Adrian barely slept. The bed was soft, the sheets fragrant with lavender, but his mind was ablaze with fragments of the night—Selene's whisper, the brush of her lips, the heat of her gaze that lingered long after she left him by the library fire. The House of Shadows was alive in his thoughts, not as stone and wood, but as something pulsing, throbbing, demanding.
When dawn arrived, pale and silver through his curtains, Adrian rose. Servants in black and white drifted through the corridors like wraiths, silent and efficient. They greeted him with bows but never words, their faces unreadable masks. Even the breakfast hall was eerily quiet despite the spread of fruits, warm bread, and dark coffee that steamed with bitter richness.
He wasn't alone for long. Selene entered with the grace of a queen returning to her throne. Her dark hair shimmered under the morning light, her gown of deep crimson clinging to her figure in a way that suggested deliberate provocation. She sat opposite him, her amber eyes fixed upon him, unblinking.
"You look troubled," she murmured, sipping from a delicate porcelain cup.
Adrian forced a smile. "Not troubled. Restless, perhaps. This place—it stirs something in me."
Selene's lips curved into that knowing smile of hers, the kind that made him feel both desired and devoured. "The House does that. It awakens hunger. Some mistake it for love, others for madness. But it is only hunger—pure, sharp, insatiable."
Her words unsettled him, yet they also drew him closer. He leaned forward, his hand brushing against hers across the table. For a moment, she let the contact linger, her fingers soft, warm. Then she pulled away, tilting her head as though studying him like a puzzle piece.
"Do you know why you were invited here, Adrian?" she asked.
He hesitated. "Because I accepted?"
"No," she said, her voice dropping low, silk against steel. "Because you were chosen. Every guest is chosen, though most never ask why. But you… you'll ask. You'll search. And when you do, you'll find what you crave."
Her words lingered like smoke in his chest. Chosen. Crave. The language of temptation and prophecy. He wanted to press further, to demand answers, but Selene's eyes softened, shifting from mystery to intimacy.
She leaned forward, her lips close to his ear, her breath warm and dizzying. "Tonight, after the feast, come to the garden. There are things I wish to show you… things only for you."
Adrian felt a tremor pass through him. He nodded without speaking, his throat dry. She pulled back with a satisfied smile, her fingers lightly grazing his wrist as she rose.
When she left, the hall felt emptier than before.
The day passed in a haze of introductions. Adrian was drawn into the orbit of the other women, each with her own gravity.
Liora, fiery-haired and sharp-eyed, met him in the library. She laughed easily, spoke boldly, and every word seemed designed to spark. She teased him about his ignorance of the estate's history, leaning too close, her hand "accidentally" brushing his arm more than once.
Maris, the platinum-haired beauty, was his partner for an afternoon walk through the corridors. She spoke little, but when she did, her voice was precise, deliberate. She stopped by a painting—an old scene of lovers entwined, one figure veiled in shadow. Her hand hovered near his, not touching, but the space between them buzzed with unspoken promise.
And then Evelyn, gentle Evelyn, found him in the music room. She played the piano, her golden eyes watching him as much as the keys. Her melody was soft, yearning, and when she invited him to sit beside her, their thighs pressed just enough to send warmth spiraling through him. She blushed when their hands touched on the keys, but she didn't move away.
Each encounter left him more tangled, more restless. Each woman seemed not only to desire him, but to draw something out of him—different fragments of his soul. He felt himself multiply, become a different Adrian with each.
And yet, always, Selene's voice echoed in the back of his mind: Tonight. The garden.
The feast was a spectacle. Chandeliers glittered overhead, music swelled, and laughter filled the hall. Wine flowed like blood, sweet and heady. Adrian barely touched the food; his senses were fixed on Selene, who sat across the table, her gaze burning through him.
As the guests danced and mingled, he slipped away. The garden lay beyond marble arches, bathed in silver moonlight. Roses climbed the trellises, their petals black as velvet. Fountains whispered in the stillness, and the air was heavy with the scent of night-blooming flowers.
And there, beneath the shade of a cypress tree, Selene waited.
She wore a gown of midnight silk, her shoulders bare, her hair cascading in dark waves. The moonlight turned her eyes into molten gold. She did not speak at first, only held out her hand.
Adrian took it. The touch was electric, sending a shiver through him.
"You came," she whispered, her lips curving.
"I couldn't stay away," he admitted.
Her smile deepened, and she drew him closer. Their bodies nearly touched, the air between them tight with unspoken desire. Selene's fingers traced his jaw, her nails light as feathers.
"Then listen well, Adrian," she said, her voice low, dangerous. "This house will give you everything you desire—every touch, every kiss, every embrace. But desire is never free. The more you take, the more it takes from you."
Before he could respond, she pressed her lips to his. The kiss was fierce, consuming, tasting of fire and darkness. He surrendered, his arms around her, their bodies melting into one another beneath the watchful moon.
When they finally pulled apart, breathless, Selene whispered against his lips:
"And yet… isn't it worth the cost?"
Adrian's answer was not in words, but in the way he kissed her again—hungry, reckless, already caught in the web he did not yet understand.