Damian's Pov
The Beaumont estate doesn't just display wealth, it screams it. It's a monument of marble steps, engraved pillars, and chandeliers that glow like warning flares. I step out of the car and the chill bites through my coat. Two footmen open the heavy oak doors in eerie unison. Inside, the house smells of roasting fat, aged wood, and citrus, a heavy, suffocating richness that settles in my lungs.
Their aged butler meets me at the threshold. His face is a map of wrinkles, each one a witness to the secrets buried in this house.
"Mr. Blackwell," he bows. "Good to have you back."
I shake his hand briefly. "Thank you."
I'm led into the dining hall. Nathaniel Beaumont, Alexandra's father, stands as I enter. He is a pharmaceutical titan, a man who has made billions off the sickness of others, and it shows in his smile. He doesn't have friends; he has assets.
"Damian. Thank you for coming," he says, grabbing my hand for a handshake.
