Gregory's POV

The Blackwood estate was quiet except for the continuous tick of the grandfather clock in Gregory Blackwood’s study. Massive plush curtains blocked the morning light, casting the room in muted shadows. It was exactly the way Gregory liked it—controlled, deliberate, timeless.

He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, a glass of aged brandy in hand though the sun had barely risen. The low glow from the fireplace danced against the deep lines of his face. To the world, Gregory ...