The rain tapped gently against the tall windows of Westvale Manor.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting golden light over velvet curtains and polished marble floors. The scent of ink, old books, and lavender drifted through the halls.

He was already awake—he never truly slept.

Lord Lee Minho sat in his high-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other, flipping through pages he wasn’t reading. A clock chimed in the distance. Twelve exactly.

The manor, once filled with music and guests, now echoed with quiet footsteps and the rustle of paper.

But tonight, something different stirred the silence.

The front door creaked.

Boots lightly touched the entrance rug.

A presence.

Not a threat.

Just… her.

He didn’t need to look up.

He knew she had arrived.

The one they sent. The one who’d either break the silence—or become part of it.

"...You’ll find the guest rooms upstairs. Don’t wander into the west wing. And... knock before bringing tea."