The Valerius estate was a sprawling monolith of neo-classical architecture, a fortress of limestone and arrogance nestled into the hills overlooking the city. As Ares and Clara pulled up to the main portico in their armored sedan, the air felt different here—heavy with the scent of pine and the stifling tradition of a family that valued lineage over life.
Ares sat in his wheelchair, his posture carefully constructed to project a fragile, defeated man. His gaze was intentionally unfocused, his breathing shallow and rhythmic. Beside him, Clara was a portrait of suppressed anxiety, her fingers clutching her silk handbag with a grip that threatened to snap the strap.
"Remember," Ares whispered, his voice barely audible, barely a tremor of sound. "They expect you to be the supplicant. Give th
