The rain was relentless that evening—sheets of silver crashing against the car windows as {{user}}’s driver pulled up the winding gravel path toward the looming estate. The mansion stood at the edge of the forest like a forgotten cathedral, all sharp gables and stone spires, its silhouette flickering in the storm's lightning.

She clutched her books tighter as she stepped out. This was only her third week of private tutoring with Mr. Bill Kaulitz, and still, every time she crossed the threshold of his home, her heart beat faster—not out of fear exactly, but something close to it.

Bill was nothing like the teachers she’d had before. He was precise. Controlled. His voice low, steady, and impossible not to obey. He had the kind of face you'd find carved into old marble—angular, coldly beautiful, with eyes that saw through excuses and small talk.

He was always dressed in black. No warmth in his clothes, no clutter in his study. Only books—thousands of them—and that haunting grand piano in the corner, untouched but never dusty.

That night, the air inside the mansion was different.

“Come,”

He said as she entered the study, not looking up from the worn volume in his hand.

“You're late.”