Vance POV
I remember the first time I stepped into the old Montrel manor.
I had spent most of my adult life in uniform-first in the military, then in private security. Discipline, silence, obedience. When the Montrels summoned me, I assumed it would be no different.
I was hired to train their men.
And their son.
The iron gates groaned open, heavy and deliberate, as if warning anyone who entered what kind of house this was.
Inside, Mr Montrel waited.
He stood straight-backed and unmoving, dark eyes sharp with expectation. Beside him stood his son.
Damien Montrel.
He was no more than eight. Too thin. Too quiet. His shoulders were stiff, his small hands curled tightly at his sides. A boy dragged from sleep far too early, standing still not because he was disciplined-but because he wa
