The silence of the Richard mansion deepened as the evening crept in, coating the halls with an eerie stillness that made Cynthia’s skin prickle. The luxurious room, though warm and softly lit by the golden chandelier above, couldn’t chase away the unease that had settled like dust in the corners of her mind. She had just finished her meal—delicious, as always—yet something in her gut twisted with a discomfort she couldn’t name.

She had been alone for most of the day. Mike hadn’t returned from work, and the only company she’d had were the walls, the occasional humming of the vacuum cleaner, and the soft footsteps of the maids.

Cynthia...