The Romano mansion was rarely silent.
Too many footsteps, too many voices, too much life moving through marble halls and old portraits that stared down from the walls like judgment.
But today—today the mansion vibrated with something else.
The air was tight, walls listening, silence thick—tension settling into pressure, like a storm waiting for its first crack.
A storm rolling in, thick and heavy, waiting for thunder.
Servants moved quickly and quietly, avoiding eye contact, avoiding conversation, as if even their breathing could provoke disaster. The long dining table, carved mahogany polished to a deep shine, sat at the center of the grand room. Soft chandelier light glowed overhead, warm gold over cold expressions.
