Thirty minutes later, William’s car pulled up in front of the villa on the far side of the city. He didn’t wait for anyone to announce him. He pushed open the door and walked in, his cane tapping against the polished floors like a warning. And to his disbelief, he found Oliver in there, not alone.
Seconds later, Oliver emerged from his study, utterly unbothered, a glass of scotch swirling in his hand. Behind him stood Shelby—barely dressed in silk lingerie, her expression smug.
William’s gaze darkened.
Oliver blinked. “Grandfather? What the hell—”
William's eyes flicked to Shelby. His jaw clenched, but his voice remained annoyingly calm.
“Where is your wife?” he thundered. “Do you even care?!”
“She left the house. She said she needed air. What’s the big deal?” Oliver replied, still
