The snow fell gently outside the Lethridge Estate, cloaking the grounds in a deceptive calm. Inside, the Midwinter Gala pulsed with warmth and glitter—crystal chandeliers, the rustle of gowns, the sharp glint of silver and
masks.
Elegance wrapped itself like armor around the guests, each one hiding behind a perfect, smiling mask.
They called it the Silver Smile Ball—an annual masquerade of the elite, hosted by the late Elliot Vance.
That night, Elliot stood at the heart of it all, masked and gleaming. The billionaire philanthropist, known as much for his generosity as for rumors surrounding his private research projects, had recently unveiled a new philanthropic initiative: a global mind-health foundation. But whispers trailed him—whispers of stolen experiments, buried orphans, and a mysterious neurotoxin.
At the gala's peak, guests were invited to the Mirror Room—a narrow chamber where mirrors lined every wall, warped and ancient. In the center stood the infamous Venezuelan tian mirror Elliot had acquired, rumored to reflect a person's soul.
One by one, guests approached the mirror. When Elliot stepped forward, the lights flickered.
And died.
Seconds later, a thud. Then a scream.
The lights returned to reveal Elliot Vance on the ground, eyes wide open, lips curled into a chilling smile. No wounds. No blood. Just death, frozen in grotesque serenity.
Detective Vincent Van Gogh had attended the ball in disguise. Sharp-minded, grieving a brother he once failed to save, Van Gogh noticed something others missed: Elliot's reflection still smiled—but not in a way the others did. A residue glowed faintly on his lips when viewed through the Venetian mirror. He suspected the use of Argentilux—a rare neurotoxin that induced euphoric paralysis and killed with a frozen smile. It could only be seen under silvered glass.
His silver mask bore a single smudge on the inside. Someone had lifted it briefly. Poisoned his lips. Replaced it. Fast. Clean. A silent kiss of death.
But who?
The will was read the next umorning. Everything—his estates, patents, research—would go to Lydia Quinn, his young fiancée, unless foul play was proven. Lydia, elegant but unreadable, denied knowing anything. Orla didn't believe her.
That same day, he discovered a letter hidden in Elliot's desk: "If you're reading this, it means the smile found me. Find the first lie. Everything else falls after."
Digging deeper, Vincent uncovered a 1999 photograph of four children from a Belgian orphanage. Beside them stoord a younger Elliot Vance. Cross-referenoocing names, she realized four guests at the gala—Lydia Quinn, Maxwell Rowe, Helena Rowe, and Felix Dane—were once those children. Elliot hadn't just adopted them into wealth; he had experimented on them. They were subjects of Project SilverSmile, a secret neurological trial testing emotional control through synthetic chemicals.
Helena Rowe died next. Found in her bathtub, her mouth locked in the same silver smile. Her brother Maxwell swore she hadn't even attended the gala—but the mask on her face said otherwise. Her dress, soaked and hung inside out, bore fingerprints wiped with citrus oil—common in high-grade gloves used in secure labs.
W3
Then came the breakthrough: Felix Dane, now a security consultant, revealed Elliot had hired him to watch the other three. In secret, Elliot feared someone from the past was coming back. He had compiled a dossier: behavioral changes, forged identities, and a formula capable of forcing truth through neurochemical manipulation.
Vincent followed a trail of encrypted files, eventually leading to Dr. Julian Marr—a name long thought erased. Marr had been Elliot's partner during the original experiments. Reported dead after an explosion in 2006, he was now alive, living under a different identity. The man had suffered during the trials, burned by betrayal, and had returned to erase every last remnant of SilverSmile.
Julian had faked his death, then re-emerged at the gala under the guise of a quiet investor. It was he who had designed the deaths, choosing masks as both symbolism and cover. Each victim had worn a smile in life, forced by chemicals. In death, he made sure they smiled one last time.
"We were trained to smile through pain," he confessed as Vincent confronted him, recording his voice through a disguised lens. "I just perfected the method."
He tried to poison Vincent too—but he'd switched his glass. When security arrived, Julian was smiling. Calm. Ready.
Later, as snow fell once more, Vincent stared into the mirror that had shown the first lie.
"Murderers smile because they know how it ends," he whispered. "But I smile…
beause I wrote it."
And the mirror smiled back.
One week later, the detective stood in front of Elliot Vance's freshly dug grave, the November wind tearing through the trees like knives. His smile had been erased by the undertaker—but not in her memory. He didn't believe in ghosts, but something about the grave felt unfinished.
The case had closed. Officially.
Dr. Julian Marr was in custody. The files were sealed. The Mirror Room dismantled. The estate locked.
And yet—
A letter arrived that morning. Unmarked. No return address.
Inside, a photograph: Helena Rowe. Alive. Standing near a dock in southern Italy. Her smile: identical.
Stamped on the back: **"You buried the wrong mask."**
It hit her like ice. If Helena was alive… who was buried?
Vincent ran a second test on the body from the bathtub. Dental records had been faked. The corpse wasn't Helena at all.
He rushed to Felix Dane's apartment.
Empty.
Laptop: gone. Cellphone: smashed. The security footage he'd promised to decrypt was missing. And in the center of his kitchen table, a single, silver mask…
With blood on the inside.
Someone was continuing Julian Marr's work—or worse—replacing it with something new.
At the police archive, detective Van Gogh reviewed Project SilverSmile's buried medical ldocuments. There were more names. Unaccounted children. Failed subjects. And at least **three** were never officially removed from the program.
It wasn't revenge anymore.
It was evolution.
As the rain poured that night, he stood in front of her mirror, tracing her reflection's grin.
Behind him, in the hallway, a faint sound. Laughter? A child's voice?
He turned.
Nothing.
Then his phone buzzed. A new message:
**"Smile for the silver. You're next."**
And once again, the mirror smiled back.