Silverstein's mansion, once filled with the echoes of his and Alexandra's laughter, had transformed into a kaleidoscope of sorrow. Alexandra sat motionless on the cold, marble floor of the main sitting room, draped in the dress she had worn the night before for Silverstein's birthday party—its fabric marred with specks of blood. Her eyes were swollen and red, and her once vibrant complexion had faded to a ghostly pallor.
Early that morning, Silverstein's family had gathered, including Cleo. Selina wept openly, cradling Silverstein's lifeless form against her chest. Deep down, she knew he hadn't succumbed to mere poison; Silverstein would never have perished by such means. It was simply his time to depart this realm.
