"Master…" Owen's bodyguard called him as he rested his head on top of the sofa with his eyes closed, "Your daughter come…"
Silence. No answer from him.
"Master?" The bodyguard called again.
"Let her in…" His low voice echoed through the room.
The door creaked open, and Jasmine stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the thick curtains drawn to keep the afternoon sun away. The faint scent of cigar smoke lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Owen Kennedy sat on the grand leather sofa, his grey hair slicked back, his tailored suit immaculate as always. Even in age, there was something dangerously composed about him, like a predator conserving its energy. His eyes remained closed, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest.
"You've finally decided to show up," he said without opening his eyes.
Jasmine swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she clasped them in front of her. "I had to," she said quietly. "We need to talk."
