Apollo walked into his family’s mansion in Briarshore just as the evening sky turned golden. The mansion sat amidst a row of similar looking ones on a hill in the Eastern side of Briarshore, or what the locals called ’Uppity Briarshore.’ This was because it was where most of the rich folks in the town lived. Many of these houses went uninhabited fifty percent of the time because they were considered vacation homes.
The mansion stood proud, its tall iron gates opening to a driveway with expensive cars. It was a blend of grandeur and warmth--marble floors polished to a shine, chandeliers dripping crystal light, yet softened by family photographs on the walls and the faint scent of fresh bread from the kitchen.
Inside, laughter echoed from the backyard where Luca and Hugo were tossing a ball for their sons and the six dogs their families kept as pets. The dogs--two golden retrievers, a pair of huskies and two stubborn terriers, were as much a part of the family as the humans themselves.
The barking was a chorus of joy, a reminder that this was not just a rich family’s vacation house, but a home where love lived in every corner.
Apollo entered through the heavy oak doors and stepped into the living room. His mother sat on the couch, a book on gardening resting in her hands. She looked up, eyes softening instantly at the sight of her youngest son.
Without hesitation, Apollo sprawled across the couch and laid his head on her lap, his voice dripping with playful charm. "Mom, the world’s most beautiful mom," he said, stretching the words like a child begging for candy.
Mrs. Paisley Ashford sighed, patting his head with a mixture of indulgence and exasperation. "What is it this time, Apollo? How much does it cost and how will it affect the image of the company?"
Apollo hesitated, his coquettish grin faltering. "First tell me when your husband last visited a hospital for a full body check?"
Mrs. Paisley raised her brows, brushing back the strands of blonde hair sweeping across her forehead. "I am dreading this already. Your father is in good health and whatever you have to say, he can handle it."
Apollo took a deep, measured breath. He swallowed hard, the weight of his revelation pressing against his chest. "I have news and it’s not about money. It’s not bad news....just a little shocking."
"Spit it out," she tapped his head lightly.
"I... I got someone pregnant." Apollo blurted out before he could lose his courage.
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. His mother’s hand froze mid-pat, her book slipping from her fingers onto the carpet. She stared at him, her lips parting in disbelief. "What did you just say?"
Apollo sat up, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "I said.... I got someone pregnant."
Mrs. Paisley’s voice trembled, a mixture of shock and dread. "I always knew this day would come and I prepared myself, but I don’t feel ready at all. Who? Please, don’t tell me it is one of these contract girlfriends of yours! Most of them are all show and no substance. More boob than brains."
She had always hoped that when her son eventually chose to settle down and start a family, it would be with a woman who was responsible. One that could keep her son grounded.
Apollo whispered the name. "Claire Dane."
Mrs. Paisley’s entire body stiffened. For a moment, silence swallowed the room. His mother was lost in old memories, starting from the moment when Claire Dane punched her son. From that moment, she had never forgotten the name of the daring young girl. She also recalled countless evenings when her son had stormed home as a teenager, slamming doors and throwing his backpack onto the floor, ranting about Claire.
"She humiliated me in front of the whole school!" he had shouted once, his face red with fury.
"She spread lies about me online!" another time, his fists clenched in rage.
"She ruined my chances at the debate finals!" he had cried.
"She pretended to trip and ruined my painting for the city arts youth championship!" he had growled on a different occasion, pacing the living room like a caged animal.
Mrs. Paisley had listened to every complaint, every rant, every bitter word. Claire Dane had been the villain in Apollo’s life from the very first day they met. The name always brought anger to his lips. And now.... Claire was the woman carrying his child.
She pressed a hand to her chest, her heart pounding. "Apollo...do you realize what you’re saying? This is the woman you hate the most in the world. The one you swore to destroy even if you took the whole world down with you. She kicked you in the nuts and nearly ruined all chances of you fathering children! Are you insane?"
Apollo shook his head. "I know, mom. It was unexpected, but it happened. And I can’t run from it."
Mrs. Paisley groaned. "This has to be her ultimate revenge on you or something. Claire Dane hates your guts. She hates you so much that she wrote an essay on how much she detested you, made a video explanation about it, entered it into the Junior Writers Challenge and won a 100,000-dollar prize! Do you remember how the press ate it up and how it affected the image of our family?"
Apollo grimaced. "How can I forget?" He could recite that essay word for word.
It was titled: The inherited danger of my friend Apollo.
Apollo recited the first paragraph for his mother from memory. "Wealth, when poured too early into the fragile hands of adolescence, becomes less a blessing and more poison disguised in gold. It teaches boys that charm can be purchased, that arrogance is currency, and that the world bends to the weight of their inheritance. In---"
"Stop." Mrs. Paisley snapped. "Do not remind me of that terrible essay that shamed us for our wealth!"
Just then, the front door opened, and his father stepped inside. Griffin Ashford had served in the army for ten years before retiring and returning home to join the family business. It was a must for all Ashford heirs to serve at least five years to build discipline. The others attended military academies for a year or two, for the same reason.
Griffin had a commanding presence whenever he stepped into a room. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a voice that could silence chaos. But he was soft around his family, and very indulgent of his youngest son, in private.
The dogs rushed to greet him, tails wagging, barking excitedly. He touched each on the head and gave out treats, but his sharp eyes caught the tension in the living room.
"What’s going on here?" he asked, his tone firm.