The morning light slanted through the tall windows of the Voss estate, filtering across the gleaming marble floors and the long dining table set with precision. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of conversation between his parents at the far end.
Liam stepped into the room, jacket slung over his arm, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looked tired—rested enough to pass, but not enough to fool anyone who knew him well.
“Morning,” he muttered, reaching for the coffee carafe.
His mother, elegant as always in a silk robe, smiled faintly. “You’re out early again. You barely sit for breakfast anymore.”
“I have a meeting at nine,” he said, pouring the coffee. His voice was calm, measured—habitually controlled.
Across the table, his father lowered the newspaper, adjusting
