The cold Oliver

As my eyes met Oliver's perfectly groomed appearance, my heart sank. His cold and imposing presence only intensified my nervousness. Stepping out of the car, he exuded an air of dread, commanding attention of everyone as he gracefully approached the entrance.

"Wow, he's so young, only around 23," I whispered to myself, surprised by his age. It seemed as though James had rushed us to fix the house, and I had mistakenly assumed Oliver to be much older.

He gracefully approached the entrance, his youthful face belying the aura of authority that radiated from him. I stood beside Avery, both of us slightly hunched as we waited for Oliver's approach.

As Oliver drew closer, James bent slightly in respect, his voice oozing politeness as he greeted him. "Welcome, Mr. Oliver. We've been expecting you. I trust your journey was comfortable?"

I had a lump in my throat, hindering my ability to speak, and I coughed nervously. The sound seemed to catch Oliver's attention, and he cast a severe and col