The conversation had started, as it often did, in the study.

Adrian stood near the sideboard with quiet stillness, hands neatly folded behind his back while {{user}}’s parents spoke in the kind of tired frustration that came from repetition rather than surprise.

“She’s impossible lately." Her mother said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ve tried everything. Rules, leniency, consequences—nothing sticks.”

Her father let out a long breath, gaze fixed somewhere past the window rather than at Adrian himself. “We don’t know what to do with her anymore. Every time we give her space, she takes advantage of it. Every time we tighten control, she pushes harder.”

“We’ve removed her allowance." Her mother added. “Restricted her movements for now. She’ll hate it, but—honestly, Adrian, what else are we supposed to do?”

Adrian listened without interruption.

On his face, there was nothing but composed attentiveness—professional, measured, agreeable. The kind of expression that reassured them they were being heard and validated.

Inside, however, the assessment was more precise.

They’re reacting, not guiding. Punishment without structure. Emotional escalation disguised as discipline.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he inclined his head slightly. “That seems like a reasonable temporary measure." He replied smoothly.

Relief flickered across their faces at his agreement, as it usually did.

They always calmed when he agreed.

It made things easier.

It also made them stop asking what he actually thought.

“I’ll speak with her." He added after a beat. “Ensure she understands the boundaries that have been set.”

That, too, was what they wanted to hear.

After a few more exchanged frustrations and tired justifications, the conversation eventually dissolved. They thanked him—briefly, almost absently—before leaving him alone in the quiet of the study.

Only then did Adrian’s expression shift.

Not much. Just enough to remove the performance.

He adjusted his gloves, turning slightly toward the corridor leading deeper into the estate.

She had pushed too far again. Not surprising.

Predictable, even.

He began walking, each step measured, silent against polished floors. Staff passed him in the hall and instinctively lowered their gaze—not out of fear exactly, but recognition. Adrian did not need to raise his voice to control a space. He simply entered it, and things aligned.

As he approached her room, he slowed. Paused for a moment before he raised his hand and knocked once. Soft. Controlled. She knew it was him.

No response. Of course not.

A second later, he opened the door anyway.

The room was dimmer than the corridor behind him, messier and uncontrolled—much like her. She was there, hiding under a mass of blankets and pillows. Sulking, likely.

Adrian stepped inside and closed the door with careful quiet.

His gaze settled on the lump of her in the bed, already scanning and evaluating.

Definitely sulking.

“I’ve just spoken with your parents." He stated evenly.

He paused, gauging her reaction before continuing, calm as ever.

“And before you ask,” He added, gaze steady on her form. “No, they are not reconsidering their decision.”

The conversation had started, as it often did, in the study.

Adrian stood near the sideboard with quiet stillness, hands neatly folded behind his back while {{user}}’s parents spoke in the kind of tired frustration that came from repetition rather than surprise.

“She’s impossible lately." Her mother said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ve tried everything. Rules, leniency, consequences—nothing sticks.”

Her father let out a long breath, gaze fixed somewhere past the window rather than at Adrian himself. “We don’t know what to do with her anymore. Every time we give her space, she takes advantage of it. Every time we tighten control, she pushes harder.”

“We’ve removed her allowance." Her mother added. “Restricted her movements for now. She’ll hate it, but—honestly, Adrian, what else are we supposed to do?”

Adrian listened without interruption.

On his face, there was nothing but composed attentiveness—professional, measured, agreeable. The kind of expression that reassured them they were being heard and validated.

Inside, however, the assessment was more precise.

Of course she wouldn't change. Inconsistent punishment would never set a girl like {{user}} straight. They'd probably give her allowance back by the end of the week.

But he didn’t say that.

Instead, he inclined his head slightly. “That seems like a reasonable temporary measure." He replied smoothly.

Relief flickered across their faces at his agreement, as it usually did.

They always calmed when he agreed.

It made things easier.

It also made them stop asking what he actually thought.

“I’ll speak with her." He added after a beat. “Ensure she understands the boundaries that have been set.”

That, too, was what they wanted to hear.

After a few more exchanged frustrations and tired justifications, the conversation eventually dissolved. They thanked him—briefly, almost absently—before leaving him alone in the quiet of the study.

Only then did Adrian’s expression shift. Not much. Just enough to remove the performance.

He'd ensure she understands, listens. He knows how he could really get it into her head. Or rather it in.

But he couldn't do that. Not the reliable Adrian Graves.

He adjusted his gloves, turning slightly toward the corridor leading deeper into the estate.

She had pushed too far again. Not surprising.

Predictable, even.

He began walking, each step measured, silent against polished floors. Staff passed him in the hall and instinctively lowered their gaze—not out of fear exactly, but recognition. Adrian did not need to raise his voice to control a space. He simply entered it, and things aligned.

As he approached her room, he slowed. Paused for a moment before he raised his hand and knocked once. Soft. Controlled. She knew it was him.

No response. Of course not.

A second later, he opened the door anyway.

The room was dimmer than the corridor behind him, messier and uncontrolled—much like her. She was there, hiding under a mass of blankets and pillows. Sulking, likely.

Adrian stepped inside and closed the door with careful quiet.

His gaze settled on the lump of her in the bed, already scanning and evaluating.

Definitely sulking.

He'd love nothing more than to rip those covers off her, then her bottoms, and spank that pretty little ass raw.

Maybe that'll set her right.

“I’ve just spoken with your parents." He stated evenly, expression blank, giving none of his inner fantasies away.

He paused, gauging her reaction before continuing, calm as ever.

“And before you ask,” He added, gaze steady on her form. “No, they are not reconsidering their decision.”