Not Him Anymore

The knock on the hotel suite door wasn’t really a knock.

It was a blunt, graceless shove that made the hinges groan in protest.

Su Rin didn’t move.

Leaning against the far wall of the dimly lit room, one hand resting loosely at his side, he might have looked like someone who’d drifted into sleep—if not for the faint, mocking curl at the corner of his mouth.

The smell of expensive cologne lingered faintly in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of camera flashes as they burst through the doorway like sparks from a welding torch. The first wave of noise hit him before the people themselves did—reporters’ voices tumbling over one another in a desperate scramble to be the first to land their question, their accusation.

Behind them came sharper tones: a woman’s gasp pitched for maximum drama, and a man’s voice, booming with self-righteous fury, already aimed at the watching lenses.

And there they were—Su Rin’s parents.

“Su Rin!” His mother’s voice could have split glass. Her eyes darted around the room, lingering for the briefest instant on the tall figure seated at the far end before snapping back to her son. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?!”

The reporters didn’t wait for an answer.

“What’s your relationship with the man in this room?”

“Were you caught red-handed in a scandal?”

“Is it true you’ve been—”

The words dissolved into a meaningless drone in Su Rin’s ears. He didn’t so much as blink.

Across from him, Emmet Aurelius Kane sat in a high-backed armchair as though the chaos were a stage performance laid on for his private enjoyment. The lighting caught faint glints in his dark hair, his posture impeccable, one long leg draped over the other. His shirt was uncreased, his expression faintly curious—like a man contemplating a puzzle rather than a scandal.

Behind him, the taller, broader silhouette of his father, Alistair Kane, leaned casually against the now-open doorframe. Two security men stood flanking him. No one had seen the Kane family enter; one moment the suite had been locked, the next their presence filled the space like a shifting tide.

“Emmet.” Alistair’s voice was calm, deep, and unhurried, the kind of voice that could silence a boardroom. “Care to explain what’s happening?”

Emmet’s lips curved—not quite into a smile, more a private acknowledgment of amusement. He didn’t look at his father, nor at Su Rin’s parents. His gaze remained fixed on the boy against the wall.

“No explanation,” Emmet said after a beat, his tone light enough to be mistaken for boredom. “There’s nothing to explain.”

Nothing to explain—yet his attention hadn’t wavered for a second.

Alistair’s wife, Eveline Kane, stepped forward, every movement elegant, her presence commanding without raising her voice. Her dress fell in smooth lines, her heels silent against the thick carpet. She swept a glance over the reporters, then over the shaken couple who called themselves Su Rin’s parents, before her eyes finally paused on the quiet boy in the corner.

And then—

Tsk. How noisy.

The words weren’t spoken aloud. They slipped into the room like smoke, curling into the ears of all three Kanes as if whispered directly to them.

Emmet’s gaze sharpened almost imperceptibly. He knew without question the thought came from Su Rin.

These people really think they can shame me into breaking. How quaint.

Emmet’s fingers tapped once on the armrest, a tiny, deliberate movement.

Alistair’s expression didn’t change, but his head inclined by a degree, the way a predator might take note of an unexpected shift in the wind. Eveline, for her part, let her lashes lower slightly to hide the faint spark of intrigue in her eyes.

The reporters kept firing questions, trying to pin their prey. Su Rin’s father stepped forward, jaw tight, anger gleaming for the cameras.

“Su Rin, apologize immediately!”

At last, the boy opened his eyes.

They were dark—deceptively so. Not the darkness of someone lost or terrified, but of a still, deep lake that could hide sharp stones and cold depths beneath.

“I’m sorry,” Su Rin murmured. His voice was quiet, trembling, the perfect soundbite for public sympathy. Fragile. Breakable.

The cameras went wild, shutters clicking like a drumbeat. His mother pressed a hand to her forehead in weary despair. “We’ve tried so hard to raise him well, but—”

You didn’t raise me at all. You sold me.

The thought came through so clear, so cold, that Emmet’s smile deepened a fraction. Eveline’s head tilted ever so slightly; she had heard it too, and the unvarnished truth in it made something tighten in her chest.

The room’s noise swelled again until Alistair lifted one hand. His voice cut cleanly through the clamor.

“This room,” he said, his tone edged with quiet authority, “belongs to my son. I suggest you leave.”

It wasn’t a request.

Security moved at once, ushering the reporters toward the door despite their protests. Su Rin’s parents lingered, clearly itching to hurl more accusations, but a single cool look from Eveline stopped them in their tracks.

When the door shut at last, the silence was almost startling.

Emmet didn’t move from his chair. His gaze stayed on Su Rin.

The boy lowered himself to the carpet, sitting cross-legged, head bowed. It looked as though he might cry. He didn’t.

Pathetic act number one complete. They’ll think I’m too broken to fight back. Good.

Alistair glanced at his son. Emmet’s expression gave nothing away, but his eyes were fixed with an intensity that belied his relaxed posture.

Eveline allowed herself the smallest smile. Oh… he’s clever, she thought. And adorable, in that strange way some creatures are when they bare their teeth only in their mind.

“Interesting,” Emmet murmured, almost to himself.

---

The next morning, Su Rin sat at the breakfast table, silent as his parents made thinly veiled remarks about disgrace. His face was pale, eyes lowered, shoulders hunched just enough to look smaller.

Inside—

Let them talk. They’re already doing my work for me.

Far away, in the Kane family’s private dining room, Eveline was pouring tea for her husband when that same voice brushed her mind again, distant but unmistakable.

She set the teapot down gently. “Alistair… he’s going to be quite something, isn’t he?”

Her husband didn’t answer immediately, but the faint curl at Emmet’s lips, seated across from them, was answer enough.

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