Oliver stood frozen in disbelief, his heart racing as a wave of shock washed over him.
His eyes widened dramatically, almost bulging from their sockets, as he processed the shocking scene before him.
Every sound around him faded into a dull hum; it felt as if the world had narrowed down to just this moment. His legs felt unsteady beneath him, swaying slightly as he fought to regain his composure.
As he gathered himself, his gaze drifted down the brightly painted steps in front of him. Red. Blood. There, at the top, stood Layla, her face illuminated by a large, triumphant smirk that danced on her lips. It was a look of sheer delight, as if she reveled in the chaos she had just caused.
But the atmosphere around her was starkly different; her friends stood nearby, their expressions contorted in horror, eyes wide with disbelief. They exchanged worried glances, clearly unsettled by whatever had just transpired.
