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Even after I left the grand dining room after we were done with dinner, the clinking of silverware and the faint disapproval from the guests continued to echo in my ears. The chilly gaze of my grandparents felt like a cold draft that no amount of vintage Bordeaux could chase away.
As I roamed the echoing halls of the mansion, Xavier stayed back for a private chat with his grandfather. The heavy oak doors closed behind them with a finality that churned my stomach. Maids and servants in black and white moved through the corridors, moving silently on thick Persian rugs, carrying trays filled with crystal glasses and fresh linens as if the whole place ran on some invisible schedule.
Despite the overwhelming grandeur, with vaulted ceilings adorned with faded frescoes, gleaming marble statues under soft sconces, and antique tapestries that probably cost a fortune, the atmosphere felt oddly empty.
