Logan's POV
My father entered my room without bothering to knock, his imposing frame filling the doorway like a storm cloud. He stood there with his arms folded across his chest, wearing that expression I knew all too well—the one that meant he had something important to say and expected my full attention.
"Happy birthday," he said, the words coming out stiff and formal.
The greeting caught me off guard. My father wasn't the type to acknowledge birthdays unless there was some underlying purpose. Birthdays in our family usually came with expectations rather than celebrations. I straightened from where I had been lacing up my dress shoes and turned to face him properly, offering the respectful bow that had been ingrained in me since childhood.
"Thank you," I replied, keeping my voice steady.
He took a step closer, and I could see the calculating look in his eyes that always appeared when he was about to deliver one of his lectures.
