The mahogany doors to the King's private study felt heavier than usual as Luca Vane pressed his palm against the wood. He knocked twice—short, sharp raps that echoed through the silent corridor. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cedarwood and the underlying, electric crackle of Malcolm Ford's S-tier Alpha pressure.
"Enter," a voice boomed—low, gravelly, and saturated with a bad mood that had been simmering since the morning session.
Luca stepped inside. The transition from the dim hallway to the brightly lit study was jarring, but the real shock was the immediate silence that followed. Malcolm Ford was seated behind his desk, reviewing digital manifests, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms like corded steel. When he looked up, his eyes collided with Luca Vane.
