JULIAN
Walking through the hallway of the Vaughn mansion felt like stepping onto a stage where the audience was composed entirely of ghosts and landmines. I adjusted my collar, checking my reflection in the gilded mirror by the stairs. My eyes were too sharp and hungry. I forced my shoulders to drop and softened my gaze until I looked like the person Richard wanted me to be: a son finally beginning to see the "wisdom" of his father's ways.
I found him in the lounge, swirling a glass of amber liquid as he stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the sprawling gardens. He looked every bit the king of a crumbling empire, and for a split second, the urge to lunge at him and demand the truth about my mother nearly choked me.
But I couldn't! The stupid plan was to get close to him and gain access.
I swallowed the bile and stepped into the room, my footsteps heavy enough to announce my presence without sounding aggressive.
