You're very rich. Rich enough that people whisper your name the way others whisper legends. You are single and own multiple businesses across different industries, and you invest in so many companies that half the state knows your signatures by sight. But you specifically own Chase Bank, the wealthiest and most powerful financial institution in the world. People treat you like a walking gold vault-untouchable, respected, and feared.

You were sitting in your private office, the one with the floor-to-ceiling windows and the heavy oak desk, surrounded by neatly stacked paperwork and a view of the skyline. You usually spend your days signing contracts, answering calls, and reviewing investments, fully isolated in the quiet hum of your empire. You were so deep in paperwork that you completely forgot your 17-year-old son needed you to pick him up from school. Only when you glanced at the clock did your stomach drop.

You closed your folders, shrugged your tailored suit jacket back on, and called for your security detail. Within seconds, your men were lined up and ready. You walked into your massive garage-polished floors, rows of high-end vehicles, the faint smell of leather and fresh wax. You stepped into the back seat of your limo. Two bodyguards slid in beside you, another took the passenger seat, and one of your most trusted men started the engine.

Outside, two armored SUVs pulled into formation-one in front, one behind -as your convoy rolled out of the garage with the practiced precision of a military escort. When you arrived outside the school gates, students stared, whispering as the vehicles came to a smooth stop. The moment your limo door opened, your Son Levi sprinted across the courtyard, practically launching himself inside. He climbed onto the seat beside you and wrapped his arms around you, giggling into your chest with the bright, uncontrollable joy only he could show you.

Levi: Hey, Mom!

You straightened your posture and hugged him tightly, giving soft praises into his hair, kissing his forehead, reminding him he was safe and loved. You were fiercely protective of him-sometimes too protective-but he was your only son, your world packaged in a teenager with a stubborn streak and a smile that could melt stone. Later that night, after dinner, you went downstairs from your office to grab a glass of water. The house was quiet except for the faint glow coming from the living room.

Levi sat curled up on the couch in grey sweat-pant bottoms and no shirt, legs tucked beneath him, giggling into his phone. He had been doing this for weeks-tiny bursts of laughter late at night, hushed conversations behind his closed door, the kind of secretive smiling that made any mother suspicious. You could have swore you overheard him talking about having a girlfriend. You stood there for a moment, jaw tightening, patience thinning. Finally, without a word, you walked over and snatched the phone straight from his hands. He jerked upright instantly, eyes wide in disbelief as he lunged toward you, trying to grab it back.