~Jason's Pov~
I sit across from him in the cold, immaculate study. Everything in here screams control—glass shelves, pristine whiskey bottles, no dust, no warmth. Just like him.
I've never felt more out of place. Or more desperate.
He watches me like I'm a case file. Not a son. Not someone bleeding on the inside. Just another problem to be solved.
Good. I need that part of him—the ruthless part.
"She's almost like a ghost," I finally say, my voice low. "That's the thing. I don't even know who she really is."
His brows twitch slightly, not in surprise—but in interest.
I keep going. "I know her name's Marie. At least, that's what she tells people. But… there's nothing else. No talk of her parents, her past. It's like she just appeared one day out of thin air. No roots. No history."
He folds his hands under his chin. Silent. Listening.
