I CAN'T FAULT NOAH
The driver drove into the mansion's grand driveway, the gravel crunching beneath the wheels of the sleek black car.
Richmond stepped down from the vehicle, his polished shoes tapping on the cobblestone pathway. His father's imposing mansion stood before him, an architectural marvel that had been in the family for generations.
Richmond had spent his lifetime here, but today, as he walked towards the towering front doors, it felt different, as if a storm were brewing within the walls of the mansion.
A servant, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile and neatly pressed uniform, passed by as Richmond entered the main building. She curtsied politely and said, "Good evening, sir." Her voice held a note of genuine respect.
