James’s POV
The O’Connor estate sat perched on the edge of the Hudson River, gleaming like a trophy no one was allowed to touch. A fortress made of glass, steel, and ego. I hadn’t stepped foot inside in four years.
Not since I told my father I’d never be his puppet.
But this morning, I walked through the front gate like a man ready for war.
The butler was new. Too young, too polished. He didn’t ask for my name—just stepped aside and opened the double doors with reverence, like he’d been trained to recognize power when it entered a room.
I didn’t bother greeting him.
This house had never been my home.
Only my inheritance.
I found my father in the winter study, seated behind a mahogany desk the size of a city bench. He wore his usual: gray wool, navy silk tie, silver cufflinks engrav
