The Wolfe Mansion sat like a silent fortress under the dying glow of the evening sun, its towering iron gates creaking open as Evelyn stepped into a world far removed from anything she'd known. The sharp scent of cedarwood and the distant sound of violins playing inside greeted her like an eerie welcome.
Damien's fingers grazed her lower back as he led her up the marble stairs. "From now on, you'll play by my rules, Evelyn," he murmured low, possessive.
Her breath hitched.
She hated that his voice—velvet laced with poison—sent a thrill down her spine.
"You say that like I have a choice," she replied, keeping her chin high even as her heels clicked on the cold floor.
"You don't," he smiled, almost sadly. "You gave that up the moment you signed my name."
---
Inside the Mansion
The grand chandelier above them sparkled with a thousand diamonds. The hallway stretched like an ancient cathedral—paintings of grim-eyed ancestors watching her with secrets carved into every oil stroke.
Evelyn's fingers curled tighter around the strap of her purse. The scent of old paper and aged wine filled the air. It was beautiful. Imposing. Dangerous.
A perfect reflection of the man beside her.
"Your room is at the east wing," Damien said casually. "Opposite mine. The staff will bring your things."
"No shared bedroom? I thought this was a real marriage," she quipped, masking the flutter of fear beneath her sarcasm.
He leaned closer, lips brushing her ear. "Don't tempt me."
---
Dinner with the Devil
Later that night, a storm cracked across the sky as she sat across from him at a long mahogany table—so large it felt symbolic of the distance he wanted.
The food was untouched. The air buzzed with something unsaid.
Damien set down his wine glass. "Why did you agree to this, really?"
She met his gaze. "To save my sister. Isn't that obvious?"
His jaw clenched. "Or maybe... you're here to destroy me."
She flinched. "Excuse me?"
"I've learned not to trust people with angelic faces. They always have daggers in their mouths."
Evelyn's fingers tightened around her fork. "And I've learned not to trust men who smile like they own the world."
He chuckled. "But I do own the world, Mrs. Wolfe. Starting with you."
---
A Visitor in the Dark
That night, Evelyn lay awake in the unfamiliar luxury of silk sheets. The storm howled outside as her heart echoed louder than thunder.
Then she heard it.
Whispers. In her room.
She sat up, breath caught in her throat.
The lights flickered. Her reflection in the mirror moved differently, slower than her own.
No. No. It wasn't her.
The figure in the mirror had blood dripping down its temple. A woman—no, a girl—wearing a nightgown from another century.
"Don't trust the one who bears the Wolfe name…" the reflection whispered.
Evelyn screamed.
Suddenly the door burst open—Damien rushed in, shirt undone, eyes wild. "Evelyn!"
She was pale, shaking. "There was someone… something…"
He reached her, gripping her shoulders. "You're cold. You're trembling. Evelyn, look at me!"
"I'm not crazy," she whispered, pleading.
He stared at her, silent. His expression unreadable.
But then he slowly reached up… and brushed his thumb across her temple with unexpected tenderness. "You're not crazy. You're cursed."
---
Secrets Under Moonlight
They stood out on the balcony moments later, the rain softening. Damien leaned against the cold railing, moonlight kissing the contours of his sharp face.
He looked... human for once.
"You knew, didn't you?" Evelyn whispered.
He didn't turn. "That something haunted this place? Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because the curse isn't about the mansion. It's about us."
Her heart froze.
He finally turned, eyes shadowed with guilt and something deeper—regret? Pain?
"Every woman who's ever married into the Wolfe bloodline…" he began. "Has died before her time."
Evelyn's lips parted, horror crashing through her like glass.
"You mean I—"
"You have 90 days, Evelyn."
She stumbled back.
He caught her wrist. "Unless we find the origin. Break it. Together."
She looked up at him.
In that moment, she wasn't sure what was more terrifying—the curse threatening to kill her…
Or the growing desire to trust the man who might be her executioner.
The Deal Beneath the Mask
The limousine was too quiet. The city lights flickered past the tinted windows, a blur of gold and grey, while Evelyn sat still as stone in the leather seat, her fingers twisted in her lap.
Damien hadn't spoken a word since they left the gala.
She could feel his gaze burning into her, like the cold flame of a predator studying its prey. He hadn't removed the mask. Neither had she.
"Why did you bring me here?" she finally asked, voice low.
"You asked me to save your sister," he replied evenly, his voice as smooth as silk and just as sharp. "I'm offering you a way."
Evelyn turned toward him. "A way that involves… marrying a stranger who speaks in riddles and wears a mask?"
Damien smiled, but there was no joy in it. "You forget, Ms. Hart. You're the one who approached me. You crossed into my world."
"And now I regret it."
"No," he said coolly. "You're just afraid of the price."
A silence fell again, weighted with things unsaid. Then he added, "There's a file under your seat. Read it."
She hesitated before reaching down. A leather folder. Inside, photographs — her sister in a hospital bed. A medical file. Evelyn's eyes widened.
"This is real…"
"Stage four neuroblastoma," he said. "She has two months at best. But I have access to a clinical trial in Zurich. One of the best in the world."
Her throat tightened. "But it's full."
"Not for me. I can get her in."
She stared at the images again, her hands trembling. "What do you want in return?"
Damien turned fully toward her now, his face still cloaked by the Venetian mask. "You marry me. Publicly. For six months. Be the perfect wife. Attend events. Smile on command. Sleep in the same mansion."
Evelyn's heart thundered. "And after six months?"
"I'll divorce you. You'll walk away with your sister cured… and ten million dollars."
It was everything she needed. Everything she couldn't afford to refuse.
"But why me?" she asked softly.
"You'll learn in time," Damien murmured, turning his gaze to the window. "Or perhaps you won't. Either way… I always pay my debts. And I always collect what's owed."
---
Back at the Penthouse
Evelyn signed the contract that night, hand shaking, heart in pieces.
"Your wedding is in three days," Damien said as she laid the pen down.
"What do I tell my sister?"
"That I'm your fiancé. And you fell in love."
She scoffed. "Romantic."
"I'm not asking for love," Damien said, standing. "I'm asking for obedience."
He left the room, his scent lingering like expensive cologne and danger. Evelyn stared at the paper, already feeling the invisible chains tighten around her.
---
The First Night in the Mansion
Her new home looked like something out of a fairytale. Tall iron gates. A driveway lined with black roses. The mansion stood like a haunted memory from another life.
She was ushered to a guest room by a maid who didn't speak a word.
At midnight, a knock.
She opened the door—and found Damien standing there, mask off.
For the first time, she saw his full face.
He was painfully beautiful. Dark hair tousled like he ruled chaos, eyes like molten steel, lips sharp enough to cut truth.
But his eyes—God, his eyes—they were familiar.
Too familiar.
She stepped back. "Have we… met before?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at her, gaze full of secrets and sorrow.
"I don't bite," he said with a cruel smile. "Unless you ask nicely."
And then he turned and disappeared down the corridor, leaving her drowning in questions and the rising feeling that this marriage was more than a transaction…
It was a trap.
And she had walked straight into it.