One

Logan was fifteen when he got expelled from Groton. His fourth expulsion of his academic career.

His friends had always talked about sneaking into the gardens at night, but Logan had been the only one reckless enough to do it. The plan was simple: a few joints, a few laughs, few swigs of vodka from the bottle and a dare he didn't want to back down from. Except, they got caught.

The next morning, Mitchum arrived at the headmaster's office with crisp handshake and practiced pleasantries before turning that familiar, ice-cold gaze on his son.

"You've embarrassed this family," he hissed as they left the school grounds, Logan trailing behind him toward the gleaming Porsche. "Do you have any idea how many favors I had to call in just to keep this out of the press? Four schools in four years, Logan. Do you even have totryto be this much of a disaster, or does it come naturally?"

Logan didn't answer.

"I should send you to military school," Mitchum continued, eyes blazing. "Maybe then you'd finally learn some damn discipline."

Logan scoffed. "Or maybe you'd finally get the obedient puppet you always wanted."

Mitchum's hand twitched, like he was debating whether his frustration was worth the assault charge. Instead, he shook his head in disgust. "You're not worth the effort. Rivers next. Evenyoucan't get kicked out of there."

Logan looked away, swallowing hard. Pretending it didn't sting.

Two

Costa Rica had been a blur. A reckless, cocaine-fueled blur. Until the accident.

Logan barely remembered the crash - just flashes of terror, of spinning, of the screams of those watching. And then the pain.

When he woke up, battered and broken, there was a familiar looming shadow at the foot of his hospital bed.

Mitchum. Arms crossed. Face unreadable.

"You almost killed yourself," his father said, voice low and cold.

Logan swallowed against the dryness in his throat. "I'm fine."

"You're a damn idiot," Mitchum snapped. "Do you think this is funny? Do you think nearly dying is some kind of joke?"

Logan shut his eyes. "I don't need a lecture right now."

"You don't need a lecture?" Mitchum's voice rose. "You don'tneeda lecture? Your mother is beside herself and has checked herself into a spa in Aspen, the hospital bills are ridiculous because you've managed to go and pretty much smash every bone in your body, and do you haveanyidea how bad this looks?"

"Of course," Logan muttered bitterly. "Because that's what really matters, right? The family name. The business. Not me."

Mitchum's expression darkened. "You really think I don't care if you live or die?"

For a second, Logan thought he saw something real there. But then Mitchum turned on his heel.

"Oh, and tell your little girlfriend she's got some nerve yelling at me." His voice was clipped, his ego clearly bruised.

And Logan was left alone. Again.

Three

Logan thought Mitchum would be happy.

For once in his life, he had a plan. A future. A life with Rory. His life was finally falling into place.

And then, in a matter of seconds, it wasn't.

And, of course, his father was there to twist the knife.

"You really thought she'd say yes?" Mitchum scoffed when Logan showed up at the family estate to collect the remainder of his childhood memorabilia before heading to San Francisco. "Logan, you've seen how skittish she is around commitment, probably because of that floaty mother of hers. How stupid do you have to be to not even talk about marriage before even asking her to marry you?"

Logan's hands curled into fists. "I love her."

Mitchum rolled his eyes. "Sure, love. That thing that makes people act like idiots. Love isn't enough, Logan. You don't marry some girl from Stars Hollow just because you want to prove me wrong."

Logan's breath hitched. "Well, it's good to see how that worked out for your relationship with mom."

"She was smart enough to see it," Mitchum continued, his voice sharp, almost acidic. "She saw what you didn't. That you weren't ready. That you still had no idea who you were without your trust fund and your last name."

Logan swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn't want to admit, that despite how hurtful his father's words were, they did have some truth. That maybe Rory was right. She needed to find her way in life and that was without him.

"Go ahead," Mitchum said, waving him off. "Run to San Francisco. Drown in whatever self-pity you want. But don't pretend I didn't warn you."

Logan left without another word.

Four

Mitchum had offered Logan a position in Huntzberger Media before. He had done it and had walked away.

Now, years later, Logan had built something of his own in San Fransisco. His own deals, his own business moves. His own way of walking into a boardroom without hearingah, the Huntzberger kid.

So when Mitchum invited him to dinner at The Ivy in London, Logan knew exactly what it was. Not a friendly father-son catch-up. Not some heartfelt attempt at reconciliation. No, this was a test.

"You've done well," Mitchum admitted as they sat in a private club. "But let's be honest. If you want real power, if you want reallegacy, you come back to the family business."

Logan took a sip of his scotch. "I already have a legacy. One thatIbuilt. San Fransisco let me build my legacy from the ground."

Mitchum smirked. "No matter how much you try to run from it, you'll always be a Huntzberger. Your grandfather's death this year has put an increasing importance on that name."

Logan leaned forward. "Yeah. But now, my name means something because ofme."

Mitchum's expression shifted just slightly. Just enough for Logan to know he had won this round.

He didn't know it yet, but in less than two months, he'd be running straight back to HPG. For now, though, this little victory was his.

Five

The door slammed open so hard that one of Rory's carefully arranged book stacks toppled over.

"Logan, have you goneutterlyinsane?" Mitchum's voice boomed through their Kensington townhouse, his fury arriving a full ten seconds before he did.

Logan barely looked up from his laptop. "Dad, good to see you. I assume you let yourself in?"

Rory, curled up on the couch in oversized Yale sweats, hair wispy around her face, blinked at Mitchum from behind a cup of peppermint tea and the latest revisions of her book. "Wedohave a doorbell," she pointed out. "It's a fun little thing - makes a niceding-dongsound."

Mitchum ignored her, storming toward his son. "Everything for the wedding was in order! The date, the bank transfers, thepre-nup! And you're throwing it all away - forher?" He flung a hand in Rory's direction like she was a particularly offensive piece of furniture.

Logan shut his laptop with a calm he absolutely did not feel. "First of all,heris sitting right there growing your grandchild, so maybe a little respect?"

Rory gave an awkward little wave. "Hi. The uterus in question."

Mitchum let out a sharp breath, nostrils flaring. "Logan, do you evencomprehendwhat you've done? Odette's family is furious. Their lawyers are already making threats. Do you know how much damage control I've had to do?"

"Wow.Youhaving to take responsibility for something? That must be exhausting," Logan quipped, standing now. "Look, I get it. It's inconvenient for you. But it's my life. And I'm done living it on your terms."

Mitchum's gaze flicked between them, assessing. "This is a mistake. You'll regret it."

Logan's expression didn't waver. "Believe me, I won't."

Rory set down her tea with a sigh. "Look, Mitchum, I'd love to keep doing this wholedramatic confrontationthing, but I'm pregnant, tired, and my morning sickness doesnotcare that it's three in the afternoon. So unless you'd like to be standing here when I start dry heaving into a decorative bowl, I'd suggest you let yourself out the same way you let yourself in."

Mitchum muttered something under his breath but turned on his heel and strode toward the door. It slammed shut behind him.

Logan let out a long breath. "Well. That was fun."

Rory pulled her knees up to her chest. "We should really get a chain lock."

One

It had been years since Logan had truly cared what his father thought.

London had become home. Not because of the business. Not because of wealth. But because of Rory. Because of the life they built. Because of Jack, with his calm demeanour and gentle ways, like his great-grandfather. Because of Emma, who had her father's determination and her grandmother's spark.

Mitchum had rarely visited. Had never seen the life Logan built without his input.

But one afternoon, as Logan wrapped up a meeting, his assistant knocked.

"Your father is here."

Logan exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Of course he is. By all means, let him in before he breaks the door down himself."

Mitchum walked in, older now, but still the same - expensive suit, critical gaze, that ever-present air ofI own everything in this room, including the oxygen you're currently breathing.But this time, as his eyes swept the office, something shifted.

The walls weren't lined with company awards or stock reports. Instead, there were framed photos: one of Logan and Rory, her pregnant belly barely hidden beneath one of his jackets, Jack perched on her hip while Logan's arm curled protectively around her shoulders. Another of Jack, all big blue eyes and thoughtful expression, balancing a book on his lap as if he were born for a Harvard lecture. Emma, grinning up at the camera with the same mischievous glint Mitchum used to see in his own son's eyes. A shot of Logan with Colin and Finn at some ridiculous charity gala, looking just the right amount of polished and trouble.

"You look happy," Mitchum said finally.

Logan tilted his head. "I am."

Mitchum nodded slowly. "Good."

And for the first time, Logan saw something he had never seen before in his father's eyes.

Pride.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't spoken. But it was real.

And that was enough.