Houses have personalities.
I didn’t believe that before.
But the Walters estate had one.
And it was watching me.
I realized it the second morning after I arrived, when I decided to explore the house alone.
The hallways stretched farther than I expected. Tall windows let pale light spill across polished wooden floors. Every corner looked carefully designed—paintings placed perfectly, flowers arranged neatly, furniture that looked expensive but untouched.
Nothing in this house felt messy.
Nothing felt spontaneous.
It felt… managed.
Like someone invisible was constantly adjusting things behind the scenes.
I walked slowly down the main hallway, trailing my fingers lightly along the wall.
My footsteps echoed softly.
The silence here wasn’t empty.
It felt like the house was listenin
