Chapter 1: The Porcelain Projectile
The marble hallways of the estate were designed to echo. They were vast, pristine, and entirely unforgiving—much like the man who owned them. On this particular afternoon, the suffocating silence of the house was shattered by the frantic, heavy footfalls of a child pushed past the brink of his own sanity. Mateo, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated rage, sprinted down the corridor. His breath hitched in ragged, desperate gasps. He wasn't just running; he was fleeing from invisible demons that had taken up residence in his young mind.
In his right hand, gripped so tightly his knuckles were white, was a delicate, floral-patterned teacup. It was a ridiculous weapon, a fragile piece of fine china that likely cost more than most people’s monthly rent. But to Mateo, it was a conduit for the explosive anger bubbling in his chest. Behind him, a sharp voice pierced the air. "Mateo, stop!"
He didn't stop. He turned, his eyes wild and dark, and hurled the teacup with all the force his small body could muster. The target was Rosa, the head maid, a woman whose life had been dedicated to keeping the chaos of this family neatly swept under the rug. The teacup flew through the air, a deadly missile of porcelain and gold leaf. It missed Rosa’s face by mere inches, colliding instead with the marble bust of Venus positioned just behind her. The sound of the impact was deafening—a sharp, violent crash that sent razor-sharp shards raining down onto the polished floor.
