The wrought-iron gates groaned open, their hinges protesting with a rusty sigh as Theo's black car glided onto the manicured lawn. Seven PM. The clock tower's chime, faint but distinct, marked the moment. He didn't need to flash ID; the guards merely nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the relationship between the imposing manor and the expensive car.
He cut the engine, the sudden silence broken only by the chirping of unseen crickets. The headlights illuminated the polished granite steps leading to the imposing oak door. He stepped out, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the heated leather of his seats. The scent of jasmine, heavy and sweet, hung in the air. He straightened his clothes, a small, almost imperceptible gesture, but a gesture that showed his nervousness for the upcoming date.
