The night was drenched in an eerie stillness, broken only by the rhythmic patter of rain against the glass windows. A storm raged outside, but inside the grand mansion, another storm was brewing—one far more dangerous.

Anayra stood in the dimly lit corridor, her hands trembling as she clutched the silk of her dress. The air was thick with tension, suffocating her as she struggled to steady her breath. She knew she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have come. But it was too late now.