The three of them ascended the stairs to the third floor of Grant's home. The staircase was a typical modern wooden design—planks slightly worn yet meticulously maintained. Family photos and landscape paintings hung along the wall, accompanied by a few simple ornaments, exuding the warm, lived-in atmosphere of an ordinary household.
A faint scent of sandalwood mingled with the fresh aroma of recently watered potted plants filled the air—soft and soothing, in stark contrast to the turbulent waves churning within Han Ling's heart.
The moment Han Ling stepped onto the staircase, a flood of inheritance knowledge surged into his mind like an unstoppable tide. He instinctively clutched his head, brows knitting in pain.
Leander quickly reached out to support him, pulling Han Ling gently into his arms, his voice low and comforting.
"Ling, don't be afraid. I'm here."
