JEFFERSON MANSION
The Jefferson Mansion stood in monumental grandeur beneath the blinding heat of the afternoon sun. Its façade was a study in polished excess: massive marbled walls and shimmering tiles, a sleek glass exterior reflecting the cerulean sky, and a disciplined perimeter of lush, sculpted greenery.
On the grounds, maids moved with hushed, almost invisible efficiency, their presence a whisper of immaculate service. Sentinel guards paced the yard, not aimlessly, but with the fluid, calculated alertness of men for whom caution was a practiced reflex. In the colossal subterranean garage, a small city of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of luxury vehicles lay parked, each under the careful, meticulous inspection of uniformed mechanics.
Despite the serene, controlled display of wealth on the outside, a different kind of tension was coiled within. Inside the mansion, the staff—maids and guards alike—braced themselves for the seismic event they all knew was underway: the century's showdown between Uriel and Jeffery, his father.
"Are you insane, Uriel?" Jeffery's voice was a tight, dangerous rumble. "It's only been two days since you returned from the States after your treatment, and here you are, causing trouble again?"
Uriel let out a soft, wicked scoff, a cold smile pulling across his lips. "Trouble? Is that what Armani told you?" He studied his father—a colossal, matured, and far more imposing copy of himself. "I only reintroduced myself, Old Man. I don't see any trouble or problem in sight."
"You don't see any problems in sight?!" Jeffery thundered, his face flushing a dangerous crimson. "Are you daft?! Listen, and listen real good: you better find a way to fix yourself and all this mess, or I'll cut you off. You can bid yourself on the next flight to the Alaskan military camp."
Uriel's smirk widened as he rose, unhurriedly, from his seat. "Oh, Dad, I've had a very good chat with you, as usual. But do me a favor and stop saying the impossible." He paused, letting his father's palm slam down on the desk in impotent fury. "Also, take good care of your health, and don't die. I don't think Edward and Eric are ready to take after your legacy."
Uriel walked out of the office, his exit swift and insolent, before Jeffery could even formulate a reply. "Darn you, Old Man!" Jeffery roared to the closed door.
Just outside, Uriel met Jocelyn, his stepmother. A woman who, despite being left by his birth mother, had always shown him genuine affection. She was an epitome of stunning, youthful beauty: fiery red hair, pale, luminous skin, and a figure that defied her fifty-six years—curvy, a well-proportioned bust, slender legs, and a towering height of 5'11". She was unaging and undeniably lovely.
Jocelyn gently patted his back. "You're such a naughty boy, Uriel. What have you done this time to annoy your father?" she asked, her blue eyes filled with warm concern as they met his.
Uriel smiled, an immaculate, straight set of white teeth gleaming in the hallway light. "Don't mind the Old Man. He's a naggart; nothing I ever do appeases him. So he can deal with it."
Uriel smiles his immaculate straight set of white teeth gleaming in the light. "Don't mind the old man he's a nagging man nothing I ever do appeases him so he can deal with it.
Jocelyn smiled pulling him into a hug to which he tried struggling playfully before giving in. "Mmmhhhhhmmm you need to be patient and understanding with him he's looking out for you.
"Yeah I totally get it. He pulls away looking at her. "I'll be out with the boys don't wait up because I won't be back early.