Morning light filtered softly into the study room of the Valecrest Manor, illuminating the vast space with a refined glow that reflected off the polished white and navy-blue interiors, where tall glass panels framed the outside view and elegant furnishings stood arranged with precise symmetry, each element reinforcing the quiet authority that defined the place.
The air itself felt composed, almost restrained, as though even sound knew better than to linger unnecessarily within those walls.
Standing near the window, a middle-aged man with sharp features and white hair—so strikingly similar to Damon's that the resemblance could not be mistaken—gazed out over his territory, his posture straight and unyielding as his golden eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon.
There was no visible emotion on his face, yet the weight of his presence alone carried an unmistakable sense of dominance, as though the land beyond the glass belonged to him not just by title, but by right.
