As soon as Naomi finished eating, she climbed the stairs of the mansion. She wasn't sure what to make of this place—it looked like an ancestral home, though it was decorated with a modern touch that felt oddly familiar to her. The blend of old and new seemed out of place, yet strangely comforting. This was the house of her husband, a man she barely knew, yet who had become so integral to her life in such a short time.
She couldn't help but wonder about its history. How many generations had walked through these halls? The towering portraits on the walls seemed to judge her every move, the eyes of long-dead ancestors peering down as if silently assessing whether she belonged.
"This is what happens when you overthink," Naomi chided herself under her breath. She shook her head and continued on, feeling the weight of the house's age and the mystery that surrounded it pressing on her shoulders. Her footsteps echoed in the vast corridor as she approached her room.
