Viscount John's eyes tracked the creak of the opening door.
A boy stepped inside—young, yet carrying himself with a quiet self-assurance that gave the viscount pause.
There was no denying it—Viscount John hadn't expected to see the heir of House Wilson during this visit. The boy wasn't just a child in noble circles; he was a subject of quiet speculation, whispered curiosity, and cautious predictions.
In noble circles, the whispers were constant. What they heard from their informant's left little room for doubt—he was far from ordinary. He'd started his studies early, finished them in just two years, and now, he was already training in combat. Word had it he was quite skilled, even at this young age.
Viscount John couldn't help but be quietly impressed. The heir of the Wilsons… truly lived up to the name.
Would he rise to echo the legacy of his father—the man who had single-handedly carved the Wilson name back into the bones of history?
Or would he follow the path of his grandfather… and lead it back to the joke it had become?
Viscount John's gaze lingered on the boy, watching as Duchess Sophia cupped her son's cheek with a kind of softness he hadn't thought her capable of. Aidan didn't just walk into the room—he shifted it.
Sophia, who had been showing the authority of a duchess—her voice cool, her posture regal—froze. Now, it was nowhere to be seen as her face melted into a warm expression.
She stood without hesitation, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she crossed the room. Kneeling slightly, she brought herself to the boy's eye level and cupped his cheeks with both hands, her thumbs gently brushing across his skin.
"What is it, Aidan? Did something happen?" she asked, her concern plain in her voice—so much so that even Viscount John, who had already turned his gaze away out of politeness, couldn't help but hear it.
Not that he was interested. What went on between a mother and her son was none of his business. Viscount John poured himself a glass of water from the desk. He took a sip—then another—more out of habit than thirst. He would have taken his leave, quietly and respectfully, had it not been for the other matter still pressing on his mind.
He sighed, glancing toward the mother and son, unsure. Should he excuse himself and return later… or wait a few more minutes?
Aidan had finally reached the administrative wing of the estate—but not without trouble.
As embarrassing as it was to admit, he seemed to have forgotten the path to the building. The Wilson estate was absurdly vast, and even after living here for eight years, there were still entire sections he hadn't explored.
Most of his time had been confined to the inner castle—studying, training, or buried in books. Rarely did he venture this far out, except for the occasional visit to the training grounds or a stroll through the outer gardens. Well, there was another reason too—he hadn't been allowed to step beyond a certain boundary of the outer estate until he turned six.
So, with no real choice, he had stopped a passing servant and asked for directions. As the two made their way through the estate, Aidan realized just how far removed this building was from the world he'd built for himself.
In that moment, a quiet realization struck him—how little he had been in touch with the outside world, chasing answers in books and theories while never once looking around at the world that was right in front of him.
The thought stayed with him as they arrived. He was stunned by how bustling the area was—officials and servants constantly moving in and out of the building, voices and footsteps blending into a steady hum of activity. It was far busier than he'd expected.
Fortunately, there was no delay. The guards recognized him immediately and allowed him to pass without issue.
As he approached his mother's office, muffled voices slipped through the door—she was in the middle of a conversation. The servant accompanying him stopped just short, bowed politely, and slipped away without a word.
Aidan took a breath, straightened his posture, then raised a hand and knocked.
"Mother, may I come in?" he asked, his voice steady.
As Aidan stepped into the room, his gaze immediately landed on a man—likely in his early forties—sitting across from his mother. He had black hair, black eyes, and a firm, upright posture. Not too lean, not overly built—just disciplined. He sat in the chair before his mother's desk. Aidan assumed this was the guest she had been speaking with.
But before he could say a word or even properly greet her, his mother stood.
She moved quickly, the calm authority she usually wore vanishing the moment her eyes landed on him. Her heels clicked against the marble floor as she closed the distance, and without hesitation, she cupped his cheeks with both hands.
"Aidan, did something happen?"
Her hands were warm. Gentle.
For a moment, Aidan was at a loss.
For a moment, he simply stood there, his mind blank. The words he had intended to speak tangled in his throat, and he wasn't even sure why he had come or what he was supposed to say.
"Mom, I just wanted to see you—that's all," Aidan muttered, his voice clear but tinged with something unfamiliar.
Sophia, standing in front of him, looked at him intently. She could sense it immediately—the weariness in his tone. It wasn't like him.
His voice, usually filled with confidence and composure, was quieter now. Something was different, and a sharp pang of concern tightened in her chest.
Aidan, seeing the concern on his mother's face, couldn't help but speak again, his voice cutting through the moment. He didn't want her to dwell on it any longer—not in front of the stranger.
"Mom, who is the man sitting there?" he asked, his tone calm but with a hint of curiosity.
Viscount John turned his head, offering Aidan a polite smile.
Sophia took a quiet breath, composing herself. She had planned to dismiss the viscount shortly—but now that Aidan had asked, it seemed she would have to delay it a little longer.