The Billionaire's Private Arrangement
Men who had never been questioned.
Men who had never failed to produce heirs.
The study door was ajar, and a firelight flickered inside.
Gregory sat behind his massive desk, posture rigid despite his age, a glass of wine resting untouched beside a leather-bound book. His gray hair was combed back with military precision, his sharp eyes already fixed on Damian before he spoke.
“You came,” Gregory said. “Good.”
Damian closed the door behind him. “Your message wasn’t optional. Good evening, Father.”