The grandfather clock struck midnight, echoing through Rosewood Manor as shadows danced across the burgundy wallpaper like restless specters. Rain battered the stained-glass windows, obscuring the garden where a lone black cat watched intently, its paws treading silently. In the ornate dining room, seven guests clutched champagne glasses, their laughter sounding forced, eyes darting nervously to the chandelier above. A sudden crash shattered the uneasy calm, spilling silver soup tureen across the polished table and sending peacock feathers flying. Lady Winslow’s pearl necklace snapped, scattering luminous beads as she turned to find the lifeless body sprawled in the doorway. Every guest stood frozen, pulses racing, uncertain whether to scream, confess, or scrutinize each face illuminated by lightning’s harsh glare.