Chapter 2 The Man in the Crimson Mask

Evelyn backed away from him, her bare heels scraping against the cold marble. She wanted to scream, to demand answers, but the silence inside her throat felt like a locked door without a key. Her hands curled into fists.

The man-Lucian Draegor-moved with the unhurried grace of someone who feared nothing. His boots made no sound as he crossed the room, the crimson mask catching the flicker of candlelight. It wasn't just a mask-it was carved with intricate patterns that seemed to shift when she looked too long, as though the designs themselves were alive.

"Do you know," he said, his voice a slow velvet drawl, "how much beauty there is in silence? No lies. No foolish chatter. Just... truth."

He stopped a few feet away, his head tilting as though studying a rare animal. "Your voice is safe, Evelyn. Safer than it would be in your possession."

Safe? Her eyes narrowed. She pointed to her throat, then to him, silently demanding to know what he had done.

Lucian's lips curved-not quite a smile, but something more dangerous. "I did not take your voice. The house did."

The house.

Her gaze flicked to the carved wooden walls, the black velvet drapes, the shadows stretching into corners like living things. For the first time, she noticed a low hum beneath everything-a faint vibration, like the deep, slow breath of a sleeping giant.

Lucian took another step toward her. She retreated until her back hit the cold wall. His gloved hand rose, hovering near her face, but not touching. "Fear sharpens the eyes, little bride. You're seeing the truth already. That's good."

Her pulse hammered. She wanted to run, but when she glanced toward the door, it was closed-and she didn't remember him shutting it.

He noticed her look. "The mansion doesn't let anyone leave until it chooses. And it has already chosen you."

Something flickered in his tone-not warmth, but possession. He wasn't threatening her out of cruelty. He was speaking as though she was already his, beyond question.

Lucian stepped back slightly, giving her space, as if to let her breathe. "Tonight," he said, "under the blood moon, you will stand beside me, and this house will bind us together. You will be the last, Evelyn-the last and the most important."

Her fingers clenched. She wanted to ask The last what? but her voicelessness mocked her again.

He seemed to read the question in her eyes. "The last bride. The final link in a chain that began long before you were born."

The air between them felt heavier, colder. His presence filled the room, even when he wasn't moving. And then, in a strange, almost tender gesture, he reached for her hand. His touch was warm-too warm.

"Come," he said softly. "You should see where you will say your vows."

Her instincts screamed no, but something else-something in the back of her mind-urged her to follow. As though a thread invisible to her eyes had wrapped around her heart and was pulling her along.

She hated the feeling... but her feet moved anyway.