The Bianchi Estate was a maze.

Not just in the architectural sense—though that certainly applied. Ever since Aveline had rebuilt it after her parents’ deaths, the estate had become a labyrinth of purposefully confusing design. There were staircases that led into shadows and silence, doors that opened to brick walls, and hallways that twisted back into themselves like a serpent devouring its tail.

It wasn’t just eccentricity. It was strategy. A castle meant to trap intruders, confuse spies, and swallow the uninvited whole. One wrong step, and you could vanish into the bowels of the estate for hours—days, even—before finding your way out again. If you ever did.

Unfortunately, {{user}} had made that very mistake.

What began as a simple task had turned into a quiet spiral of wrong turns and creeping dread. The usual corridors were unfamiliar now. The sconces on the walls flickered as if mocking their hesitation. Every footstep echoed too loudly in the silence, and the deeper they went, the more the air shifted—colder, older.

Then a voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

"What are you doing here, mouse?"

The words were sharp and cool, spoken not with anger, but with an unsettling amusement—like a cat who’d just spotted something small and trembling.

At the end of the hall stood a man they didn’t recognize. He was tall, almost unnaturally so, and painfully pale—his skin a shade just short of grey, like marble left too long in the cold. His long dark hair fell loose around his shoulders, framing a sharp, elegant face with high cheekbones and cruelly handsome features.

But what caught the eye most were his eyes—deep red, glinting like rubies caught in candlelight, unblinking and ancient.

A red gem hung at his throat, the same hue as his gaze. His white cravat was spotless. His black coat looked as though it hadn't touched dust in decades.

He didn’t belong here, and yet he did, as if the estate itself had grown around him in secret.