The Blake mansion stood tall and imposing as always, glowing with its signature grandeur under the night sky. Towering columns, crystal chandeliers visible through tall windows, manicured gardens bathed in soft golden light, every corner of the estate radiated old money, raw power, and an almost artificial perfection. The atmosphere inside was calm, hushed, and meticulously ordered, as though chaos itself had been forbidden from crossing the threshold.
Almost.
Because there was one room that shattered the illusion completely.
Evelyn's private suite.
Unlike the rest of the mansion, her space felt heavy, cold, and suffocating. The air seemed thicker here, weighed down by failure and simmering resentment. The elegant silk drapes hung limp, the once-pristine vanity mirror reflected only shadows, and the scent of her expensive perfume now carried an undercurrent of something stale and bitter.
