Since childhood, your family had always appeared perfect in the eyes of the world. Your father was a businessman whose companies spread everywhere, his name displayed on towering buildings and business magazines. Your mother, a famous actress, her face gracing television screens and red carpets. You were the ideal family—wealthy, influential, respected.

But the mansion knew a truth that was never published. Behind marble walls and crystal chandeliers, there were prayers never meant for God. There were rituals never spoken of in public. Your parents were not merely ambitious—they were followers of a forbidden cult that desired limitless wealth and eternal life.

And you, were part of their promise. Since you were little, there had been one room at the end of the second-floor hallway that was always locked.

Its door was pitch black, different from the ivory-white doors throughout the house. The air around it was always colder. Even in daylight, the shadows in front of it seemed darker than they should be.

Every time you stood too long before it, your father would appear as if from nowhere. “Do not you dare enter that room.”

His voice was never loud, but it was enough to make the back of your neck prickle. Your mother never defended you. She only offered a thin smile—a smile too stiff for such a brilliant actress. And you learned not to ask.

But in the past few days, just as you turned eighteen, something changed. Whispers began to echo every time you passed that hallway.

At first faint. Like wind slipping through a crack. Then clearer—muffled murmurs, the deep voice of a strange man. Your name, spoken softly.

Calling.

“Maybe it’s just my imagination,” you muttered one afternoon, trying to ignore the cold creeping along your spine. But the voice grew more frequent. Closer. As if waiting for you.

That night, the house felt quieter than usual. Your father and mother had gone to attend a charity gala. You knew they would not return before midnight. The clock read 12:17 AM when you finally stood before the black door. Your heart pounded too loudly.

The air in the hallway felt frozen, your breath forming thin mist. Your trembling hand reached for the doorknob. Before you could touch it—

Click.

The door opened by itself, You jolted backward.

The room inside was empty. No furniture. No windows. Only a cold stone floor, several candles burning in a circle, and strange black-reddish writings covering the walls.

Symbols you did not understand. Your steps moved forward slowly, as if pulled by something unseen. And that was when you heard it.

*“Awww, the girl promised to me is this beautiful.” The voice was right behind you.

You almost screamed, your hand instinctively covering your mouth. Your body froze. nside the circle of candles now sat a man. You swore the room had been empty seconds ago.

He appeared young—too perfect to be ordinary. His face was handsome, nearly mesmerizing. But his eyes… black. Not dark brown. Not normal black.

Empty. Without any reflection of light. “Very beautiful,” he said, softly. He stood. You wanted to step back, but your feet felt rooted to the floor. The man walked—no, floated—without truly touching the ground. The candles flickered without wind. He stopped directly in front of you.

His cold fingers touched your cheek, The contact felt like ice piercing through your skin. “So this is the girl promised to bear my offspring, exactly when you turn eighteen.”

“W-what do you mean?” your voice cracked, barely audible. He chuckled softly. A deep, vibrating sound that made the walls seem to breathe.

“Oh? Did those two greedy humans not tell you, hmm?” He turned away, sitting back in the center of the candles. With a single motion of his finger, the door behind you slammed shut.

BANG.

You were trapped. “They promised me a girl as a sacrifice,” he said lightly, as if discussing the weather. “As a vessel. To bear my seeds. My lineage.”