as your mother,” he greeted, his voice a smooth baritone, carrying the authority of his position mixed with the sort of charm that won him that power. He moved further into the room, placing the previously removed mask on a nearby table. The gesture felt symbolic, shedding the pretense of the masquerade for the raw truth of their impending conversation.
“Do you have any proof?” he continued, his tone neither warm nor cold, but mixed with skepticism as much as intrigue. He remained standing, a deliberate choice to maintain a semblance of control and distance. He had no emotional investment in the prospect of fatherhood, no guilt over a life left unacknowledged. But the evidence she seemed to have – that was something he could not ignore.