GRAYSON

The drive to Lord Andre’s estate felt endless, the weight of the envelope on the passenger seat an unbearable presence. My knuckles ached from gripping the steering wheel too tightly, my thoughts spinning in chaotic circles. Every photograph, every name, every signature—it all pointed to him. The man I’d spent my entire life trying to outshine, to escape from under his shadow.

When I arrived, the towering gates loomed like the bars of a prison. I punched in the code, barely waiting for the gates to swing open before speeding through the driveway. The tires screeched as I parked haphazardly near the front steps. The house, always a symbol...