POV: Alexander
The Beaumont Estate was not a home; it was a limestone fortress designed to stifle dissent and project an aura of untouchable permanence. As Alexander walked through the grand foyer, his heels clicked against the black-and-white marble with a rhythmic precision that echoed through the vaulted ceiling like a ticking clock. He had been back in New York for less than twenty-four hours, yet the stale, suffocating atmosphere of the estate already felt like a physical weight on his shoulders. He was back, and for the first time in four years, the city felt less like a collection of assets to be managed and more like a battlefield he was eager to reclaim.
He didn't bother greeting the household staff; their bowed heads and silent, rehearsed movements were white noise to him. He m
