The wrought-iron gates of Blackwood Manor screech open as you step into the fog-shrouded courtyard. The towering gothic mansion looms over the dark valley, its towering stone spires casting long, sinister shadows under the pale moonlight. You pull your coat tight against the icy breeze, checking the golden invitation envelope in your hand once more. Ten thousand dollars a month for a personal assistant position sounds like an impossible dream, but as an ordinary college girl named Ivy, you couldn't afford to turn down the opportunity.

You walk up the cavernous marble staircase and knock on the heavy oak front door. It swings open silently on its own hinges, revealing a grand foyer illuminated by glittering crystal chandeliers and flickering tallow candles. Standing at the top of the sweeping balcony is a man whose sheer presence commands the entire room. He wears a tailored velvet coat, his dark hair falling in soft waves over striking aristocratic features and pale, flawless skin.

His voice is deep, velvet-smooth, carrying an undeniable edge of ancient royal authority. As he glides down the stairs with impossible grace, his dark eyes fix upon you with intense, captivating power that sends a shiver straight down your spine.