The driveway is exactly as I remember it: long, pristine, lined with perfectly trimmed hedges that look like they belong in a magazine. Everything about my parents' house screams money, tradition, and expectations. Expectations I've never fully met, no matter how much I've tried.

I pull my car to a stop, the engine cutting off with a soft purr. The house looms in front of me, all grandeur and coldness, like it's silently judging me for even showing up. My stomach tightens, and I grip the steering wheel, debating whether I should just leave. But I'm here now, and if I don't go in, my mother will call me later, voice dripping with disappointment, telling me how much I've embarrassed her.

The front door opens before I even reach it, and there she is, my mother, the picture of elegance in her pearls and tailored dress. She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. "Adrian, darling. You're late."

"Traffic," I mutter, stepping inside. The house smells the same. Leather, expensive perfume, and a faint hint of polish. It's suffocating.

My father is already seated in the dining room when I walk in. He doesn't bother to get up, doesn't even glance my way. Just keeps swirling his glass of scotch like he has better things to do. Classic.

"Adrian," he says, finally looking at me. His tone is curt, clipped. "I see you've decided to grace us with your presence."

"I was invited," I reply, forcing a polite smile. "Wouldn't want to disappoint."

He doesn't respond, just motions for me to sit. I take my place at the table, the weight of the room settling heavily on my shoulders. My mother chats about the renovations they're planning, the charity gala she's organizing, the trivial things that fill her days. I nod along, barely listening. My father remains silent, his expression unreadable, but I can feel the judgment radiating off him.

Dinner is served, and I pick at my plate, my appetite nonexistent. My mother turns her attention to me, her eyes bright with curiosity. "So, Adrian, how's work?"

"It's good," I say, keeping my tone neutral. "Busy."

"And your personal life?" she asks, leaning forward slightly. "Anyone special?"

I hesitate, glancing at my father, who's now watching me with mild interest. "Actually, yes," I say, my voice steady.

My mother's brows lift in surprise. "It is the girl you brought to the gala? Valarie, I think."

"That's the one."

My father snorts, setting his glass down with a thud. "Valarie, huh? Hopefully, she's good for more than just warming your bed."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my jaw tightens. My mother shoots him a disapproving look, but she doesn't say anything. She never does. She's mastered the art of silent complicitness.

"She's more than that," I say sharply, my hands curling into fists under the table. "She's important to me."

My father chuckles, low and condescending. "Don't get too attached, Adrian. Women like that come and go. Speaking of which-"

"Don't," I cut him off, my voice harder than I intended. "Don't say another word about her."

His eyes narrow, the amusement fading from his face. "I was going to tell you I've found someone more suitable for you. Someone with the right background. But if you're going to act like a child-"

"I'm not interested," I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "I'm with Valarie. That's not going to change."

"You're being foolish," he says, his tone dripping with disdain. "You've always had a weakness for mediocrity, Adrian. I thought you'd outgrown it by now."

The room feels like it's closing in on me. My chest tightens, my vision blurs around the edges, and all I can see is him. His smug, unfeeling face, the embodiment of everything I've hated for as long as I can remember.

"You don't know a damn thing about me," I say, my voice low and trembling with barely restrained anger. "You never have." It takes everything in me not to punch him. Again.

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. "And whose fault is that? You've always been distant, Adrian. Unwilling to engage."

I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Engage? Are you fucking serious? You've never been a father to me. All you've ever cared about is appearances and control. You don't care about me, or what I want, or who I am. You never have."

His face hardens, but I don't give him a chance to respond. I push back my chair and stand, my hands shaking with adrenaline. "You know what? I'm done. Done trying to fit into your perfect little world, done letting you treat me like a disappointment. You want control? Fine. But you don't get to control me."

"Adrian, sit down," my mother says softly, but there's no real conviction in her voice. Just resignation.

I shake my head, my throat tight. "No. I'm done." I turn to leave, but I pause at the doorway, glancing back at my father. "And for the record, Valarie is the best thing that's ever happened to me. You wouldn't recognize that, because you've never cared about anything real in your life."

His face remains impassive, but I catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Anger? Guilt? I don't stick around to find out.

The air outside is cold and crisp. A cold slap to the suffocating heat of the dining room. I take a deep breath, my chest heaving as I try to calm the storm raging inside me. For the first time in my life, I feel free. Not completely, but enough to start letting go of the chains he's kept me in for so long.

I get in my car and drive away, vowing to never look back. I don't need them. I have a new family now.

***

The smell of garlic and rosemary fills the kitchen, but it's nothing compared to the way Valarie looks sitting at the kitchen island. She's perched on one of the stools, her elbow propped on the counter, sipping from a glass of wine like she owns the place. And hell, if she wanted to, she could. I wouldn't even question it.

But all I can focus on is the memory of her on the counter that night. Her head thrown back, her body writhing beneath me, her moans echoing in my ears. I grip the knife in my hand tighter than necessary, forcing my attention back to the chicken I'm slicing.

Focus, Adrian.

The faint sound of laughter pulls me out of my thoughts. Declan and Elias are off somewhere in the house, doing God knows what. Touring, I suppose. They asked if they could look around when they arrived, and I didn't see any harm in it. It's just a house. Brick. Mortar. Furniture. Nothing special. Certainly not a home. But Elias and Declan? They seem genuinely interested, their voices drifting from room to room as they comment on every little detail.

"This place is insane," Declan had said when they first walked in, his eyes sweeping over the open floor plan like he couldn't believe it was real. Elias had smirked, muttering something about how I clearly had a thing for cold, modern design. He wasn't wrong. The house is sleek, almost sterile, all clean lines and monochrome. Functional. Practical.

But it doesn't feel like me. Not really. And especially not when Valarie's sitting in the middle of it, her warmth and color clashing with everything around her in the best way possible.

I glance at her again, catching her watching me with a small smile on her lips. "Need help?" she asks, tilting her head.

"I've got it," I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. "Just sit and relax."

"Bossy," she teases, taking another sip of wine. "I like it."

I shake my head, smirking as I turn back to the cutting board. The sound of footsteps grows louder, and a moment later, Declan and Elias stroll back into the kitchen. Declan looks impressed, his eyes still scanning the space like he's cataloging it.

"Your place is... something else," Declan says, leaning against the counter. "Big. Fancy. Feels like it belongs in a magazine."

"Cold," Elias interjects, arching a brow at me. "Not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I ask, turning to face him with a bemused look.

He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. "Something a little more personal. This feels like you bought it because it looked good on paper."

He's not wrong, but I don't say that. Instead, I nod toward the dining table. "You're here now. Make yourselves comfortable."

They exchange a look, some unspoken conversation passing between them, before heading to the table. Valarie hops off her stool, bringing her glass with her as she joins them. I plate the food and carry it over, setting the dishes down in the center before taking my seat.

The conversation starts light. Small talk, banter, the usual. Declan cracks a joke about my stainless steel appliances, and Elias comments on the lack of clutter. Valarie laughs, and I feel the tension in my chest loosen, just a little.

But then Elias shifts gears, his tone turning more serious. "So," he starts, leaning back in his chair, "what's the plan?"

Declan frowns. "Plan for what?"

"For us," Elias says simply, gesturing between the four of us. "We've got this thing going now, and it's working. But what about the future? Are we all just going to keep living separately? Keep doing our own thing? Or are we going to actually build something together?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unavoidable. I glance at Valarie, who's staring at Elias like he just dropped a bombshell. Declan shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I own my place," Elias continues, his gaze steady. "It's not huge, but it's big enough. Three bedrooms. No point in Val and Dec paying rent for apartments when there's space with me."

Declan nods slowly, considering. "Makes sense. My apartment's small as hell anyway. But what about Adrian? This place is bigger than yours, isn't it?"

"Technically, yes," I admit, picking at the edge of my napkin. "But it's only two bedrooms, and honestly? It doesn't feel like home. Not the way Elias's does."

Elias smirks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "See? Even Adrian knows my place is better."

"Don't push it," I mutter, but I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips.

Valarie clears her throat, drawing our attention. "So, what? We all move in together? Just like that?"

Elias shrugs, like it's the simplest thing in the world. "Why not? We're already sharing everything else. Might as well make it official."

Declan chuckles, shaking his head. "You make it sound so easy."

"Isn't it?" Elias counters, his tone light but his eyes serious. "We're in this for the long haul, right? So let's start acting like it."

The table falls silent, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I glance at Valarie, her expression thoughtful as she absently twirls her fork. She catches my eye and gives me a small, reassuring smile, and just like that, the tension eases.

"I'm in," Declan says finally, his voice firm. "If we're doing this, I'm all in."

Elias nods, his gaze shifting to me. "Adrian?"

I hesitate, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. But then I think about Valarie, about Declan, about Elias. About the life we're building, piece by piece. And I realize there's no other answer.

"I'm in," I say, my voice steady.

Valarie grins, raising her glass. "Well, then. Here's to... us. Whatever the hell that looks like."

We all laugh, clinking our glasses together.

This may not be how I ever expected my life to turn out, but I'm so glad that it has.