Nicholas stared at his mother's name flashing across his screen again, thumb hovering over the answer button. He'd ignored the last three calls, but avoiding her forever was impossible.
They didn't fight often—not really. Arguments, yes. Sharp words thrown in moments of frustration. But deep down, his mother had always been his person. The only one in that polished, ruthless family who ever saw him for himself.
Finally, he sighed and answered, bracing for the storm.
"Mum."
There was a beat of silence on the other end, and then came her voice—not sharp or cutting, but soft, almost tired.
"Nicholas."
He closed his eyes at the sound. It wasn't fury that met him—it was worry. And that made it worse somehow.
"I was going to call," he said quietly.
"I know," she replied, equally soft. "I know you, darling."
