The suspicion had been festering for weeks.
Mark Sterling stood in the hallway outside his father's private office, his hands shaking, his breath ragged with alcohol and desperation.
He'd seen them — Elsa entering this wing at odd hours, his father's car at her apartment building, the way Gideon looked at her during family gatherings like she was already his.
He burst through the heavy oak doors without knocking, his voice cracking before he even saw the room. "I know you're here, Elsa! I know you're—"
Gideon sat behind his desk, posture impeccable, fingers steepled, his expression carved from glacial ice. "Close the door, Mark."
Mark froze, his eyes scanning the office — bookshelves, fireplace, the massive mahogany desk with its leather top and carved legs. Empty. No Elsa. Just his
