At the Von Meier dining table, soft morning sunlight spilled through the tall windows, scattering golden patterns across the marble floor, beautiful, but stark against the tension hanging thick in the air. The servants moved quickly, arranging fresh dishes from the kitchen with practiced precision, making sure everything looked neat and easy to reach. But their hearts were racing. They knew better than anyone: in this house, the power games never stopped. And arguments? They never really ended.
This morning, though, felt different. Worse. Like something was about to snap.
One servant glanced sideways at Erna, who was busy plating food for Hellene. The look said, "You know what's going on, don't you?" Erna shot back a glare, colder, sharper, like she was daring the girl to keep staring. The message was clear: eyes down, or you'll regret it.
