The Bliss mansion stands dark against the night sky.
Most of the windows are black, the servants already sent to their quarters.
Only a few lights burn inside—the kitchen, the hallway, and the living room at the front of the house.
Maxwell's car pulls into the driveway. Gravel crunches beneath the tires. He kills the engine and sits for a moment, staring at the house, the thought racing through.
Everything is falling into place.
He steps out of the car.
The night air is cool against his face. He straightens his jacket and walks toward the front door.
The door opens before he reaches it. A maid—young and nervous—holds it for him.
"Welcome home, sir," she murmurs, eyes lowered.
Maxwell nods and steps inside.
The entryway is lit by a single crystal lamp on a small table. The ligh
