I remember the first time I saw Saltburn—its stone facade glowing under a bruised twilight sky, ivy clinging like old lace. I had just buried my father, or so I told Felix. In truth, I had never felt more alive. Oxford had been a stage, and I its sole audience, studying every gesture, every inflection, every weakness. Felix, with his golden laugh and careless kindness, was my mark. I let him rescue me. I let him bring me home.

That first night at Saltburn, I stood in the hallway, listening to laughter from the drawing room. I wasn’t one of them. Not yet. But I would be.

I watched Felix bathe. Steam curled around his body, water sluicing over his chest. And when he left, I knelt in the tub and drank from the drain. His essence, warm and bitter, coated my tongue. I wasn’t repulsed. I was worshiping.

Now, years later, I sit across from Elspeth in a quiet café. She doesn’t recognize me at first. Then her eyes widen. 'Oliver?' she whispers. 'My dear boy.'

I smile. 'It’s been too long, Elspeth.'

She insists I come back to Saltburn. Of course she does. I planned it this way.

Soon, she’ll be dead. And Saltburn will finally be mine. But first, I must make her love me one last time.

Do I confess before she dies? Or let her die believing I was her son in all but blood?