The Anstorne mansion in New York was a testament to old-world opulence. Its grand halls, adorned with intricate moldings and gilded accents, often resonated with the soft melodies of classical music and the gentle clink of fine china. But today, a tense silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond its walls.
In the heart of the mansion, the study was cloaked in a somber ambiance. The scent of aged leather from the towering bookshelves mingled with the faint aroma of burning wood from the fireplace, creating a heady mix that clung to the senses. Thick drapes filtered the afternoon light, casting elongated shadows that danced across the polished mahogany floor.
Suddenly, the oppressive silence was shattered by a sharp, resounding slap. The sound echoed off the walls, startling the room's occupants. Maxime stood towering, his face contorted with fury, as Juliette recoiled, her cheek reddening from the impact.
