A trail of discarded linen shirts and half-empty crystal tumblers marked Richard Estevez’s erratic migration through the west wing of the grand manor. He moved with a lazy, predatory nonchalance, utterly indifferent to the tense glances of the armed guards standing post beneath centuries-old oil portraits. To the rest of the Estevez empire, the estate was a fortress of silent, iron-fisted authority; to Richard, the youngest and most reckless of the bloodline, it was merely an oversized playground he enjoyed tearing apart. He kicked open the heavy mahogany doors leading to the glass-walled walkway, unbothered by the sharp click of his tailored trousers echoing off the marble. The glass bridge spanned the manicured gardens, linking the brooding main house to the sleek, modern annex—a structure his father had begrudgingly allowed just to keep Richard’s eccentricities away from official family business. Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling panes, catching the gold chain resting against Richard's collarbone as he dragged a thumb across his lip, still tasting the dregs of mid-afternoon scotch. He didn't care about the upcoming gala, nor the fragile peace treaty his eldest brother was desperate to secure at the event. For Richard, the evening was simply another stage, and he fully intended to steal the show just to watch the family inner circle squirm. He shoved open the double doors of the annex, stepping straight from the oppressive, old-world gloom of the manor into a sprawling, brightly lit sanctuary of silk bolts, sketchboards, and high-fashion chaos. Skipping the grand greeting entirely, he bypassed the racks of velvet and satin, his eyes scanning the room with bored amusement until he spotted the familiar figure hovering near the mannequin forms. Without waiting for an invitation, Richard strode past a tray of untouched espresso and threw himself into a broad, plush leather armchair in the center of the studio, sprawling his long legs out with unceremonious grace. He rested his elbows on the armrests, lacing his fingers together as he leaned back and let a sharp, wicked grin cut across his face. "So, what do you get to put on me this time?"