Are you still with me, friend? Don't abandon me now. Meeting Lucius and Killian left me breathless, and on top of that, I'm trailing behind Ursula, who's marching down these hallways like a possessed automaton. I swear, it's terrifying…
The head of staff at Longfield Manor walks fast ahead of me, cutting through the underground marble corridor lined with antique lamps until we reach the employee lounge. Inside, a heavyset, red-haired man greets me kindly and points at a thick contract—two copies, more pages than a Bible.
—Carmilla Morris! Welcome. I'm Dr. Pierstein. I'll get straight to the point. See where I'm pointing? That's the page you need to sign. I highlighted the most important clauses with colored tabs.
I look at the lawyer and notice how tired and sad he seems, so I ask:
—Can I just sign and read the key points later? Honestly, I don't have much of a choice—a debt is forcing me to accept. Just show me the bonus clause and I won't waste any more of your time.
Pierstein looks surprised, smiles, and quickly answers:
—Of course. Starting today and for the next five exact years, you must remain inside this manor in service to the family. If you leave early, you forfeit the bonus—it's written clearly here. Mr. Longfield values a small circle of loyal, discreet employees. And for a gardener like you, the bonus comes to… Good God! I think I chose the wrong profession. That's an insane amount of money. There must be a mistake…
—There isn't —Ursula says from the corner, standing like a prison guard—. No mistake. The late Mrs. Diana—God rest her soul—the only wife Mr. Longfield ever had, designed those gardens. Keeping them magnificent is extremely important to the family and to this estate.
When I see the number, I freeze in shock… Now I'm doubly condemned, chained by heavy golden shackles. If I can't stand this place and leave, I'll lose Mary Garden, and just the thought of breaking my promise to Carol makes me feel like the worst person alive. But on top of that, I'd feel like a complete idiot for throwing away this kind of opportunity.
Standing there, I realize I'm still holding the note Killian slipped me, and my mind drifts back to his strong arms and his mouth inches from mine, whispering, "You're all mine, little one."
I have to confess something, friend—please don't judge me: I've never been kissed. There, I said it.
I snap out of that little daydream. The lawyer is holding out a silver pen.
—No Killian and no Lucius, understood? Please sign, and Ursula will explain clauses 7 and 8—the most important ones if you want that bonus.
I take the pen, sign, and Dr. Pierstein leaves, handing me my copy of the contract. Ursula gives it to me, looks me up and down, and says:
—We haven't hired someone this young in years, but I trust my sister's instincts. So I'm going to ignore all the red flags I'm getting just by looking at you. Now, the warnings: Clause 7 states you will not approach Killian with romantic intentions or have any private encounters with him under any circumstances—unless explicitly authorized by Mr. Longfield himself, which will never happen. If I catch you breaking this clause, you'll be gone immediately. Clause 8 is identical, but for Mr. Lucius. Listen to me, Carmilla: if I see you provoking either of the Longfield sons in any way—active or passive—I won't need permission to fire you. I'll bury you in breach-of-contract lawsuits until you wish you'd never been born.
She sounds genuinely threatening. But when I nod, she calms down a little and adds:
—That said, come on. I'll show you your room. Manuel will pick you up early tomorrow—he's been our gardener for twenty-five years, but he's getting too old. Read the full contract if you want, but remember: no Killian, no Lucius.
I bite my lip and follow her down another endless underground hallway. We climb a wide staircase, and when we step out, there's my door. Ursula opens it, and I'm surprised.
The room is beautiful—high ceilings, a big bed, a huge TV, high-end speakers, a music collection, and a small but charming library.
I pull out my phone and ask:
—Mrs. Ursula, could you tell me how to get signal here? I still haven't canceled the services at my old house and I need to—
She doesn't answer. She just holds out her hand. I understand and give her my phone. She pulls out a newer, more expensive one from her pocket.
—Here. This is yours now. Keep it on you twenty-four seven. You'll see the messaging app only has four contacts enabled for now: Mr. Longfield—who will never message you, but has every right to if he even knew you existed. He is the absolute authority here. Everyone answers his call. You also have Killian and Lucius, though they won't contact you directly—they'll always go through me first, as they should. And of course, you have me. Later I'll activate more contacts as I see fit. The phone can't call outside numbers. As stated in the contract, any external calls must be made on the landline. The guards monitor everything… It's all in the contract. In the closet you'll find various uniforms in your size. Any questions, Carmilla?
I hesitate, but Killian's bright green eyes are still burned into my mind. Trying to sound casual, I ask:
—Look, Mrs. Ursula, I need to know how to respond if Lucius or Killian approach me on their own. I don't want to be accused of breaking clauses 7 and 8. I just want to do my job and stay out of trouble.
For a second, I feel proud of how well I phrased it—but Ursula's face twists with rage. She steps closer like she's about to slap me, stops, places her hand on my shoulder, tilts her head, and glares at me.
—Poor thing, you still don't understand. Those boys are the future leaders of the new world. What kind of future would we have if they wasted their time on someone like you? It will never happen. And if I catch you near them, I will make your life a living hell. Understood, Carmilla?
She doesn't wait for an answer and leaves.
I walk to the closet. There are dozens of clothes—shoes, uniforms, basics like jeans and T-shirts. A huge salad and pitchers of water and orange juice wait on the table, but I'm too anxious and exhausted. I decide to take a bath instead.
God, the tub is enormous and antique, made of bronze with a big curved faucet.
I undress, put on some music, drink a little juice, and sink into that magnificent tub. I don't even remember falling asleep.
A sharp sound wakes me, then another… For a few seconds I don't recognize it—or even where I am—until I realize it's the phone Ursula gave me.
I climb out of the tub, wrap myself in a towel, and run to grab it, thinking, What does this woman want now?
There's an insistent green notification. I open it… and there he is.
Killian has sent a selfie from the wine cellar. He's wearing a plaid shirt, looking relaxed, holding a plate with two burgers. On the table sits a bottle of wine and two large glasses. Two buttons are undone, and his chest looks sculpted, like an iron Apollo statue.
The text reads: "Figured you'd be hungry. It's almost midnight, little one. Come."
Another message appears: his location on a 3D map of the manor. Sixty meters away, two floors down.
What am I supposed to reply? Help me, friend. And to make it worse, my copy of the contract is sitting on the bed, and I can't stop thinking about clause 7… I probably won't even last one night here.
Come on. Tell me what to do—say it out loud. Should I go?
I can already hear you screaming, "Go to that damn wine cellar right now!" and I think I'm going to listen to you. I've never been kissed, so the chances I know more about this than you are basically zero…
Yes, you're right. Deep down, I know you are. But I don't even understand if what I'm feeling right now happens to every girl. Thanks for helping me…
I grab the phone and reply:
"I just got out of the bath and I'm still naked. I'll get dressed and come down. Give me a few minutes."
The second I send it, I realize how it sounds.
No. No. No.
He's going to think I'm a slut.
I wish the earth would swallow me whole right now. I swear, friend, I didn't mean it like that. Oh God—he's seen it… he's typing… but then he stops. He deletes it.
Shit. He definitely noticed.
In the end, Ursula and her sister were right—I'm not on their level. I'm just a girl who learned everything about men and life from books, movies, and the advice of a lonely woman like Carol.
If only I had met you sooner, friend…
I stand there frozen for a moment. Then I pull on a simple white blouse to cover my small breasts and the least sexy pair of jeans I can find.
He hasn't replied.
I'm about to go downstairs and get humiliated—probably find cold burgers and a note that says:
"Sorry, I left. Had something more important to do than waste time with you. Goodbye, Vulgar Girl."
I gather my courage and open the door.
But Killian is standing right there.
Gorgeous. His long hair falling over one side of his face. In one hand, he holds the bottle of wine and the glasses. He's so tall he rests his other arm on the doorframe, leans in, looks straight into my eyes, and says:
—I have something to confess…
He brings his big, strong hand to my face. I freeze.
He runs one finger across my lips and adds:
—Before you finish your first glass of this exquisite Cabernet Franc, I'm going to bite that mouth and carry you to that bed, where I'll kiss you until you go weak in my arms. Come here, little one…