The ink was still drying on the contract she had signed when Ava Sinclair found herself outside the gates of Blackwood Manor. The walls rose before her like a relic of forgotten times. It felt an unsettling paradox of sleek modern architecture draped in the somber elegance of Gothic decay. As the car rolled by, the iron gates opened with a groan that sounded almost…. alive at her arrival. It revealed a long, winding driveway flanked by towering trees whose twisted branches formed a canopy overhead, filtering what little sunlight the gloomy sky offered.
Ava glanced out the window, her heart stuttering in her chest as the estate came into view.
It was a place pulled from dreams and not the gentle kind. Towering stone walls loomed beneath a sky choked with thick, low hanging clouds. The structure itself was vast and foreboding, wrapped in thick ivy that clung to the grey façade like old, never fading scars. It looked like a gothic castle reborn into the present, its bones ancient, but its skin dressed in sharp glass edges and dark steel veins. It was modern, yes, but only in the way a coffin could be polished.
Damian's estate wasn't welcoming. She felt like it watched her. It looked like it had been carved out of shadow and moulded to life.
Vines clung to the old stone columns like memories that refused to let go. The modern light fixtures illuminated the way but did little to dispel the eerie weight that clung to the air. It was as though time had folded in on itself here, where the future and the past collided and agreed on silence.
Ava's car came to a slow stop. She stepped out, her boots crunching against the gravel. The driver gave a nod before driving off, leaving her standing there with a single suitcase and a knot of nerves.
She walked towards the entrance door that swung open before she could knock.
Damian stood in the grand threshold, dressed in black again, of course he was. His eyes were the same unreadable grey as before, and yet something had shifted. Perhaps it was the shadows behind him that fell on his devilishly handsome face or the faint rumble of thunder in the distance, but his presence felt heavier here, more consuming.
"You're early," he said.
"You're dramatic." she replied, lifting her chin.
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Come in."
She stepped over the threshold, instantly hit by the scent of something old. Oakwood, leather, and something darker, like iron. The foyer was vast, its walls lined with oil paintings and old portraits that watched her like they were waiting to judge. The marble floors gleamed under her heels, but the air was cold.
Too cold.
Ava pulled her coat tighter around her.
Damian led her through a grand hallway. Every footstep they made echoed. The manor was alive with silence, pressing, watchful. Despite the modern lighting and furniture, the atmosphere was unmistakably haunted, not by ghosts perhaps, but by legacy. Every piece of decor felt like a whisper from generations past, lingering too long.
"Do you live here alone?" she asked.
"Besides staff, yes."
"Of course you do," she muttered.
He glanced back at her. "Something you'd like to say, Ava?"
She paused, biting back her sarcasm. "No. Just admiring the... ambiance."
He smirked faintly. "You'll get used to it."
She seriously doubted that. It felt foreign, too foreign. It felt like the walls knew that someone unfamiliar was around. The eeriness of the place hit her more than it did when she first came, maybe because it was somewhere she'll call home for the next twelve months.
They reached a double staircase at the end of the hallway. Between the twin arches, a massive stained glass window glowed faintly, its image almost impossible to decipher. It was a painting of a man cloaked in shadows, a woman reaching toward him and behind them, a full moon bleeding red.
"A family heirloom." Damien said as he caught her staring at it.
"Charming. Very ominous." She forgot to add that it gives her creeps.
"So is our arrangement."
She rolled her eyes.
He led her up the right wing of the staircase. "Your room is at the east end. My room is across the hall. Close enough for convenience. Far enough for comfort."
Ava's hand tightened around the handle of her suitcase. The idea of sleeping under the same roof, let alone the same hallway as Damian Blackwood made her skin prickle.
He stopped in front of a door and pushed it open.
The room inside was simply breathtaking. Modern, minimalistic, yet oddly warm. The ceiling to floor to ceiling windows of the room overlooked the estate grounds. A massive bed sat in the center, dressed in dark grey linens. A fireplace flickered quietly in the corner, and the faint hum of rain against the glass made it feel almost... cozy.
But Ava wasn't fooled.
This was still his house. His rules. His curse.
"I had it remodeled to suit your file. The Ivaran profile noted your taste in muted tones and quiet environments."
She blinked in surprise. "You read my internal file?"
He didn't answer.
Ava set her suitcase down slowly. "You do realize this entire thing is insane, right? You've hired a matchmaker to marry you. On paper. For a year. Because of a curse."
Damian crossed his arms, leaning against the doorpost as he watched Ava enter and observe the room. "And yet you signed."
"Because my boss made it sound like my job was on the line."
"And your pride didn't stop you?"
"My pride screams at me every five minutes. I'm just good at ignoring her."
A beat of silence passed.
Damian tilted his head. "The house has rules."
Ava had expected that. "Of course it does."
"It's quite simple. Don't go into the west wing."
Ava frowned. "Seriously? Just that?"
"Just that."
She didn't respond. Something about the way he said it sent her chills despite the firelight.
"Dinner is at eight," he added. "Formal."
"We're really doing the whole charade thing, huh?"
"The contracts require performance."
"So does sanity," she muttered. "Any family I might meet or put up a performance for?" Ava asked.
"None of great significance." He said as he closed the door behind him.
Left alone, Ava moved to the window. The grounds stretched for acres rolling hills, a forest at the edge, and a hedge maze that looked like it belonged in a horror movie. Lightning flashed distantly, painting everything in silver for a brief second.
She exhaled slowly.
What had she just signed up for?
~~~~~~
Dinner was in the east dining room. It was smaller than the grand hall she'd passed earlier but still extravagant with glass chandeliers, a table long enough to seat twelve, yet only two places were set. A fire roared behind them, but the room still felt too large. Too hollow.
Damian sat at the head of the table with a wine glass in his hand. He looked like he belonged here, a king in his own kingdom, like the dark carved chair had been made to cradle his arrogance.
Ava sat at the opposite end. Plates were brought in silently by staff she hadn't even heard arrive. They moved like ghosts.
"You never told me why I was the logical choice," she said after a few bites.
Damian didn't look up. "You're efficient. Detached. Intelligent."
"Those sound like job qualifications, not marriage traits."
"It's not a real marriage."
Something about the way he said it made her flinch.
"You're not afraid of me," he added.
She raised a brow. "Should I be?"
Damian's eyes met hers, sharp, quiet, unreadable. "Everyone else is."
The room fell into silence again, the kind that prickled against her skin.
After dinner, she retreated to her room. It was late. The rain had picked up again, and wind howled softly beyond the glass.
She changed into her sleepwear and stood by the fireplace, hugging herself.
A contract marriage with a cursed billionaire in a house that felt like it was holding its breath. How perfect, just perfect.
She turned toward the bed, only to stop dead in her tracks.
The mirror above the fireplace had fogged over..
Finding it odd, she approached it slowly. The fire was still lit. There was no steam so there was no reason for it to fog…
It was then she saw it. It looked like a shape in the reflection. A tall, dark silhouette standing behind her. She immediately turned around only to find nothing, no one. Just the flicker of fire.
Ava's heart thundered in her chest. She looked back at the mirror. It was clear again. Was it the light or was it her imagination playing tricks on her? Her fingers trembled as she reached for the bedside lamp.
Across the hall, behind his own closed door, Damian sat alone, nursing a glass of scotch. His fingers were tight around the crystal.
He'd felt it too. It was awake and now, so was she.
~~~~
That night, Ava lay awake staring at the ceiling. The room was beautiful, yes, but the air felt heavy. Like the walls were listening. A whisper drifted through the window, so faint she couldn't tell if it came from outside or inside her mind. She couldn't tell how long her eyes stayed open before she was finally visited by sleep.
Somewhere around midnight, she was jolted awake from her sleep as she heard sounds from above her. It sounded like someone's footsteps. It was slow and measured, too rhythmic to be a servant.
She sat up on the bed.
Grabbing a robe, she wrapped herself in it as she padded silently through the hallway. Every door she passed was closed, each one too quiet, too still maybe empty. When she reached the base of the stairs, she hesitated, her hand on the banister carved with symbols she didn't recognize.
She heard a sound again, this time it was a muffled groan, pained, raw and human. It sounded like Damian.
Ava's breath caught. She climbed the stairs, following the faint sound to a closed door. The temperature dropped as she neared it.
She raised her hand to knock but then paused as she heard something break inside. Glass? Bone? She couldn't tell. Then she heard nothing, it immediately became quiet, too quiet that it was unsettling.
Her knuckles hovered mid-air. What was she doing? This wasn't her business. Not tonight, not yet, not ever. Ava cussed as she stepped back. But in the quiet, as she turned and walked away, the door creaked open behind her. Just slightly, enough to peep through and inside, the darkness stirred.