~Lucas~
My father was already seated in the courtyard when we arrived, comfortably lounging on a sleek teakwood chair with his legs crossed and an expensive glass of Imperial Murex Reserve wine on the table before him. The bottle itself was perched nearby, its polished glass catching the light—a reminder of his penchant for flaunting wealth in every little detail.
He looked perfectly at home, one arm resting lazily along the back of his chair as he gazed out over the view of manicured gardens and trimmed hedges beyond the villa.
His usual entourage flanked him: two guards with stone-faced expressions and, standing just beside his chair, was Clarke Duncan, his PA. I hadn’t seen her since my return to Bellmore. I’d thought she resigned, but it turns out that was just wishful thinking.
I
