It begins with the view. Not a glimpse, not a sliver - this is the full sweep. Downtown to the sea. Griffith Observatory, lit up like a promise. Long Beach. Catalina, if the air is right. At twilight, the skyline folds into itself, and Beverly Hills flickers in the distance like a memory. This is not a house that tries too hard. It doesn't need to. Brutalist lines hold fast to the hillside, all angles and intention, a quiet force above the grid. Three bedrooms. Two baths. Every surface considered. Fossilized limestone underfoot, Dekton stone cool to the touch. Copper garage doors that catch the sun like sculpture. Privacy here is not a premise a premise. Inside: space, light, silence. The ceilings rise. Air moves easily through the open floor plan allowing for living (with fireplace), dining, and kitchen to interact like guests at an intimate cocktail party. Outside, terraced grounds unfold toward the horizon, built for the kind of evenings that last longer than you planned. Like a crown on the head of a Royal, a star-gazing gazebo - equally fit for a wedding or for finishing a novel - sits above the home, with L.A.'s carpet of lights and architectural monuments sprawled beneath. 2-car garage, inside laundry, and tranquil ponds and fountains are all here for ease of living. This residence is not an artist's retreat. It's not a hideaway. It's a vantage point, a place to stand and see the whole thing laid bare. Perched in historic Hollywoodland, minutes from Franklin Village and the 101, yet utterly removed. A structure at once of its time and outside of it. For those who understand that beauty isn't always soft. This is hillside living without pretense.