Marco took a steadying breath as he made his way across the ballroom toward the imposing figure of his father. His jaw clenched, muscles tense as he approached, knowing full well that the conversation waiting for him would be anything but pleasant. As he neared, Ezekiel’s cold gaze locked onto him, the sharp, calculating look that always sent a shiver down Marco’s spine—even if he’d never admit it.

Ezekiel stood tall, a quiet authority radiating off him that made the entire room feel smaller, more suffocating. His mask, dark and elaborate, barely concealed the stern features beneath. He didn’t need to say a word for Marco to feel the weight...