Episode 1

Julia

The car engine purrs softly as we advance along the winding road. The silence inside the vehicle weighs like lead, broken only by the sound of tires on the asphalt. Blackwood's butler keeps his eyes fixed on the road, his posture rigid and impeccable, as if he were transporting something valuable – or perhaps, something condemned.

My stomach churns. All of this seems too surreal. Too bizarre.

My parents… if I can even call them that. They're nothing more than jailers disguised as family, cold people who raised me with rules and punishments instead of love.

"Having friends, Julia? No way. Going out and socializing? That's blasphemy against our principles!"

The words still echo in my mind, like chains that never broke. A trapped bird – that's how I've always felt. Only now, the cage is changing places.

And as for the damned old man they sold me to like a piece of merchandise? Let him wait.

If he thinks he's going to marry a docile and submissive wife, someone who bows her head and accepts this madness, he's sorely mistaken. You just wait, you disgusting pig.

— We're arriving, Miss Julia. — The butler's voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I cross my arms, sinking into the car seat. At eighteen, I should be out there, living, enjoying… kissing random cute guys at some party. But instead, I'm here, being taken to the Beelzebub of hell.

Gradually, the enormous Blackwood estate reveals itself before me. The gate opens slowly, creaking as if it bears the weight of centuries of secrets. The dark garden is punctuated by stone wolf statues, so imposing they seem to watch anyone who dares to cross the entrance.

"This old man must be a sick sadist."

The night is cold, and the biting wind enters through the window, making my skin crawl. I slide my fingers over my wedding dress – because yes, this sicko demanded I come dressed like this. As if this farce needed to seem more theatrical than it already is.

I don't cry anymore.

I cried when I found out I would be sold.

I cried when I tried to run away and they brought me back.

I cried until all my tears dried up.

Now, all I have left is mockery.

And I hope he read my letters. Ah, the letters. I sent several, each worse than the last. But one in particular comes to mind, and I can't help but smirk maliciously as I remember the final passage:

"Dear and esteemed Mr. Blackwood, you goddamn shitty tyrant! I hope you have a heart attack reading this and go back to the hole you should never have crawled out of. Sincerely, your future wife."

Ah, if he really received that… If he survived reading it, of course.

The car slows down as it approaches the main entrance of the mansion. The entrance hall appears before me, illuminated only by the cold glow of cast-iron posts. The sound of the tires on the gravel makes my heart race, as if every meter covered pulls me further into this life sentence.

Then, finally, the car stops.

— Here we are, Mrs. Blackwood. — The butler's voice sounds firm, without any emotion.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. My eyes scan the mansion before me. The place is grand, yes, but it also has something suffocating about it, as if it hides secrets that shouldn't be discovered.

The car door opens and the cold night wind envelops me. I hold the hem of my dress and get out slowly, feeling the icy stone floor beneath my feet. My future husband must be so senile he can't even walk anymore, that has to be it.

Considering our marriage papers were signed without him even bothering to see me in person, I married this nuisance in my own home.

Now, I'm just an offering being delivered to the monster. In the 21st century, and it seems we haven't evolved a damn bit.

— Mr. Blackwood awaits you. — The butler maintains his impassive expression. — Your dinner is already served.

I cough, almost choking on my own saliva.

First dinner as a couple?!

That's a good one. Considering my husband must be old enough to be my grandfather, the least I expect is for him to be so crazy he won't bother me.

I adjust my dress, lift my chin, and follow the butler into the mansion.

If this disgusting old man thinks I'll be a trinket decorating his house, he's sorely mistaken.

(...)

With every step I take into the mansion, I feel the air around me grow heavier. The silence is almost suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic sound of my heels echoing on the polished marble floor. Cold. Gigantic. Empty.

The Blackwood mansion is all that and more.

Immense chandeliers hang from the ceiling, their golden lights reflecting in antique mirrors, creating ghostly shadows on the dark stone walls. Old portraits watch me from their places, serious faces, piercing gazes – Blackwood's ancestors, no doubt. A lineage of powerful and, apparently, not very friendly men.

The butler walks ahead of me, his step firm and calculated. I follow him without question, without really wanting to know where I'm going. The smell of aged wood, candles, and something else – something earthy, perhaps moss or wet forest – invades my nostrils.

My mind boils with questions. Where the hell is my husband?

A man who demands a marriage without even meeting the bride, but who now doesn't even bother to receive me personally? Pathetic.

— Mr. Blackwood awaits you in the dining room. — The butler informs without emotion, stopping before a massive wooden door.

My stomach churns. So this is it.

My mind races, imagining what the disgusting old man who bought me as if I were a collector's item will look like. Will he be wrinkled, bald, and drooling on his own tie? Or will he be one of those old geezers who try to look young, dyeing their hair and wearing expensive suits to hide their decay?

Either way, I'm not ready.

But since there's no escape, I lift my chin, take a deep breath, and push the door open.

The dining room is as opulent as the rest of the mansion. A fireplace crackles at one end, illuminating the space with a warm, flickering light. The table is immense, made of dark mahogany, with hand-carved details – and empty, except for a single occupied chair at the head.

And then I see him.

Dante Blackwood.

And, to my surprise, he's not an old man.

In fact, he couldn't be further from it.

He is sitting with impeccable posture, a glass of wine between his fingers. Black hair falls over his forehead in a careless manner, as if he doesn't care about the perfection of his appearance – which only makes him more intimidating. The close-cropped, well-defined beard outlines his strong jaw, and his eyes…

His eyes.

They are a deep amber, shining in an unusual way in the firelight, as if hiding something wild within them.

He doesn't look away when I enter, doesn't stand up, doesn't bother to welcome me. He just watches me, studying me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle.

It's nothing like I expected.

And, suddenly, I have the feeling that I've gotten myself into something much worse than I imagined.

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