It's beautiful. Actually, it's more than that. It’s luxury wrapped in something mysterious. It whispers old-world vampire shit—makes me think of those Dracula films they used to make when color wasn't even an option yet.
My fingers twitch with the urge to touch the walls, see if they hold secrets beneath their surface. Like me.
“You know what this reminds me of?” Asher parks but doesn't cut the engine. “Those movies where the innocent girl shows up at the haunted house and everyone's begging her not to go in.”
“Except I'm not innocent.”
His eyes swing to mine. “Really…”
I shift under that word and reach for the door handle, but his voice stops me. “Wait. Before we go in there, my lawyers need to see whatever paperwork they're shoving at you.”
“I can handle—”
“Ivy.” The way he says my name cuts through my protest. “This island? It's not just about privacy laws. There's no government here. No taxes. No rules except the ones they make themselves. You know what kind of people buy property on an island with no government?”
I feign shock. “People who need to hide things.”
“Exactly.” He kills the engine. “So whatever distant cousin or great aunt left you this Gothic wet dream, they weren't collecting flowers as a hobby.”
I stare up at the house—my house—and wonder what secrets are frozen behind those black walls. What kind of person was mybenefactor? What did they do that required them to live on an island where laws don't reach?
“You backing out?” There's challenge in his voice, but underneath it, something else. Concern, maybe. He'd turn this car around if I asked.
“No!” I snap, not bothering to hide a smirk. “But your lawyers better be quick.”
“Considering he has me on speed dial, yeah, he is.” He snatches my phone and taps it a few times before handing it back. I don't even bother fighting him, since Asher does what he wants to do anyway, it's easier to just ride it out. Fighting Asher is like trying to control the weather. Pointless and exhausting.
While Asher does his thing, I take in the smaller details. Rose vines crawl up the wall greedily, dropping to thick gardens that surround the front door. It's meticulous. Almost possessive. There are black roses and some other flowers I can't name. Never been a green thumb, even though I liked to try. Maybe this house will allow my dirty soul to penetrate its soil.
The mansion itself is a contradiction—modern architecture with gothic bones. Even the windows reflect nothing but darkness back into the world. As if it's absorbing all the light.
Yep. I was right. Three stories of polished obsidian and gleaming metal, designed to intimidate visitors before they even reach the front door.
It would work. If I wasn’t me.
A fountain stands in the center of the circular driveway, water running black over stone carved into shapes I can't quite make out from this distance—figures twisted in what might be ecstasy or agony.
I can't help but wonder if it wasn't built to be a home, but more a statement. A warning. A beautiful nightmare carved into reality.
Huh.
Asher' clears his throat. “We're good. Let’s go.”
He's already moving around to my side, and before I can protest, his hand finds the small of my back.
The brass handle turns cold under my palm, and the door swings open on silent hinges. Darkness greets us first, thick and patient, waiting.
Asher's hand presses firmer against my back as we step inside. My boots hit black marble floors that devour every drop of light. The foyer stretches three stories high, and somewhere above us, a chandelier hangs with crystal and iron.
“Cozy.” Asher mutters. “It’s really giving that 'happy family gatherings’ vibe.”
I fumble for a light switch, find nothing but smooth stone. “Maybe they preferred the dark.”
“Of course they did.” He pulls out his phone, the screen's glow carving harsh shadows across his face. “Probably made their victims feel right at home.”
“You're hilarious,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. Give it to Asher to turn something like this into comedy.
“I'm practical. Look at this place.” His phone light sweeps across oil paintings in heavy frames. Faces stare down at us, pale, dressed in black. “Tell me your great-great-whoever didn't dismember people in the basement.”
