The shadows of the late evening had completely swallowed the upper-sector skyline, casting the grand entrance of Dahmer's palace into a quiet, monochromatic dark. Inside the house, the clinical, sharp luxury had been completely transformed. The slate-gray walls and charcoal drapes were softened by a warm, low amber glow. A beautifully set table stood in the dining area, featuring a perfectly curated dinner that Dahmer had spent the entire afternoon preparing step by step.
Every plate was arranged with immaculate precision, and the faint, comforting scent of herbal broth and expensive wood-spice drifted through the spacious rooms. It was a flawless, welcoming sanctuary—a silent trap of absolute devotion designed to slowly dismantle the traditional, stubborn ego of the corporate king.
