The night wrapped itself around the sprawling mansion like a velvet cloak. From the outside, Adrian's estate looked less like a home and more like a fortress—tall wrought-iron gates, shadowed walls covered in climbing ivy, and windows that glowed faintly with amber light, as though guarding secrets no one should ever see. The air was unnaturally still. Even the owls seemed to keep their distance, unwilling to disturb whatever lurked inside.
Isabella stood at the grand entrance, her footsteps echoing faintly on the cold marble floor as she stepped into the hall. The doors closed behind her with a resonant thud, sealing her inside. For a moment, she thought she heard the faint sound of whispering—a voice too soft to catch, like a sigh of the walls themselves. She froze, glancing around, but Adrian's butler approached smoothly, bowing slightly.
"Welcome, Miss Isabella. The master has been expecting you."
The butler's eyes lingered too long, as though searching for something hidden behind her calm expression. Isabella managed a polite nod, though unease prickled the back of her neck.
The mansion was breathtaking and terrifying at once. Golden chandeliers spilled light across the vast hall, but in the corners, shadows pooled, thick and alive. Portraits of unfamiliar faces lined the walls, their painted eyes following her every move. Some wore regal attire, others battle-worn armor, yet all bore the same sharp gaze she had come to associate with Adrian.
She could feel the bloodline stretching back centuries, watching her, testing her.
"Isabella," Adrian's voice rolled from the top of the staircase, smooth, commanding, yet layered with something darker. He descended with grace, each step deliberate. He was dressed not in his usual modern suits but in something old-fashioned—a dark embroidered coat that clung to him like royalty. His very presence demanded attention, but it also unsettled her. He looked less like a man and more like a figure out of a painting—immortal, untouchable.
"You came," he said, his lips curving into a faint smile.
Isabella forced herself to hold his gaze. "You left me little choice."
He chuckled softly, though his eyes glimmered with something unreadable. "Choices are illusions, my dear. Destiny brought you here."
The butler bowed and disappeared, leaving the two of them alone in the vast hall. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
Adrian reached her side and gently took her hand. His touch was cold, unnervingly so, and Isabella had to suppress the shiver that raced down her spine. His thumb brushed against her skin as though memorizing her pulse.
"Do you trust me, Isabella?"
The question was deceptively simple, yet it felt like a knife pressed against her throat. She swallowed hard, her voice barely steady. "I don't know."
"Honest," Adrian murmured. "Good. Trust must be earned. And I will earn yours."
The Tour of Secrets
Adrian guided her through the endless halls of the mansion. Each room seemed more mysterious than the last—libraries filled with books older than her entire family line, music rooms where instruments gleamed as though freshly polished, though dust lingered on the floor.
One room drew her attention more than the rest. It was locked with a heavy iron chain, unlike any of the others. The door itself was carved with strange symbols, worn but not forgotten. She felt an inexplicable pull toward it, as though it was calling her.
"What's in there?" she asked softly.
Adrian's eyes flicked to the chained door. For the first time since she had arrived, his mask slipped. His jaw tightened, his smile faded, and a flicker of something—anger? fear?—darkened his expression.
"That room is not for you," he said sharply.
"But—"
"Isabella." His voice cut through hers like steel, leaving no room for argument. Then, as quickly as it came, his composure returned. He smiled again, though it didn't reach his eyes. "There are things in this house that can wound you if you are not ready. Some doors must remain closed—for now."
Her curiosity only deepened. The locked door seemed to pulse in her mind, whispering warnings and promises all at once. She knew she would return to it, no matter what he said.
The Ballroom of Shadows
Later, Adrian led her into a massive ballroom. Chandeliers dripped crystals from the ceiling, and mirrors lined the walls, reflecting endless versions of themselves. The air smelled faintly of roses, though no flowers were in sight.
"Why bring me here?" she asked, glancing around.
"Because this is where it all began," Adrian replied cryptically. He stepped onto the ballroom floor and extended his hand. "Dance with me."
Isabella hesitated. The silence of the room pressed heavily on her ears, yet something about his eyes drew her in. Against her better judgment, she placed her hand in his.
The moment their hands touched, the chandeliers flickered. A haunting melody filled the air, though no musicians were present. Adrian's grip tightened around her waist, guiding her across the floor with precision. He moved as though he had danced this routine a thousand times, each step practiced, memorized.
For Isabella, the dance was both intoxicating and terrifying. Her body moved in rhythm with his, yet her mind screamed that something was wrong. The mirrors reflected not just their dance but something else—shadows moving independently of their bodies, shapes that weren't entirely human.
She gasped, but Adrian only leaned closer, his lips brushing against her ear.
"Do not fear the shadows, Isabella. They are part of you now."
Her breath hitched. "What do you mean?"
His smile widened, almost predatory. "You will see soon enough."
A Forbidden Discovery
Later that night, restless and unable to sleep in the lavish bedroom Adrian had given her, Isabella wandered through the mansion. The corridors stretched endlessly, each step echoing too loudly.
She found herself once again before the chained door. The urge to enter was overwhelming. With trembling fingers, she touched the cold metal.
To her surprise, the lock clicked open under her touch, as though it had been waiting for her. The chains slid to the floor soundlessly, and the door creaked open.
The room beyond was not like the others. It was a shrine of sorts—walls lined with ancient relics, shelves stacked with jars of crimson liquid, and in the center, a pedestal holding a single, faded portrait.
Her blood ran cold when she saw it.
The woman in the portrait looked exactly like her.
Same eyes. Same hair. Same faint curve of the lips.
She stumbled backward, her breath caught in her throat. "What… what is this?"
Behind her, the air shifted. She didn't need to turn to know Adrian was there. His presence filled the room, suffocating and undeniable.
"You weren't supposed to see this yet," he said quietly, his voice neither angry nor surprised—just resigned.
"Why… why does she look like me?" Isabella demanded, her voice shaking.
Adrian's gaze darkened. He stepped closer, his face unreadable. "Because, Isabella… she was you. Or rather, the first of you. The one who started it all."
Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. "What are you saying?"
He cupped her face gently, his cold hands contrasting her burning skin. His eyes gleamed with ancient hunger.
"I am saying," he whispered, "that you are not the first Isabella to stand in this mansion… and you will not be the last."
The Cliffhanger
The weight of his words crashed over her like a storm. She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, holding her in place. The shadows in the room began to stir, slithering across the floor, circling her like predators.
Her mind screamed to run, but her body froze. The portrait's painted eyes seemed to come alive, staring straight into her soul.
Adrian's voice dropped lower, almost tender, almost cruel. "You are bound to me, Isabella. Across lifetimes, across centuries. You always return to me. And this time… I will not let you go."
The room spun, the whispers of unseen voices rising into a deafening chorus. Isabella's knees buckled, and darkness clawed at the edges of her vision.
Her last sight before the world went black was Adrian's smile—hungry, triumphant, and terrifying.