The Birthday Gala
Chapter 1--------The Birthday Gala.
Blackwood Manor
Boston
Massachusetts
29.09.2025
10:45 p.m.
The party was in full swing, chatter and laughter filling the hall. A few guests crowded the bar counter, already tipsy, their voices slightly louder than necessary, their laughter spilling into the music. Glasses clinked against one another, ice cubes shifting with soft chimes as drinks were refilled without pause. A bartender moved with practiced ease, sliding glasses across the polished counter, barely pausing between orders.
Others lounged around in small groups, scattered across velvet couches and high-backed chairs, talking idly or scrolling through their phones, half-engaged in conversations that drifted from one topic to another, never quite settling. Some nodded absentmindedly, their attention divided between the people around them and the glowing screens of their phones in their hands.
Most were dancing to the waltz playing in the background, their movements graceful, almost rehearsed, as though they had done this countless times before. Dresses swirled, heels clicked softly against the marble floor, and polished shoes glided in smooth arcs. The rhythm of the music wove through the room like an invisible thread, binding everyone together in a moment that appeared perfect—almost too perfect.
The grand hall shimmered under the glow of chandeliers, their golden light cascading down in soft layers. It reflected off polished marble floors and crystal glasses, creating a glow that made everything seem warmer than it actually was. Every surface gleamed. Every detail was in place.
Too in place.
Waiters moved swiftly between guests, balancing trays of drinks and appetizers with practiced ease, their presence barely noticeable unless one was looking directly at them. They blended into the background, efficient and silent, as if they were part of the setting rather than people within it.
The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and alcohol, layered with something faintly floral that lingered in the background, subtle yet persistent. It clung to the air, refusing to fade, like a memory that didn’t quite belong.
Everything looked perfect.
Too perfect.
Lydia Blackwood found herself zoning out.
It had been happening a lot lately.
Her mind refused to stay in the present, constantly drifting back to the clues and codes she had found and partially deciphered while trying to unravel the mystery of her aunt Rebecca’s murder. The laughter around her sounded distant, almost muffled, as though she were underwater, watching everything unfold from somewhere far away.
The music, though loud, barely reached her.
She was halfway through it — her suspicions had proved true.
And that was exactly what terrified her.
Her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of the couch as she tightened her grip unconsciously, grounding herself in something real. The truth was right there, just within reach, but it slipped through her grasp every time she tried to hold onto it.
Not solid enough.
Not complete.
Not enough to prove anything.
Not enough to accuse anyone.
Not enough to be safe.
Her breathing slowed, but the uneasiness didn’t.
It stayed.
Lingering.
Watching.
She exhaled quietly, her gaze unfocused as she stared ahead, though she wasn’t really seeing anything in front of her. Her thoughts looped back again and again, replaying fragments of clues, half-solved codes, pieces that almost fit but never fully locked into place.
She wanted to reveal everything that night.
The thought had crossed her mind more than once — to stand up, interrupt the music, and expose it all. To finally say what she knew. To bring an end to the silence that had surrounded her aunt’s death for years.
But the lack of proof stopped her.
Without evidence, she would sound irrational.
Or worse—
She would make herself a target.
Beside her, Timothee Blackwood sat scrolling through his phone, completely detached from the world around him. His messy blonde curls fell onto his forehead, occasionally brushing against his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice. His blue eyes remained fixed on the screen, reflecting its faint glow.
His muscular frame was relaxed against the couch, one arm lazily draped over the backrest, his posture careless, almost indifferent. If anything was wrong, he gave no sign of it.
The bright party lights highlighted the sharp features of his face, casting soft shadows that only made him stand out more.
Lydia noticed.
So did everyone else.
Across the room, a few girls whispered among themselves, stealing glances at him, their laughter soft but deliberate. One of them adjusted her dress, another tucked her hair behind her ear, each trying, in her own way, to draw his attention.
But Timothee didn’t react.
Not even once.
He remained nonchalant, his focus unwavering, as if the world beyond his phone simply didn’t exist.
Typical.
Lydia shook her head faintly, a small, fleeting smile forming on her lips before fading just as quickly. For a moment, she wished she could be like him.
Detached.
Unaffected.
Unaware.
But she wasn’t.
Her gaze drifted again, this time toward the far end of the hall, where the light didn’t quite reach as strongly. The shadows there seemed deeper, heavier, as though they held something unseen.
For a brief moment, she felt it again.
That feeling.
Like someone was watching her.
Her posture stiffened slightly.
Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the crowd more carefully this time, her gaze moving from face to face. People laughed, danced, talked—completely normal.
No one looked suspicious.
No one looked out of place.
And yet—
The feeling lingered.
Then it disappeared.
Or maybe she forced herself to ignore it.
Suddenly—
The room plunged into darkness.
The music stopped mid-note, cutting off so abruptly it left behind a strange, hollow silence that felt heavier than the noise before it. For a fraction of a second, no one moved.
The silence stretched.
Then it broke.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, growing louder with each passing second.
“What happened?”
“Is this a blackout?”
“Someone check the power!”
Voices overlapped, confusion spreading like a ripple through still water. A few nervous laughs broke out, quickly swallowed by uncertainty.
Lydia blinked, momentarily disoriented, her senses struggling to adjust to the sudden absence of light. The brightness from moments ago lingered faintly in her vision, making the darkness feel even thicker, almost suffocating.
She pushed herself up from the couch, her phone slipping from her lap and hitting the floor with a soft thud she barely registered.
Before she could bend down, someone rushed forward.
Riley Parker—a seventeen-year-old part-time server—quickly picked up the phone and held it out.
“Here,” she said, slightly out of breath.
Lydia took it, her fingers brushing briefly against Riley’s.
“Thank you,” she muttered softly.
Riley nodded, though her eyes were already darting around, scanning the room before she walked off, tying to pacify the .
The murmurs were growing louder now. Some guests laughed it off, assuming it was a minor inconvenience. Others seemed irritated, their patience already wearing thin.
Lydia didn’t wait.
Something about this didn’t feel right.
Without another word, she turned and walked toward the generator room.
The darkness couldn't bother her.
The timing did manage to.
Her footsteps echoed faintly against the marble floor as she moved down the corridor, the sound sharper now in the absence of music. The noise of the party faded behind her with each step, replaced by an unsettling quiet that pressed in from all sides uncomfortably.
The air felt different here.
Colder.
Still.
Something was wrong.
She reached the door of the generator room.
Her hand moved toward the handle to open it—
And suddenly—
Someone grabbed her harshly.
A strong arm locked around her, pulling her back with force before she could react. The movement was so sudden, so precise, that for a moment, her mind failed to process what was happening.
Before she could scream, before she could even turn—
A handkerchief was pressed tightly against her nose.
A sweet, sickening smell flooded her senses instantly.
Her eyes widened in shock.
Her body reacted before her mind did.
She struggled hard.
Her hands clawed at the arm holding her,her nails digging into the skin of the attacker, but he seemed unbothered. Her body twisting violently as she tried to break free from the man’s vice-like grip. Panic surged through her, sharp and immediate, her heartbeat pounding wildly in her ears.
But the grip only tightened.
Unyielding.
Her strength began to fade.
Too quickly.
Her movements slowed, her limbs growing heavier with each passing second, it was taking effort to even move her fingers. Her eyes grew heavy. The world around her blurred at the edges, her mind stuttered, the darkness deepening into something thicker, more suffocating.
The noise from the hall—
Gone.
Her vision swam.
Her fingers lost their grip.
Her phone slipped from her hand.
Everything felt distant.
Disconnected.
Unreal.
And then—
She heard it.
A guttural laugh.
Frightening and malicious.
Close.
Too close.
And then—
A voice.
Familiar.
Terrifyingly familiar.
“So… I finally got you.”
Her thoughts shattered.
Her body went limp.
And everything went dark.
