The door clicked softly as it closed behind Cassandra. Her footsteps faded quickly down the corridor until they disappeared completely. The Patriarch sat still in his chair, the same one he’d occupied for decades, dark oak, sturdy, carved with age and memory. It had witnessed everything: triumphs, betrayals, the slow erosion of family unity. He rested his hand on the edge of the desk, fingers brushing the papers that no longer held his attention. His eyes were on the door Cassandra had just walked through. For a long moment, he didn’t move. The silence of the chamber wrapped around him, thick and heavy, filled with the weight of words that could not be taken back. He loved his daughter. That much had never been in question. But Cassandra’s temper, her emotions, her way of speaking as though the world should bend for her, that was something he could no longer afford. Not today. Not when everything they had built stood at the edge of public scrutiny. He drew in a slow breath,

“You should leave,” Rico said calmly, his voice carrying the quiet authority that made Susan flinch. “The Young Master will see you downstairs.”Susan’s eyes widened, then narrowed, her disbelief bubbling over. “Wait… how did you become the Young Master of the West House? You’re just a pauper!”Zaya opened her mouth, ready to protest or try to smooth things over, but Rico’s amber gaze swept over her, halting her before a single word escaped. There was a firmness in his eyes, an unspoken command, and she knew better than to speak.“Zaya, not now,” he said softly, though each word carried the weight of steel.Susan’s lips curled into a sneer, incredulous. “Isn't that right Rico? Nothing more than a delivery man.” she spat, though her voice trembled slightly under the calm pressure of his presence.“See her to where the press are,” Rico instructed Zaya, voice steady. “We don’t want strangers straying into places they shouldn’t be.”Zaya stepped forward, guiding Susan gently but firmly th

The grand hall seemed to exhale as Magnus finally spoke, his voice steady, cutting through the lingering tension. “You want to know why I chose Rico… I guess time will tell.” His gaze swept the room, lingering over journalists, family, and staff alike. Every word carried the weight of the West legacy, deliberate and unshakable. A hand rose hesitantly from the press. “Sir… could you elaborate on—” Magnus’ gaze flicked toward the journalist. “As I said, time will tell,” he repeated, firmer this time. His voice carried that rare edge that left no room for argument. Then, almost casually, he added, “And when it does, you will understand. This press conference is over.” For a heartbeat, the room remained frozen, disbelief hanging in the air. Then, slowly, the family rose. Each movement was deliberate, polished, precise. Damian and Helena exchanged a glance—tight-lipped, careful—tension just visible in the edges of their smiles. Sonia followed, small and elegant, hands clasped but fing

When the Patriarch finally left, the room fell completely silent. The echo of his footsteps faded down the corridor, leaving behind a heavy stillness. No one moved at first. The light from the chandeliers glimmered on the polished marble floor, but the warmth that had filled the hall earlier had vanished. Cassandra was the first to break the silence. She stood up slowly, straightening her dress. The sharp click of her heels cut through the quiet as she made her way toward the exit. Her lips were tight, her expression composed, but her eyes—cold and distant—betrayed the storm she was holding back. Just before she reached the doorway, she paused and turned slightly. “Enjoy your moment, Rico,” she said, her tone smooth but cutting. “Let’s see how long the Patriarch’s blessing keeps you safe.” The words landed like a quiet slap. No one spoke for a second. Rico didn’t move. His expression stayed calm, though his fingers flexed once against the table—barely visible, but enough to sho

Melinda lay sprawled across the rumpled sheets, her body still humming from the intensity of the moment. Every nerve seemed alight, every inch of her skin craving more, yet entirely sated at the same time. Ramon’s hands traced familiar paths along her body, lingering just long enough to set her pulse racing again. His lips pressed warm and insistent against her skin, a whisper of fire that made the rest of the world fade to a distant blur. The apartment around them, familiar, private, yet infused with luxury—melted away, leaving only the two of them in a gravity of their own making. The city outside—the traffic, the neon lights, the never-ending hum—ceased to exist. Here, there was only them, the heat between them, and a reckless sense of freedom that felt almost sinful. “That was… insane,” Melinda murmured, rolling onto her back. Her chest rose and fell in uneven bursts. “You… you make me feel so… alive.” Ramon chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You think I don’t