The Thompson estate was buzzing long before the evening shadows even thought of falling.
By mid-afternoon, the main house felt less like a home and more like a living organism—every hall, every stairwell alive with footsteps, voices, and the rustle of fabrics and paper.
The Happy Day Party, Grand Lisa's birthday celebration, was only hours away, and the household staff moved with a feverish rhythm to make sure not a single detail fell short of perfection.
From the second floor balconies, velvet banners in rich cream and deep emerald cascaded down like rivers of silk.
Florists worked with their arms buried in baskets of lilies, roses, and hydrangeas, pinning them into place along staircases and doorframes.
The scent of fresh blossoms mingled with the sharper tang of polished wood and the faint sweetness of wax candles being arranged in tall, golden stands.
In the kitchen wing, the air was thick with aromas.
