The mansion settled into a deep, velvet silence, the kind of quiet only wealth could afford, a thick blanket muffling the distant city sounds. Moonlight, fractured by the ornate ironwork of the balcony, striped the Persian rug in Akshat’s empty study. He moved through the echoing halls like a shadow given form, the silk of his dressing gown whispering against the polished marble. Tonight, the absence of their parents felt less like freedom and more like a specific, sharp invitation.