The dining room was alive with quiet authority. Candles flickered over the polished mahogany table, crystal glassware catching the low glow from the chandelier above. The room smelled faintly of vanilla and oak, a subtle signature of Madame Wellington’s meticulous taste. Everything was perfectly aligned: the silverware, the china, the floral arrangements that had been freshly trimmed that afternoon. Each rose, tulip, and lily was positioned with deliberate care, low enough not to obstruct ...