Chapter 1
The grand, opulent living room of the estate was saturated in bright, vivid colors, illuminated by dual crystal chandeliers that cast a warm, radiant light across the sweeping wooden staircase. There was no yellow tint to the air; the cinematic lighting was pristine, highlighting the fair, rosy skin of the mourning guests. In the center of the vast room rested a polished mahogany coffin lined with immaculate white satin. White lilies and roses were arranged in towering displays, their sweet scent masking the suffocating tension that gripped the room. Daniel, thirty-two years old and impeccably dressed in a premium dark suit, stood frozen over the casket. The heavy gold wristwatch on his wrist caught the bright chandelier light as he reached down with trembling hands.
"I can't believe she's gone," a male guest whispered, stepping forward with a sympathetic nod. "Daniel, we are so incredibly sorry for your loss. If there is anything you need..."
"Thank you, Richard," Daniel replied, his deep American accent cracking under the devastating weight of his grief. "I just need a moment with her. Please."
Daniel bent over the mahogany coffin, his chest heaving as he wept intensely. He took the cold, pale hand of his twenty-eight-year-old wife, Elena, and pressed it against his own face. She looked beautiful in her white lace gown, her nine-month pregnant belly a heartbreaking monument to the future that had been stolen from them.
Behind him, standing beneath the glittering crystals, his mother watched the scene with absolute detachment. She was fifty-five, a wealthy matriarch with perfectly styled blonde hair, wearing a black v-neck velvet dress and a thick pearl necklace. Beside her stood Marcus, Daniel’s twenty-eight-year-old brother, his sharp features set in a predatory smirk that he barely bothered to conceal from the guests.
"She and the baby died suddenly," the Mother announced to the lingering crowd, her flat, cold American accent slicing through the quiet murmurs of the room. She stepped closer to her eldest son, her eyes narrowing as she looked at his trembling shoulders. "Don't make a scene, Daniel."
"A scene?" Daniel whispered, keeping his face pressed against Elena’s motionless hand. "My wife and my unborn child are in a box, Mother. Forgive me if I lack your pristine composure."
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Marcus adjusted his dark tie, his hands held together in a posture of rehearsed grief. "Mother is right, Daniel," Marcus said smoothly. "We all loved Elena. But we must maintain our dignity in front of our guests. You have responsibilities. The business cannot wait, even for tragedy."
"Get away from me, Marcus," Daniel growled softly, not turning around. "Just leave me alone with her."
