The crisp click of expensive designer heels echoed across the imported marble floor, filling the enormous, silent foyer with a hollow rhythm. Marcus Whitaker had arrived back at his mansion hours earlier than expected, without informing anyone.<\/p>\n
At thirty-seven, Marcus was an imposing figure\u2014tall, refined, and always immaculately dressed. That afternoon he wore a snow-white suit paired with a pale blue tie that softened the usual severity in his eyes. He was a man accustomed to total control: billion-dollar negotiations, ruthless boardroom victories, private jets flying between New York and Dubai.<\/p>\n