If someone had told me that wealth had a smell, I would have laughed.
But that evening, standing beneath the golden lights of Dynamic Estate's garden, I realized it did.
It smelled like expensive perfume, aged wine, polished marble, and something else, something faintly rotten beneath all the luxury.
The party was already in full swing by the time Damien and I arrived. Soft classical music floated through the air, carried by speakers hidden somewhere among the hedges. Crystal chandeliers hung from temporary arches, glowing like constellations that didn't belong to the sky. Long tables were dressed in white linen, stacked with food that looked more like art than dinner.
And people.
So many people.
Susan stood near the center of it all, smiling brightly as if this entire world had been built solely for her to command. She looked every inch the elegant widow, her champagne-colored dress hugging her thin frame perfectly, diamonds glinting softly at her ears and neck. Despite her age, she carried herself with confidence that demanded attention.
"Ah, there you are," she said when she spotted us, her eyes lighting up. "My new stars."
Damien squeezed my hand gently. I smiled back, though my chest felt tight. I couldn't help it. Everyone here looked… important.
Susan wasted no time.
She pulled us forward, weaving through small clusters of guests who barely paused their conversations as we passed. I noticed how laughter dipped and rose again, how eyes flicked toward us and then away, uninterested.
"Let me start with our closest neighbors," Susan said cheerfully, stopping in front of a well-dressed couple standing near a fountain. "Mr. and Mrs. Alexander."
My breath hitched.
Even I knew them.
Mr. Alexander was one of the most powerful business tycoons in the country, a man whose name appeared in headlines tied to billion-dollar deals. His wife stood beside him, graceful and composed, her smile practiced.
"This is Jade and Damien White," Susan continued. "Our newest residents."
Mrs. Alexander smiled politely. "Welcome to Dynamic Estate."
Her voice was smooth, distant.
Mr. Alexander nodded once. "Congratulations on your… recent success."
It didn't sound like congratulations.
"Thank you, sir," Damien said respectfully.
They drifted away moments later, already absorbed back into their world.
Susan didn't seem to notice the dismissal.
She kept moving, introducing us to faces I recognized from television screens, magazine covers, social media feeds. Singers. Influencers. Actors. Writers. Politicians. Businessmen whose names could open doors, or destroy lives.
I felt dizzy.
At some point, I realized something was wrong.
This was our welcome party.
Yet no one was welcoming us.
People spoke around us, not to us. Conversations never included our names. Smiles were brief, hollow. It felt as though we were decorations, placed carefully in the center of the garden, admired briefly, and forgotten.
The only people who truly acknowledged us were Susan and, occasionally, Mr. Alexander.
"This is strange," I whispered to Damien as we stood near one of the tables, pretending to examine a tray of hors d'oeuvres.
"They don't even want to talk to us," I murmured. "Why throw a party if no one cares?"
Damien exhaled slowly. "Maybe this is just how people like this behave."
Before I could reply, Susan returned, clapping her hands softly.
"Oh! I almost forgot," she said. "There's one more couple you must meet."
She gestured across the garden, toward the massive mansion directly opposite ours.
My stomach tightened.
"That's the Exilvia residence," she said. "Eric and Barbara."
We approached them slowly.
Eric Exilvia turned toward us first. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his smile controlled and charming in the way politicians perfected. His handshake with Damien was firm.
"Welcome to the estate," he said. "We don't get newcomers often."
His eyes shifted to me. "I hope you find it… comfortable."
"Thank you," I said.
Barbara stood beside him, silent.
She was beautiful in an unsettling way. Her face was flawless, her dress immaculate, yet something about her expression felt empty. Her eyes lingered on me for a moment too long, then slid away.
She smiled.
It didn't reach her eyes.
"Nice to meet you," she said flatly.
And that was it.
No questions. No warmth.
Susan laughed awkwardly. "Well, everyone has their own way, dear. Don't take it personally."
I nodded, though unease settled deeper into my chest.
The party dragged on.
Champagne flowed freely. Laughter grew louder. Music softened as the night deepened. People grew drunk, not messy drunk, but careless drunk. Masks slipped. Voices sharpened.
Yet Damien and I remained alone.
By the time we returned home, exhaustion clung to me like a second skin.
I barely remembered collapsing into bed.
The knock came the next morning.
Sharp. Loud. Unforgiving.
I jolted awake, my head pounding. Damien groaned beside me.
"I'll get it," I muttered, slipping out of bed.
When I opened the door, two uniformed officers stood outside. One male. One female.
My heart dropped.
"Mrs. White?" the woman asked.
"Yes?"
"I'm Detective Linda," she said, flashing her badge. "This is Detective Frederick. We need you and your husband to come with us."
"For what?" I asked, panic creeping into my voice.
"A body was found this morning," Frederick said evenly. "In the estate."
The world tilted.
"Whose body?" I whispered.
"You'll need to come and see."
The words blurred after that.
I don't remember walking. I don't remember breathing. All I remember is the cold creeping up my spine as we reached the cordoned-off area behind the estate.
And then I saw her.
Susan.
She lay on the ground, her lifeless eyes staring into nothing. Blood stained the grass beneath her neck. Her elegant dress was ruined.
I screamed.
My knees buckled, and Damien caught me before I hit the ground.
"We were just with her," I sobbed. "We were just with her last night."
The officers exchanged glances.
At the station, we gave our statements.
I noticed something then, something so small yet so wrong that it made my skin crawl.
They hadn't visited any other houses.
Not the Alexanders'.
Not the Exilvias'.
Not a single mansion lining the estate.
Just ours.
The realization settled slowly, like ice sliding down my spine.
"Why are we the only ones being questioned?" I asked, my voice shaking despite my effort to sound calm. "What about everyone else at the party?"
Detective Linda looked at me for a long moment. Her face was unreadable, professional, carefully blank.
She didn't answer.
The silence stretched, thick, uncomfortable, deliberate.
Three hours passed.
Three long hours of waiting, whispering, replaying the night in my head, trying to convince myself this was all a mistake. I had just begun to believe they would leave us alone when the sound of sirens cut through the estate again.
This time, they didn't come to talk.
They came prepared.
Handcuffs glinted in the afternoon light. A folded search warrant rested in Frederick's hand. Their expressions were no longer neutral.
"We have surveillance footage," Frederick said. "Your husband was near the crime scene last night."
The words hit me like a blow to the chest.
"No," I whispered. "That doesn't mean anything."
I turned to Damien. "Tell them," I begged. "Just tell them why you were there."
Damien said nothing.
"Being near a place doesn't make someone a murderer!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "You don't even have proof she was killed at that exact moment!"
"He is our prime suspect," Detective Linda said calmly, as though she were discussing the weather.
They stepped forward.
Metal closed around Damien's wrists with a sharp click that echoed through the house.
I screamed his name as they led him away.
"What can I do to save my husband?" I asked Detective Linda.
"Find proof that your husband is innocent" she said firmly.
The words crushed the air from my lungs. Isn't that supposed to be your job?
She said nothing.
And in that moment, a terrifying truth settled in my bones.
Inside Dynamic Estate, truth didn't matter.
Power did.
When I returned home, I was shaking, numb, hollow, desperate. I knocked on doors until my knuckles burned. I begged neighbors for access to their cameras, for anything that could help my husband.
No one answered.
Curtains shifted. Locks turned.
Every door stayed shut.
When I finally collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion crushing my chest, a knock echoed through the house.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I opened the door.
A woman stood there.
And every instinct I had screamed one thing,
This nightmare was only beginning.