Before James could finish speaking, the office door suddenly opened with force, the sound echoing through the quiet, polished space. The heavy oak did not creak the way older doors did. Instead, it swung wide in a bold, confident arc, the hinges moving with the smoothness of wealth and maintenance.
A tall, elderly man in a tailored dark suit stepped inside, his posture straight despite his age. His silver hair was combed neatly to one side, and a walking cane with a carved dragon head rested casually in his hand—not because he needed it to walk, but because it was his symbol of authority, the invisible weight he carried on behalf of the Wesley family.
The old butler of the Wesley Mansion walked in with a smile and looked directly at Logan Wesley.
“Young master.”
The respectful greeting
