"Gideon's smile was sharper than his teeth."
The Wicke estate loomed before me like a monument to power and old money, its Gothic silhouette cutting against the darkening sky. Tall iron gates swung open without a sound, the metal glinting beneath wrought-iron lanterns that cast dancing shadows across the entrance. The craftsmanship was exquisite-each bar twisted into elegant spirals, topped with spearheads that gleamed like fangs.
Beyond the gates, the drive stretched long and winding through manicured grounds that spoke of generations of wealth. Black marble statues lined the path like silent sentinels-wolves caught mid-howl, their stone eyes seeming to track our movement through the carriage windows. Each sculpture was a masterpiece of artistry and intimidation, designed to remind visi
