The afternoon sun bled through the heavy velvet curtains of the Thorne estate, casting long, amber streaks across the mahogany floor. Tyler sat on the edge of the cream-colored sofa, his palms sweating against the rough denim of his jeans. The house breathed a suffocating silence, save for the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock that sounded like a countdown to an execution. He was here because of urgent summons from her mother as she wants to talk with him.