The sprawling estate of Saltburn was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that clung to the walls long after tragedy had struck. You stood in the grand hall, the opulence of the place no longer as dazzling as it once seemed. The chandeliers above glittered faintly in the dimming light, casting long, thin shadows across the polished marble floors. Saltburn was yours now—yours and Oliver’s. The Cattons were gone.

Oliver Quick stood beside you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of a sharply tailored suit. His gaze swept the room, that familiar glint of cunning in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, as if assessing the grandness of the space for the first time with the thought of possession, not just longing.

"Can you believe it?" His voice was a whisper, but there was no mistaking the excitement beneath the surface. “This... all of it. It’s ours.”

You swallowed, taking in the weight of it all. The sprawling gardens, the vast dining halls, the endless corridors of Saltburn—it felt like the air was heavier now, like the estate had shifted, somehow come alive in its new emptiness. The Cattons had always made the place feel full, even with their decadence and strange charm, but now it was just you and Oliver. The thought was intoxicating, but also unnerving.

“What happens now?” you asked quietly, though you weren’t sure if you meant the logistics of running such a grand place or what was to come between the two of you.

Oliver turned to you then, his eyes locking onto yours. His smile was slow, deliberate. "Now?" He took a step closer, the leather soles of his shoes tapping softly against the marble. "Now, we make Saltburn ours in every sense of the word. We don’t just inherit it, we take it. Mold it. Shape it into something better than the Cattons ever could."

His hand brushed against yours, sending a flicker of something down your spine—something electric, something dangerous. You knew what he meant. Saltburn had been a symbol of everything the Cattons had stood for: wealth, power.