Not only did the double doors to the penthouse open but they opened with a force that was explosive and the sign of a dark god of vengeance.
A large man towered over the wide entrance, his long frame filling the space as he entered the room, Zeth Richason. As if he had not combed or even brushed his hair, his dark auburn hair was disheveled, his bespoke dark suit was wrinkled from constant travel, and his white silk shirt was open at the collar, showing off the powerful and tense muscles of his chest. His pitch-black eyes blazed with all the wild, chaotic, and terrifyingly ferocious anger, the entire room seemed to shrink.
His hand shot a leather-bound folder onto the mahogany desk, and the sound of the heavy blow reverberated through the stillness of the room, like a gunshot.
“Nothing,
