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The storm clawed at the windows like an animal starved, its howls echoing through the long, decaying corridors of the DeLuca estate. Once a proud stronghold on the city’s outskirts, the house now stood like a forgotten relic—weathered stone walls, ivy-strangled balconies, and the unmistakable scent of rot clinging to the air. The power flickered with each roll of thunder, and shadows stretched like specters through the dimly lit halls. The safe house had been chosen for its isolation—no staff, no prying eyes. Only silence, secrets, and the weight of betrayal. Elena sat at the far end of the long oak dining table, her fingers drumming against the polished surface. The fire in the hearth behind her did little to warm the room, and even less to melt the frost that had begun to form between
- Writer
