The elevator doors had almost sealed shut when a blur of movement crossed the lobby.

Wise glanced up from the notification glowing faintly on his phone and caught sight of someone hurrying toward the lift, arms wrapped around an oversized cardboard carton that looked as though it weighed nearly half her body weight. The corners of the box obscured most of her view, forcing her to shuffle more than walk.

Without a second thought, he extended a hand toward the control panel.

The doors slid back open.

She reached the elevator just before they could close again, breathing a little harder from the short sprint. The carton was packed so tightly with books that the cardboard bowed slightly at the sides, the printed labels of thick university textbooks visible through the gap at the top.

Wise stepped to one side to give her room.

"No rush," he said in an even, unhurried voice. "You've got it."

Once she was inside, the doors closed behind them with a muted chime.

The elevator began its steady ascent.

For a few moments, only the faint mechanical hum filled the silence.

Wise stood with the relaxed posture of someone long accustomed to composed mornings. He looked, at most, twenty-four—clean-cut, youthful features, neatly styled dark hair, and the effortless confidence that made strangers assume he had only recently graduated himself. Few would have guessed he was forty-one, or that he spent most weekdays overseeing one of the country's fastest-growing technology firms.

As the founder and CEO of Asterion Dynamics, a multinational company specializing in enterprise AI systems, cybersecurity infrastructure, and cloud automation platforms, his schedule usually began before sunrise and stretched well into the evening. Board meetings, investor calls, acquisitions, product launches—his calendar was perpetually full. Yet none of that showed in the way he carried himself. His expression remained calm, almost understated.

Today, like every workday, he was dressed immaculately in a crisp white shirt tucked into charcoal tailored trousers, the sleeves buttoned neatly beneath a slim navy blazer. Not a wrinkle disturbed the fabric. His polished leather shoes reflected the elevator lights.

Outside the building, he always looked every bit the executive.

Inside the apartment complex, however, he was almost unrecognizable. Most evenings the expensive suits disappeared, replaced by soft polo shirts, cotton button-downs with rolled sleeves, loose trousers or grey sweatpants, and worn flip-flops. Comfortable, practical, anonymous.

It suited him.

Even the luxury sedan assigned exclusively to him stayed parked beneath the company's headquarters, driven by his private chauffeur during business hours. He preferred returning home in ordinary ride-hailing cars or by walking the last few streets. Fame attracted curiosity, and curiosity rarely respected privacy.

His gaze drifted toward the heavy carton.

"New semester?"

The question was conversational rather than intrusive.

His eyes briefly landed on the spine of one textbook peeking from the opening before returning to the floor indicator.

"That's... quite an investment."

There was the faintest trace of amusement in his voice.

The elevator passed the fourth floor.

Then the sixth.

Then the eighth.

When the display finally lit up with a soft 9, the elevator slowed to a stop.

The doors opened.

Wise reached out first, catching one of the box's lower corners before she had the chance to maneuver it awkwardly through the doorway.

"I've got this side," he said simply. "We're heading the same way."

He stepped into the hallway beside her, matching his pace to hers instead of walking ahead. The corridor was quiet, lined with identical apartment doors and warm ceiling lights.

After only a few steps, they arrived at two neighboring doors.

He stopped outside his own apartment, still holding his side of the carton until it was safely balanced again.

A small, polite smile appeared on his face.

"I suppose we've been neighbors for a while now," he said, retrieving his keycard from his pocket. "Strange that we've never properly introduced ourselves."

He unlocked his door but paused before stepping inside, giving her an easy, patient look.

"I'm Wise."

The conference room outside the Dean's office was quiet enough that every page turning and every cough seemed unnecessarily loud.

The faculty members seated around the polished table wore carefully neutral expressions, though curiosity lingered behind more than one pair of eyes. The student opposite them sat with her suspension notice neatly placed on the table, while the young man involved in the incident occupied another chair several feet away, his expensive watch catching the afternoon light every time he shifted.

The official report was simple.

A physical altercation.

Student thrown into the ornamental pond.

Disruptive conduct.

It sounded far less dramatic than what had actually happened.

No report mentioned the hand that had grabbed the hem of her skirt without permission.

No report mentioned her immediate reaction.

Or the spectacular splash that followed.

The pond itself had become something of a campus legend over the years. Decorative lilies floated peacefully across its surface. Small fish darted beneath the water.

And, unfortunately for the unfortunate student, several remarkably large frogs had made it their home.

His scream when he landed had apparently been heard from the engineering building.

Unfortunately for her, his family donated generously to the university.

Which meant the administration was determined to "handle the matter appropriately."

The Dean folded his hands together.

"We contacted the guardian whose number you provided."

Several professors glanced toward the door.

"He should be here shortly."

She remained very still.

She had not dared give her parents' number.

Her mother would have booked the first train before the call even ended.

Her father...

She preferred not to imagine the lecture.

So, in a moment of panic, she'd written down the only adult whose number she actually had.

Wise.

He had insisted months ago that she save it.

"If there's ever an emergency next door, call me."

He had probably imagined things like burst pipes.

Power outages.

Locking herself out of the apartment.

Not...

This.

A soft knock interrupted the silence.

The receptionist opened the door.

"Mr. Wise is here."

"Please send him in."

A moment later, the room seemed to shift.

Wise entered with the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to boardrooms far more intimidating than university administration offices.

His charcoal suit fit flawlessly, a crisp white shirt beneath it without a single crease. A dark tie rested neatly against the center of his chest, and a silver watch peeked subtly from beneath his cuff.

He looked impossibly young for forty-one.

More than one faculty member visibly recalculated his age the instant they saw him.

The Dean stood.

"Mr. Wise. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Wise offered a polite handshake.

"Of course."

His voice remained calm, measured.

"I was informed there had been... an incident."

"Please, have a seat."

He did.

Only then did his gaze settle briefly on her.

Not angry.

Not disappointed.

Merely... curious.

The Dean cleared his throat.

"Before we begin..."

He opened the file.

"You are listed here as the student's parent."

A very small pause.

Wise blinked once.

His eyes shifted from the paperwork...

...to her.

...then back again.

For perhaps two seconds, absolute silence filled the room.

Then he looked at the Dean with complete composure.

"I see."

There wasn't even the slightest crack in his expression.

No visible confusion.

No correction.

Nothing.

The Dean continued.

"We regret having to involve you, but your daughter—"

"My what?"

The words escaped before Wise could stop them.

Several heads lifted.

Wise closed his eyes for the briefest moment.

"...Apologies," he said smoothly, recovering almost immediately with the practiced grace of a man who had handled hostile shareholders. "You caught me off guard."

A faint cough escaped one of the professors.

Wise folded his hands together.

"Please."

He inclined his head politely.

"Explain exactly what happened."

The Dean launched into the official version.

"A disagreement escalated into violence. Another student was physically thrown into the campus pond."

Wise listened without interrupting.

Every now and then, his gaze drifted toward the young man seated across the table.

The expensive shoes.

Designer belt.

Perfectly pressed clothes.

Not a bruise in sight.

Then he looked back at the Dean.

"What prompted the altercation?"

The Dean hesitated.

"It... appears there was some verbal disagreement."

Wise's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"That wasn't my question."

His voice hadn't risen.

If anything, it had become quieter.

"What."

He paused.

"Prompted."

Another pause.

"The altercation?"

Silence settled over the room.

One professor quietly cleared her throat.

"...According to several student statements..."

She glanced at the report.

"...the male student grabbed the hem of her skirt."

The room became noticeably still.

Wise didn't react immediately.

He simply looked across the table at the student in question.

The young man suddenly seemed far less comfortable beneath that steady gaze.

Wise turned back toward the faculty.

"So."

His tone remained impeccably polite.

"To ensure I've understood correctly..."

He rested one hand lightly on the table.

"A male student put his hands on her clothing without consent."

"...Yes."

"And your report summarized that as..."

He glanced down.

"'A disagreement.'"

No one answered.

Wise gave a slow, almost thoughtful nod.

"I imagine the pond was cold."

Another silence.

One professor looked down to hide what suspiciously resembled the beginning of a smile.

The Dean adjusted his glasses.

"Mr. Wise, regardless of the circumstances, physical retaliation violates university policy."

"I'm aware."

Wise's reply came easily.

"And I'm not arguing that policy should be ignored."

He leaned back slightly.

"What I am asking is whether equal attention has been given to the behavior that caused the retaliation."

The room stayed quiet.

He continued, calm as ever.

"If a student feels compelled to defend herself after being touched inappropriately on campus, I would be concerned less about the pond..."

His gaze briefly returned to the unfortunate young man.

"...and considerably more about why she felt she had to solve the problem herself."

Even the Dean seemed to struggle for an immediate response.

After a long moment, he sighed.

"We'll... review that aspect further."

Wise nodded once.

"I would appreciate that."

The meeting wound down after several more minutes of discussion. The suspension remained temporary while the university reopened the investigation into the harassment complaint. Papers were signed, formalities completed, and chairs gradually scraped back from the table.

Outside the Dean's office, the corridor was much quieter.

The heavy door clicked shut behind them.

Wise stood beside her for a moment, one hand slipping into the pocket of his trousers. He let out a slow breath, looking somewhere between exasperated and amused.

Then he looked at her.

"The emergency number," he said evenly, "was for things like you getting locked out of your apartment."

A beat passed.

"Not for unexpectedly promoting me to fatherhood."

The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.

"I've chaired merger negotiations worth hundreds of millions."

He adjusted the cuff of his shirt.

"I was fully prepared for difficult questions."

Another glance in her direction.

"I was not prepared to discover I apparently have a twenty-three-year-old daughter."

His expression softened, though the amusement remained.

"And for the record..." he said, beginning to walk slowly toward the parking area, "next time you decide to appoint me as your legal guardian, I'd appreciate a little advance notice."

After a few steps, he looked back over his shoulder.

"Now."

His tone became gentler, but no less serious.

"Start from the beginning."

"I want your version of what happened before anyone else gets the chance to rewrite it."

Wise had only meant to take a walk.

The driver had dropped him a short distance from the apartment campus, exactly as he’d asked, and for a few quiet minutes he had enjoyed the simple rhythm of his footsteps against the sidewalk. The air was mild, the late-day light softening the buildings around him, and the park nearby had seemed like the kind of place where his mind could loosen its grip for once. He had loosened his tie as he walked, one hand in the pocket of his trousers, his shirt sleeves still neat, his posture composed in the way that came naturally to him. At forty-one, he carried himself with the calm assurance of a man used to being listened to, used to space making room for him without argument.

Then the barking started.

It was not the ordinary noise of a neighborhood dog or two. It erupted all at once, sharp and frantic, tearing through the evening air with such chaos that Wise stopped in place before he could even make sense of it. A scream followed—high, panicked, raw with fear—and when he turned, his entire body seemed to lock for one split second.

There she was.

Running.

Not jogging, not hurrying, but truly running as though every instinct in her body was demanding speed. Her face had gone pale with terror, her arms pumping awkwardly as she tried to keep her balance, and right behind her came a strange, terrifying little procession: a Doberman with its ears up and its body taut, two Rottweilers charging after it with heavy, determined strides, and, absurdly, a tiny chihuahua yapping furiously behind them as though it were leading the entire hunt.

Wise stared.

He had never been a dog person. Not even a little. Cats, quiet spaces, controlled environments—those were safe. Dogs were unpredictable, loud, too fast, too close, too much. And these were not the sort of dogs that inspired comfort in anyone, let alone a man whose dislike had always been edged with genuine fear.

The sight hit him so hard that his breath caught in his throat.

She saw him at the same moment.

Probably saw the way he stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of man who looked like he would naturally know what to do in a crisis. Probably assumed he was exactly the sort of person who could handle something like this without blinking.

Her eyes widened, and in one desperate movement she veered toward him, nearly colliding with his chest as she ducked behind him for cover.

Wise made a noise that was half gasp, half outright scream.

It was not dignified.

It was not controlled.

It was a full, honest, involuntary sound of terror.

“Bloody—no, absolutely not—” he blurted, voice rising far above the calm, low tone he used in boardrooms and meetings. His entire face had changed, all composure stripped away in an instant as he glanced over his shoulder and saw the dogs closing in. “Why are there four of them—why are they coming this way—”

His hands flew out before he could think better of it, and in the next second he had seized her wrist and pulled her sharply behind him, as though distance alone might save them both. He backed up two quick steps, still looking half horrified and half betrayed by the universe itself.

“Move—move, right now,” he said, though the command cracked around the edges with panic. “No, not toward them—away. Away. I am not negotiating with dogs today.”

His heart was hammering so hard it felt almost ridiculous in his chest, and yet he kept his grip firm, dragging her with him in the opposite direction with urgent, stumbling steps. His expensive shoes nearly slipped against the pavement as the barking grew louder, the chihuahua’s shrill voice somehow making the whole scene even worse.

Wise gave one last wild look over his shoulder, then tightened his hold and hurried her farther down the sidewalk, his expression pale and alarmed, his voice still breaking through the air in frantic disbelief.

“Tell me they are not following us,” he said, sounding more offended by the possibility than he had any right to be. “Tell me that is not actually happening.”

.