In the shadows of the dimly lit hallway, the maids darted like specters, their whispers barely audible over the eerie silence that enveloped the mansion. Each footstep against the marble floor seemed to echo like a foreboding omen, amplifying the tension that hung heavily in the air. The young masters, their faces veiled in a mask of simmering rage and frustration, observed the chaos unfolding before them with chilling detachment.
As the maids vanished around the corner, leaving the brothers to confront the aftermath of their deeds, Andrew Aron's voice sliced through the tense atmosphere, dripping with venomous fury. "Eight billion lost, all because of that wretched brat, and you expect me to remain calm?"
