Chapter 5 Rules of the mansion

The night after their shared moment in the drawing room, Melody awoke to the sound of a distant bell echoing through the mansion.

But something had changed.

The air was different - charged. As if the walls themselves remembered last night. The light filtering through her window was softer, almost golden, painting her room in delicate hues that made everything feel dreamlike. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, though no flowers bloomed in this wing.

She sat up, her hand still resting on her cheek.

The warmth was gone.

In the East Wing

Mrs. Grant waited with her usual sharpness in the staff hallway, clipboard in hand. Her eyes scanned the maids like a hawk judging its flock.

"There are three rules in this house," she said in her clipped tone. "Break them, and you won't last a day."

Melody listened closely, trying to appear unaffected - even as her heart pounded at the memory of Adrian's piano.

"Rule one," Mrs. Grant said. "You speak only when spoken to. You are seen, not heard."

Melody's fingers curled against her apron.

"Rule two. Never enter the west wing unless given orders. That space belongs to the Calloway bloodline alone."

A cold shiver danced down her spine. She had not only entered the wing... she had stood in its heart. She had met its heir in the quiet of candlelight.

"Rule three." Mrs. Grant's voice dropped. "Do not fall for what is not yours."

The words struck like a silent blow.

Melody looked up - startled.

Had she seen something?

But Mrs. Grant's gaze moved on.

The house that day felt alive.

Mirrors seemed to shimmer a little longer with her reflection. The paintings on the walls - regal and ancient - looked down at her with knowing eyes. In the garden, flowers turned subtly in her direction as she passed. A breeze kissed her neck as though a spirit was watching, whispering secrets in a forgotten tongue.

She tried to focus - polishing brass handles, dusting chandeliers - but every time she passed a corridor, she felt him.

Not saw him.

Felt him.

Like his presence echoed through the walls.

The Moonlight Corridor

That night, unable to sleep, Melody wandered the mansion again. She should have stayed in her room - the rules, after all, had been clear. But the moon outside was full, casting silver light across the marble floors like a trail made just for her.

Drawn by instinct - or fate - she walked barefoot down the corridor.

The west wing was silent. Shadows danced like lovers across the curtains. Her fingertips brushed the wallpaper - soft velvet, etched with delicate roses. She reached the door to the music room.

It was open.

Adrian stood by the window, moonlight tracing the sharp lines of his face. He wasn't playing tonight - he was simply staring out at the stars, as if searching for something that eluded him.

He turned when she entered.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said quietly, but there was no anger in his voice.

"Neither are you," she replied, equally soft. "You're too... alive to belong to a place this cold."

His lips quirked - just barely. "This house feeds on silence and secrets. But you..." His eyes drifted over her, slowly. "You don't belong to shadows, Melody. You're fire."

She stepped closer, drawn like a moth. "Then why do I feel like I was made for this place?"

"Because this house doesn't just trap the cursed," he said. "It calls to the ones meant to break it."

He reached out - slowly, again, never forceful. His hand brushed hers.

The moment their skin touched, the chandelier above flickered - not like an electrical fault, but as though something ancient stirred.

A spark traveled up her arm.

She gasped softly.

Adrian leaned in. His voice was a breath against her ear. "You feel it too, don't you? The way time bends when we're near each other. The way everything else... falls quiet."

Melody's lips parted. She could barely think, let alone speak.

He pressed a kiss - feather-light - to her temple. Then whispered, "Be careful. This house has rules. And it punishes those who forget them."

She stepped back, dazed. "And you?"

"I broke them long ago."

And then he was gone, vanishing down the corridor like smoke.

Back in Her Room

Melody collapsed onto her cot, heart racing.

She didn't know what kind of danger she was walking into - but she knew one thing for certain:

This wasn't just a mansion.

And Adrian Calloway wasn't just a man.

Something ancient pulsed between them.

And the rules of the house... weren't made to be followed.

They were made to be broken.

Would you like me to continue with Chapter Six: "Servant's Quarters", in this romantic and fantasy style?

The morning after their shared moment in the drawing room, Melody awoke to the sound of a distant bell echoing through the mansion.

But something had changed.

The air was different - charged. As if the walls themselves remembered last night. The light filtering through her window was softer, almost golden, painting her room in delicate hues that made everything feel dreamlike. The air smelled faintly of jasmine, though no flowers bloomed in this wing.

She sat up, her hand still resting on her cheek.

The warmth was gone. But the memory of Adrian's touch lingered like the ghost of fire.

In the East Wing

Mrs. Grant waited with her usual sharpness in the staff hallway, clipboard in hand. Her eyes scanned the maids like a hawk judging its flock.

"There are three rules in this house," she said in her clipped tone. "Break them, and you won't last a day."

Melody listened closely, trying to appear unaffected - even as her heart pounded at the memory of Adrian's piano.

"Rule one," Mrs. Grant said. "You speak only when spoken to. You are seen, not heard."

Melody's fingers curled against her apron.

"Rule two. Never enter the west wing unless given orders. That space belongs to the Calloway bloodline alone."

A cold shiver danced down her spine. She had not only entered the wing... she had stood in its heart. She had met its heir in the quiet of candlelight.

"Rule three." Mrs. Grant's voice dropped. "Do not fall for what is not yours."

The words struck like a silent blow.

Melody looked up - startled.

Had she seen something?

But Mrs. Grant's gaze moved on.

The Mansion's Whispers

The house that day felt alive.

Mirrors seemed to shimmer a little longer with her reflection. The paintings on the walls - regal and ancient - looked down at her with knowing eyes. In the garden, flowers turned subtly in her direction as she passed. A breeze kissed her neck as though a spirit was watching, whispering secrets in a forgotten tongue.

She tried to focus - polishing brass handles, dusting chandeliers - but every time she passed a corridor, she felt him.

Not saw him.

Felt him.

Like his presence echoed through the walls.

The Moonlight Corridor

That night, unable to sleep, Melody wandered the mansion again. She should have stayed in her room - the rules, after all, had been clear. But the moon outside was full, casting silver light across the marble floors like a trail made just for her.

Drawn by instinct - or fate - she walked barefoot down the corridor.

The west wing was silent. Shadows danced like lovers across the curtains. Her fingertips brushed the wallpaper - soft velvet, etched with delicate roses. She reached the door to the music room.

It was open.

Adrian stood by the window, moonlight tracing the sharp lines of his face. He wasn't playing tonight - he was simply staring out at the stars, as if searching for something that eluded him.

He turned when she entered.

"You're not supposed to be here," he said quietly, but there was no anger in his voice.

"Neither are you," she replied, equally soft. "You're too... alive to belong to a place this cold."

His lips quirked - just barely. "This house feeds on silence and secrets. But you..." His eyes drifted over her, slowly. "You don't belong to shadows, Melody. You're fire."

She stepped closer, drawn like a moth. "Then why do I feel like I was made for this place?"

"Because this house doesn't just trap the cursed," he said. "It calls to the ones meant to break it."

He reached out - slowly, again, never forceful. His hand brushed hers.

The moment their skin touched, the chandelier above flickered - not like an electrical fault, but as though something ancient stirred.

A spark traveled up her arm.

She gasped softly.

Adrian leaned in. His voice was a breath against her ear. "You feel it too, don't you? The way time bends when we're near each other. The way everything else... falls quiet."

Melody's lips parted. She could barely think, let alone speak.

He pressed a kiss - feather-light - to her temple. Then whispered, "Be careful. This house has rules. And it punishes those who forget them."

She stepped back, dazed. "And you?"

"I broke them long ago."

And then he was gone, vanishing down the corridor like smoke.

Back in Her Room

Melody collapsed onto her cot, heart racing.

She didn't know what kind of danger she was walking into - but she knew one thing for certain:

This wasn't just a mansion.

And Adrian Calloway wasn't just a man.

Something ancient pulsed between them.

And the rules of the house... weren't made to be followed.

They were made to be broken.