It might have been a cruel whim of the fates, intertwining destinies with shadowy threads.

From the moment you glimpsed Oliver pushing the boundaries of Saltburn, a subtle premonition whispered that he was more than a fleeting shadow. In the mansion, alongside Felix, he portrayed a devoted soul, always needy, seemingly harmless, concealing his authentic intentions beneath a cloak of servile words. However, being dethroned so effortlessly that summer forced you to reconsider their strategy to reclaim the space usurped by Oliver – the space that was rightfully yours. Even the most ruthless hearts, at times, entangle themselves in the webs of their own greed, forgetting that even the purest of angels succumb to the sirens of temptations.

You traversed the gardens filled with guests, an ephemeral stage of the Cattons' festivities, a tribute to the "summer pet," Oliver's celebration before his imminent expulsion. Finding him immersed in his own melancholy, cradling a bottle of wine, adorned in an exotic costume that concealed the ironic sordidness of his condition, was not just a task. He became prey amidst predators.

"Enjoying this pity party, Mmn?" Oliver whispered, his accent distorted by alcohol, eyes as clear as a veiled dawn, freezing your actions for a moment—not enough to denote concern or empathy for the man.

"You are like a little devil...strolling with puppy eyes, false innocence and incompetence. It would be charming if I hadn't already seen this performance too much to fall for it." They declared, finding themselves in the shadows beside Oliver, eyes fixed on the bottle he held. He hadn't taken a sip for minutes, seeming intoxicated, while awaiting any sign of Felix at the celebration. Suspicion lingered, agonizingly and suspiciously intense.

"Do you want a sip?" Oliver shifted the conversation, as was his custom, avoiding questions, eluding anything that could crack the facade – fissures in his ostensibly flawless masterpiece.