Let us see

Diego

Valeria sat at the head of the table, poised as always — a vision of strength wrapped in a cream blouse and her signature no-nonsense gaze. Her hair was still tied in the loose bun she wore to work, a few strands framing her sharp, beautiful features as she recounted what had happened at Chase’s house.

“And then,” she said, stabbing a green bean with her fork, “the butler had to excuse himself because he was snickering. You should’ve seen the look on Chase’s face when his father told him he was grounded for the week. It was like Christmas came early.”

Diego **** a smile, his fork dragging circles through his untouched mashed potatoes.

“I can’t believe you actually did that,” he muttered, eyes still lowered. “You really went to their house and—”

“Damn right I did,” Valeria said, slicing into her steak. “Nobody bullies my son and gets away with it. Especially not some entitled little brat whose parents have mistaken money for manners.”

Diego exhaled quietly, the corners of his lips twitching into a real smile this time. God, he loved her for that. For caring. For showing up. Always.

And yet, a knot remained in his chest.

“You don’t think he’s gonna… like, try something?” he asked softly, pushing his plate away. “Chase, I mean. He’s not the kind of guy who just lets stuff go.”

Valeria looked up at him, eyes steady and warm. “Let him try,” she said firmly, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “I’m going in tomorrow to get a proper apology out of him — not just because it’s the right thing to do, but because I want that smug little face to feel what it's like to own up.”

Her voice was sharp with conviction, and for a moment, Diego felt shielded again — just like when he was little and she'd chase the monsters out from under his bed.

He nodded, even if the sinking feeling didn’t quite leave. He wanted to believe her. He did. But the Chase he knew wasn’t the type to roll over. He was the type to sharpen knives in the dark.

Dinner ended quietly. Valeria got up to clear the table, taking her plate to the sink.

“I’ll do that,” Diego said quickly, grabbing his plate and hers.

She didn’t argue. She just smiled and stepped aside to let him past.

As he rinsed the dishes, he paused, setting them gently in the rack before turning. His eyes welled up, the words catching in his throat.

Then, without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her from behind.

Valeria froze for a moment — surprised — before she softened into the embrace.

“Thank you,” Diego whispered, his voice barely audible over the water running in the sink. “For always fighting for me. For not letting him win.”

He held her tighter, his cheek pressing against her back. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her hand come up behind her to gently rest over his.

“Always, mijo,” she said quietly. “You’re my whole world.”

Diego closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her words seep into the parts of him that had been hurting all day.

Chase – The next morning

The smell of bacon and freshly brewed coffee wafted up the stairs, drawing Chase out of his room and down the polished steps. He wasn’t expecting much — maybe a tense breakfast with awkward silence and judgmental glares. But what he walked into was something else entirely.

His mother, ever immaculate in her silk blouse and peach-toned slacks, was already setting the table. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, eyes lighting up in a way that didn’t quite match the usual maternal warmth. It was… dreamy. Yearning.

“Morning, sweetie,” she purred, the words thick with sugar as she handed him a cup of orange juice, her fingers lingering just a moment too long against his.

Chase blinked, glancing over to his father — who sat at the head of the table, already mid-bite. Mr. Whitmore was a tall, imposing man with steel-grey temples and a permanent frown etched into his brow. His usual morning routine involved grumbling about business meetings, not tolerating whatever this weird flirtatious energy was wafting from his wife.

“Tell him”, she said softly, her hand resting on her husband’s shoulder now, her nails tapping once, firmly.

Mr. Whitmore let out a sigh, setting his utensils down.

“Chase,” he began, voice begrudging, “your mother and I talked. You’re no longer grounded.”

Chase’s lips curved up, slowly. “Oh?” he said innocently, taking his seat.

His mother’s eyes sparkled as she leaned in close to serve him eggs. Her blouse hung slightly forward giving him a fancy view of her cleavage, and she didn’t seem to mind. “I told your father that this was all a misunderstanding. You’re a good boy, Chase. Aren’t you?”

Chase kept his eyes down, barely containing his grin. “I try to be.”

As his father flipped open the morning paper with a grunt, Chase’s mother leaned in beside him, lips nearly grazing his ear.

“I’ve called the bitch doctor over,” she whispered, venom in the nickname. “You’ll take care of her, won’t you, sweetheart?”

Her hand brushed down his arm and landed on his hardening cock before quickly being pulled away as she stood, her expression polite and proper once more as she sipped her coffee. Chase didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. This was his victory lap now.

As they left for work, Chase’s mother called out casually, “I gave the staff the day off, darling. Didn’t want distractions.”

The front door shut behind them.

And the house was quiet.

Too quiet.

Valeria

The Whitmore estate loomed ahead like a smug reminder of everything Valeria despised about the wealthy — excessive, cold, and hollow.

She adjusted the sleeves of her coat and marched up the marble steps with the confidence of a woman who had nothing left to prove. She’d been invited to receive an apology, and that meant she would walk out of this place with her dignity — and her son’s — firmly intact.

The moment the door creaked open at her push, she stepped in without waiting for permission.

“Chase?” she called out, already spotting him lounging on the couch in the grand living room like some smug little prince.

He didn’t stand.

He just smiled.

Valeria crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

“You must’ve finally realized your parents were right,” she said. “About you being a miserable, arrogant little brat.”

Chase gestured to the envelope sitting on the coffee table. “I wrote my apology down for you. Figured you'd appreciate it in writing.”

Valeria scoffed. “What, so you wouldn’t have to say it out loud with those thin little lips of yours?” She snatched up the envelope. “Fine. Let’s see what passes for remorse in your head.”

She tore it open, unfolding the letter. Her eyes scanned the words.

And her face twisted.

"You’ve got to be—” she began, rereading it again just to be sure.

“You’re nothing but a plastic-titted bitch raising a whiny waste of sperm. If I were your kid, I’d drown myself. Tell your little freak I’ll be seeing him soon.”

She read the last line out loud, every syllable curling with rage.

Her knuckles turned white around the letter.

“You think this is funny?” she hissed, finally raising her head, eyes blazing as she stared directly at Chase.

He smiled — slow and deliberate.

And said nothing.

Valeria crumpled the note in her fist; eyes locked on the boy in front of her. Chase reclined into the velvet of the couch; arms lazily draped across the backrest like he hadn’t just delivered the verbal equivalent of a slap to her face.

“You really are a piece of work,” she muttered, taking a step forward, fury still tight in her chest. “I should call your parents right now—”

“But you won’t,” Chase interrupted gently, his voice so calm, so deliberate, it **** her to pause mid-step.

She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”