The mansion looked calm from the outside, but inside it pulsed with tension.

The children had been waiting all afternoon for their father to come home. They counted the hours, imagined his smile, and filled the vast living room with games, laughter, and questions only children could ask. Their joy echoed against marble walls that were never meant to hold warmth.

His wife—his second wife—stood apart from it all.

She disliked the noise. The running feet. The rolling toys. The reminders that the house did not belong to her alone.

By evening, her patience snapped.

“Enough,” she snapped sharply. “I said quiet.”

The children froze. The blue ball rolled once more across the floor and stopped. Silence fell, thick and uneasy.