The mansion changed at night.
Denise noticed it the way you notice when a room starts listening to you differently.
The lights were the same.
The halls were the same.
But something underneath them wasn’t.
It felt… aware.
She waited until the staff rotation shifted.
Until the footsteps outside her door stopped passing as often.
Then she left.
Quietly.
Barefoot on cold marble.
This time, she didn’t wander.
She followed instinct.
And frustration.
Because Liam Dawson didn’t build a house.
He built a pattern.
And patterns could be broken if you paid attention long enough.
The corridor she chose wasn’t marked.
No signs.
No portraits.
Just a subtle narrowing of architecture, like the mansion itself was trying to discourage her from continuing.
Denise kept going anyway.
At th
