Vows in the shadow

The wind howled like a ghost in mourning as Ariella Duvall stepped out of the black car. Her heels clicked on the gravel driveway, sharp against the heavy silence that surrounded the estate. Before her loomed Ravenhall Manor-a towering, ancient structure that seemed to breathe with the secrets of the dead.

It had been thirteen years since she last walked through its gates. Thirteen years since her mother vanished without a trace in this very house. Now, the keys to the mansion were hers-left to her by a grandmother she never met, in a will signed in blood-red ink.

The sky was the color of bruised plum, clouds dragging across a moon that blinked in and out like a dying lantern. A cold shiver crawled down her spine as she glanced up at the highest window of the west tower. For a split second, she thought she saw movement. A figure? A shadow?

"No," she whispered to herself. "Not tonight."

She pushed the thought away and clutched the silver locket around her neck-a family heirloom she hadn't taken off since childhood. Its center held a faded photo of her mother and a hidden inscription she never understood: "Where the vow ends, the curse begins."

The heavy double doors creaked open without resistance. Dust and the scent of forgotten roses welcomed her. Candlelight flickered to life automatically along the corridor-motion-sensor, her lawyer had said-but the way they lit one after another felt... too synchronized. Too aware.

Ariella entered the grand hall, her eyes drawn immediately to the grand staircase carved in black oak, twisting up into the darkness. Every corner of the room whispered of things lost-silk curtains torn at the hem, paintings crooked on the wall, the echo of unseen steps just out of rhythm with her own.

And then, she saw him.

A man leaned against the base of the staircase. Tall, dressed in charcoal and shadows, with eyes like cold fire and a jaw set as if every word he ever spoke was a burden. His gaze pinned her in place, unreadable, intense.

"Miss Duvall," he said, voice low and smooth like danger in a tailored suit. "You're late."

Ariella's breath caught. "And you are?"

"Damian Blackthorne," he replied, taking a step forward. "Co-inheritor of Ravenhall. And, apparently... your fiancé."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

He extended a sealed envelope. "Your grandmother left instructions. We are to be engaged-for at least ninety days-or lose the entire estate."

She tore open the letter. The words were clear, legal, binding. Her grandmother's signature, unmistakable. Her heart pounded.

"Is this a joke?"

Damian stepped closer, his presence almost magnetic.

"This place," he murmured, "doesn't joke. And neither do I."

Suddenly, a cold draft swept through the hall. The front doors slammed shut on their own.

And behind them, the shadows whispered.

End of Chapter One.