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The week following everything that went down didn't feel like a break or a chance to catch my breath at all. If anything, it seemed like the world had cranked up the volume, pushing harder and faster, almost like it had been waiting for the moment our lives would crack open to pour in.
Oakfield Mansion, which used to feel overly quiet and stifling in its perfection, transformed into something completely different. The silence that used to linger in its polished halls was gone, replaced by a constant clamor that never really settled into something I recognized.
It started outside.
Every morning, even before I pulled back the curtains, I could hear them. The distant hum of voices overlapping, the occasional shout, and the sharp clicks of cameras going off like insects right outside the gates. By the second day, the crowd had swelled. By the fourth, it felt like the whole city had decided our front driveway was the new hotspot.
