Logan
The door opened, and I stepped inside.
If my house was big and beautiful, this place was built for royalty. Everything around me screamed power.
I glanced at the artwork on the wall and swallowed hard. That painting, there was only one in the world. It was created by a popular artist, and was worth billions. I’d read once that people offered entire estates for it and still got turned down. And here it was, hanging casually in a hallway just like another decoration.
“Mr. Logan.”
The voice pulled my attention. I turned toward the living room and saw him.
Alexander King.
He sat in the armchair like it was a throne, one leg crossed over the other, his chin resting on his knuckles. The way he looked at me wasn’t curious or amused, it was pure boredom.
Behind him stood two men. I
