On her wedding night, Clara Hale believed she was stepping into the safest moment of her life. The estate was quiet, glowing with soft golden lights, the kind of carefully curated luxury that promised permanence. Guests had long since left, music had faded, and only the distant hum of the building’s security system remained. Clara, still in her wedding dress, had slipped away from the reception in a playful mood, laughing at the absurdity of tradition, at the way everyone suddenly expected her life to change at the stroke of midnight. She had hidden under the bed in the bridal suite as a harmless prank, planning to scare her new husband when he entered.

Her veil tangled gently in her hair, and she pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, listening for his footsteps. She had no idea that laughter, in moments like this, can be the last innocent sound before everything collapses. The door creaked open, and voices followed. Daniel’s voice came first, warm and familiar, the same tone he had used when he promised her forever only hours earlier. But then another voice followed—sharper, colder, cutting through the room like glass. His mother.