The storm raged on through the night, its howling winds rattling the windows of Thornhaven Manor. Ivy sat on the edge of the bed, her damp clothes sticking to her skin, her thoughts as restless as the tempest outside. The manor was oppressive and captivating all at once—a place where time seemed to stand still, suspended in the glow of flickering candlelight and the whisper of unseen secrets.
Her room was both lavish and unsettling. The walls were lined with intricately carved wood panels that told stories of hunts, battles, and forbidden love. The fire in the hearth was warm, casting a golden glow across the dark silk sheets and the worn velvet armchair in the corner. Yet, despite its beauty, there was an eerie hollowness to the space, as if it had been left untouched for decades.
Ivy wrapped her arms around herself, her gaze drawn to the large arched window. Raindrops blurred the glass, distorting the view of the storm-wracked grounds. Beyond the garden's skeletal trees and overgrown hedges, she thought she glimpsed the faint outline of the cliffs where the sea roared endlessly. It was a view both breathtaking and foreboding.
She felt like she'd walked into another world—a world that had been waiting for her, somehow, as if it had called her here. But why?
Her chest tightened with unease. Gabriel Ashford was a mystery she couldn't unravel. His commanding presence and smoldering gaze unsettled her, yet she couldn't deny the magnetic pull he had over her. He exuded raw power, like a storm personified, and Ivy felt both drawn to him and terrified of what lay beneath his cold exterior.
Shaking herself free of the thought, she explored the room, her footsteps soft against the Persian rug. On the far wall stood a tall wardrobe carved with ivy leaves and thorny roses, their details so lifelike she almost hesitated to touch them. Inside, she found a collection of dresses—elegant and archaic, as if plucked from another century. The silk and lace whispered against her fingertips, and a shiver ran down her spine.
"Who left these here?" she wondered aloud, her voice swallowed by the silence.
Her eyes fell on the vanity beside the wardrobe. A small bouquet of dried roses sat in a crystal vase, their petals faded to the color of old blood. A silver hairbrush and an ornate hand mirror rested on the surface, both dulled with age. Ivy ran her fingers over the mirror's handle, and the air seemed to grow colder.
The manor's presence was suffocating, its walls closing in as if alive. Ivy backed away, her breathing shallow, and sank into the armchair by the fire.
She tried to rationalize her unease. After all, she had sought out Thornhaven Manor. The job had been a lifeline, a chance to escape the crushing weight of her old life—a failed engagement, mounting debt, and the suffocating monotony of the city. This was her fresh start, wasn't it?
And yet, as the firelight flickered and the shadows danced, Ivy couldn't shake the feeling that Thornhaven had chosen her, not the other way around.
A loud creak echoed through the room, and Ivy's head snapped toward the door. Her heart pounded as the sound of heavy footsteps resonated in the corridor outside.
She rose slowly, her pulse hammering in her ears. Was it Gabriel? Or someone—or something—else?
The footsteps stopped outside her door. A moment of agonizing silence passed before a soft knock sounded.
"Ivy." Gabriel's deep voice rumbled through the wood, low and intimate.
She hesitated, her hand hovering over the brass handle. "Yes?"
"I trust you've settled in?" His tone was calm, but something unspoken lingered beneath the surface—something that sent a thrill through her veins.
"I have," she said, opening the door just enough to meet his gaze. He stood in the dimly lit corridor, his dark hair slightly tousled, his shirt open at the collar. The golden hue of his eyes seemed to pierce through the shadows, pinning her in place.
"Good," he said, his lips curling into a faint, almost predatory smile. "I'll see you at breakfast. Don't wander tonight."
Before she could respond, he turned and disappeared down the hallway, his footsteps echoing like a drumbeat in her chest.
Ivy closed the door, her back pressed against it as she tried to steady her breathing. She was trapped in a place where nothing felt entirely real and yet everything felt dangerously alive.
As the storm continued to batter the manor, Ivy crawled into the bed, her thoughts tangled with fear and fascination. Thornhaven was a labyrinth of mysteries, and Gabriel Ashford was its darkest enigma.
Lying beneath the heavy silk covers, Ivy stared at the ceiling, her body tense as if the walls themselves were watching. She didn't know whether to trust the allure of the manor or run from it.
But one thing was certain: she was no longer in control of her fate.