A sleek black car rolled through the grand gates of Zayn’s mansion, the tires crunching softly against the stone-paved driveway. It came to a smooth stop just in front of the marble staircase that led to the main entrance.
The door opened, and Arnold stepped out.
He wore a dark blue tailored suit that hugged his lean frame, the cuffs of his white shirt crisp and folded perfectly beneath his sleeves. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine, and a subtle gold chain peeked from under his collar.
Arnold raised his head slightly and looked around—at the tall pillars, the high glass windows, the well-manicured lawn, and the guards stationed like statues at strategic corners. His eyes glittered with something between admiration and ambition.
“One day,” he muttered under his breath, lips bar
