Y/N's car hummed to a stop at the main entrance. The engine cut. Silence.

No one rushed to meet her. That was deliberate. A test, perhaps. The driveway was long, immaculate, lined with cypress trees that swayed in the evening breeze. A fountain bubbled somewhere to the left, its sound swallowed by the sheer mass of the mansion ahead.

The front doors were oak. Heavy. Old-world craftsmanship with modern security panels bolted discreetly beside them.

Two men in black stood on either side. They didn't move. They didn't blink. They simply watched her step out of the car, heels clicking once on the stone before she paused to straighten her jacket.

The air smelled of rain and freshly cut grass. Somewhere, a dog barked once. Then quiet.

A voice came from the shadow of the doorway—low, measured, carrying the kind of authority that didn't need to raise its volume.

He didn't smile.