The grand living room of the Osborn estate was enveloped in an eerie silence, pindrop silent.
This was not the comforting hush of a peaceful morning; it was a thick, charged stillness that hung in the air like the calm before a storm.
The tension was palpable, filling the lavish space with muted gasps and wide-eyed stares.
Servants paused mid-step in the hallways, and even the clinking of porcelain from the kitchen had ceased. It felt as though the entire estate was holding its breath.
In the center of this opulent room knelt Billy, his shoulders trembling slightly, head bowed, eyes fixed on the polished marble floor.
Morning sunlight streamed through tall windows, casting a golden glow around him, yet he appeared small and fragile amidst the grandeur he had once taken for granted.
The sound, the steady rhythm echoing through the stillness.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The unmistakable cadence of polished shoes striking marble reverberated down the sweeping staircase.
