Silas's POV
I slammed the heavy oak door behind us, the sound reverberating through the marble hallway like a gunshot. My grandfather's estate always felt like a museum, all polished surfaces and watchful portraits that had been staring down at our family for decades.
"Your reckless grandson is destroying everything I've built," I snarled, throwing my hands up in frustration. The rage that had been simmering all morning finally boiled over. "Don't blame me when I cut him loose completely."
Grandfather didn't even look up from his newspaper. He folded it with deliberate slowness, adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, and studied me with the same expression he'd worn through countless family crises. The familiar smell of Earl Grey and old leather filled the room.
"That reckless grandson happens to be your twin brother," he said, tapping his walking stick against the Persian rug with measured precision. Each tap felt like a countdown to my explosion.
