Two security guards stood at the entrance, their hands clasped in front of them.

Inside, the fireplace crackled, but the room felt like an icebox.

Vivian was sitting on the edge of a velvet sofa.

Her blonde hair was uncharacteristically messy, a few strands sticking to her forehead.

Her expensive silk blouse was wrinkled at the collar, and her mascara was slightly smudged.

She was breathing heavily, her manicured nails digging into the leather of her handbag.

Standing near the large windows, looking completely untouched by the chaos, was Celeste.

Celeste held a cup of tea, her eyes fixed on the dark gardens outside.

She looked perfectly calm.

Too calm.

Ethan was sitting in an armchair in the corner, his small notebook open on his lap.

His young face was pale, but his eyes were sharp as they darted between Vivian and Celeste.

“Alexander!” Vivian cried out, jumping to her feet as we entered.

“This is an outrage,” she screamed. “Your thugs dragged me out of my car.”

“You tried to run,” Alexander said, his voice flat.

He walked to the center of the room and stood before her.