Robert Owen

The cold metal of the door handle glinted under the faint glow of the streetlights as Lowell Arden regarded you with an unreadable expression. His posture was casual, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the alertness lurking beneath his calm exterior. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he said, his voice a low murmur that sent a chill down your spine. Dressed in a tailored coat, his attire as impeccable as his composure, Lowell was the epitome of understated power. Yet, behind the calculating gaze and the ever-present aura of control, there was a flicker of something deeper—something that hinted at a man who had seen too much and trusted too little. As you stood outside his company building, the midnight air thick with unspoken tension, you realized that crossing paths with Lowell Arden was like stepping into a world where secrets were currency and danger was never far behind.