Elena’s POV

The old master didn’t raise his voice, but somehow the room shook anyway.

“Take the trash out,” he said flatly.

The housekeeper hurried forward, bowing, gathering the discarded calligraphy sheets from the floor and the wastebasket. The old man watched with a scowl carved into his features, as if the very existence of imperfect handwriting had offended the ancestors.

“It ruins the mood,” he muttered, and to make sure Damien understood the point, he reached out, plucked ...