Maxwell’s POV

The sound came again—measured, deliberate. Heels on marble, echoing like a clock counting down to ruin.

Amelia pressed herself against the wall, her breathing shallow, the doll crushed in her arms. I wanted to tell her not to move, speak, or even breathe. But the truth was, my own body felt locked in place. The air was no longer air—it was poison, thick with her presence.

Victoria.

I stepped forward, every muscle coiled, my chest straining against the weight ...