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3rd Person's POV
The house was too big for one person. Too clean, too polished, and too quiet. It stood like a museum of wealth, the kind of place people admired from the outside but would never feel at home in. Every surface gleamed, every picture frame hung perfectly straight, and yet there was no warmth anywhere, just the faint hum of the air conditioning and the echo of footsteps on marble floors.
Ethan dropped his duffel bag by the staircase, the sound too loud in the silence. He hated how empty the place felt, how it seemed to swallow him whole. The lights flickered against the golden accents on the walls, and for a fleeting moment, he thought about how his mother used to hum in the kitchen, how his father's laughter once filled the hallways during dinner parties. But that was years ago, before they decided the world was more interesting than their son.
