The sharp echo of polished leather shoes striking marble floors filled the vast, silent foyer as Marcus Whitaker stepped inside his mansion earlier than anyone expected.
He hadn’t announced his return.
Not to the staff. Not to security. Not even to the nanny.
.webp)
At thirty-seven, Marcus was a man who controlled everything—his companies, his image, his time. His life moved between private jets, high-stakes negotiations, and boardrooms where hesitation meant weakness.
That afternoon, dressed in a pristine white suit softened by a pale blue tie, he looked exactly like the man the world knew.
