In the Evans mansion, the day had been quieter than usual.
Mrs. Evans wandered from room to room, mentally taking notes of the number of chores still left undone.
She was the only one at home since Mr. Evans was out and Little Emma was at a playdate nearby.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
Startled, she frowned. “Who could that be?” she muttered to herself, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked towards the door.
Peeking through the peephole, she saw a delivery man holding a stack of carefully wrapped boxes.
“Delivery for Ethan Evans,” the man said, reading the label aloud.
Mrs. Evans opened the door, her curiosity piqued.
She eyed the shiny boxes greedily. They were small but clearly expensive. The luxurious ribbons and
tags screamed high-class. “Mr Ethan?” she
