The next day just as the night before moonlight crept weakly through the high, narrow window of Ella’s room, casting long shadows across the stone floor. It was cold. The kind of cold that seeped into her bones and made her limbs feel heavy and numb. She shivered, rubbing her arms as she sat up in the small bed, trying to shake off the restless sleep that had been filled with twisted, haunting dreams.
Today, she will meet them. The brothers. The vampires.
Her heart pounded in her chest at the thought. Though she had briefly met Adrian, his icy gaze and commanding presence had been enough to remind her that she was nothing but prey in this place — a lamb thrown into a den of wolves. And the wolves had yet to reveal their full, terrifying nature.
A knock at the door made her jump and she quickly stood, smoothing her hands over her plain dress. She wasn’t ready for this, but when would she ever be?
The door creaked open, revealing Mr. Hawke, the butler, his face as cold and impassive as ever. "It is time," he said, his voice as emotionless as stone. "The masters are expecting you."
Ella swallowed hard and nodded. She had no choice in the matter. She was here to serve, to endure, to survive.
Two maids flitted around her, adjusting the dress, arranging her hair and fastening delicate jewelry, their faces expressionless but their movements quick and precise.
The dress was unlike anything Ella had ever imagined wearing. It was a deep, rich midnight blue, made of the finest silk that shimmered with each shift of her body, catching the low light of the room in its folds. The bodice was tight, hugging her figure closely, with a subtle sweetheart neckline that exposed the skin of her collarbones. The fabric clung to her waist, accentuating her curves before flowing into a long, elegant skirt that brushed the floor, trailing behind her like the tail of a dark star.
Delicate silver embroidery traced the hem of the gown and spiraled up the bodice in intricate, almost otherworldly patterns, the design reminiscent of curling vines and thorns. It was beautiful, breathtaking even, but there was something ominous about it — as if the dress had been crafted not just to adorn her, but to bind her to this place.
As one of the maids adjusted the gown’s fit, the other began fastening a necklace around Ella’s throat. The jewelry was equally stunning: a choker of gleaming black diamonds set in silver, each gem glittering with an unnatural, almost predatory gleam. It felt heavy against her skin, both in weight and meaning. From it hung a single, blood-red ruby, the stone catching the light and glinting like a drop of freshly spilled blood. Matching earrings dangled from her ears, the cold metal brushing her neck.
Her hair, usually left to fall in messy dark brown waves, had been swept up by the maids into a loose, elegant updo, with a few soft tendrils left to frame her face. The transformation was almost shocking — she looked like she belonged at the grandest of courts, a noblewoman rather than a servant. The contrast between her appearance and her role in the manor unsettled her.
One of the maids stepped back, smoothing out a final wrinkle in the gown before meeting Ella’s gaze in the mirror. The maid’s eyes flickered with something — perhaps pity, or perhaps understanding — but it was gone in an instant as she stepped aside.
“She is ready,” the maid said softly, her tone flat but respectful.
Ella stared at herself, her breath catching in her throat. The dress, the jewelry, the elegant hairstyle — it all felt like a mask, a disguise that could not hide the fear simmering beneath her skin. She didn’t feel like herself. She felt like a pawn in a game she barely understood, dressed up for display.
She swallowed hard, her fingers brushing the cold, smooth ruby at her throat. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it with all the strength she could muster. The dress may have made her look like someone else, but beneath it, she was still Ella, and she had to survive.
"Good job," the butler said, addressing the maids, giving Ella a scrutinizing look from head to toe. "Now she looks appropriate."
His voice lowered slightly as if the gravity of the situation had finally pierced his cold demeanor. "You are to meet the masters now."
She followed him through the long, winding corridors of Blackthorn Manor, her steps echoing in the oppressive silence. The manor was a labyrinth of dark wood, stone walls and eerie portraits. Shadows clung to the corners, making it feel like the house itself was alive, watching her with unseen eyes.
"Remember what I told you — obedience is paramount. Do not speak unless spoken to, and do not disrespect them. Your life may depend on it."
Ella’s heart stuttered in her chest, her throat dry. She nodded, though her legs felt weak beneath her.
“Duke Adrian is the eldest and thus the future head of this illustrious house.” Mr. Hawke started, “You will address him as 'Your Grace'. He expects nothing short of absolute obedience and efficiency. His patience is notoriously short, and he does not tolerate incompetence."
The butler spoke quietly, as if the walls had ears and could at any moment absorb the valuable information he was now giving to Ella, yet his words were clear and sharp; it was obvious that he would not repeat himself. Whether he was trying to help the young girl in a difficult situation or simply protect himself from potential problems caused by the new servant — Ella could not say.
"Lord Lucien is the second eldest.” he continued, “His mind is his greatest weapon, and he spends much of his time in study. Should you be called upon to serve him, ensure you do so quietly and efficiently."
As he continued down the long corridor, the man glanced over his shoulder at Eleonor to make sure she was listening carefully and remembering the valuable details he had so graciously decided to share with her.
"Alright," she replied briefly with a quick nod.
Satisfied with a quiet grunt, Mr. Hawke returned to his instructions. "Lord Sebastian is the third-born. He is... perhaps the most charming of the brothers. But do not mistake his lighthearted nature for harmlessness. Beneath his wit lies a sharp edge." The butler paused for just a moment, quickly straightened the frame of a small portrait he passed by and then continued, "Lord Vincent. He is the fourth-born, and his strength is unmatched. Do not test his patience, and do not misinterpret his silence for indifference."
After what felt like an eternity, they reached a set of tall double doors. Mr. Hawke stopped, turning to face her, adjusted the edges of his jacket and lapels, then said in conclusion: "Lord Raphael — the youngest. He is kind, perhaps kinder than his brothers, but do not take his gentleness for weakness."
He once again cast a meticulous look at the girl, raising his chin and one eyebrow as if silently asking her the only question — had she understood everything?
"Yes, Mr. Hawke. I'll remember," Ella replied, then added more quietly, "Thank you..."
In response, Mr. Hawke simply turned silently toward the doors and opened them with a slow creak.
The room was grand, even more imposing than the drawing room where she had first met Adrian. Tall windows draped in dark velvet allowed slivers of pale light to filter in, casting eerie patterns on the stone floor. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, its candles flickering like distant stars in the dim light. The air was thick with the scent of old books, leather, and something else she couldn't quite place — a tangy, metallic odor that made her stomach churn.
Then she saw them.
The five brothers were seated around the large, ornate table, their skin glowing faintly in the low light, eyes fixed on her as though she were a prize being presented for inspection.
"Eleanor Alonso," the butler announced, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Allow me the honor of introducing the five heirs to the house of de Vallière, your masters."
At the head of the table sat Adrian, his sharp features as imposing as they had been the night before. His dark hair was neatly tied back, his expression one of cool indifference as he leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. His icy blue eyes flicked over her briefly, as though already bored.
"His Grace, Duke Adrian de Vallière." The butler began formally announcing each of the lords, giving a brief nod before each one as they were introduced.
Next to Duke sat Lucien with a book open before him. He barely looked up as she entered, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he turned a page. His skin was even paler than Adrian’s, and his features were more angular, giving him an almost statuesque appearance. He wore a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose, which only enhanced the air of quiet intellect that surrounded him.
Then there was Sebastian, lounging in his chair with a lazy grin. His golden hair was tousled, his eyes glinting with mischief as he openly raked his gaze over her. He was the most outwardly handsome of the brothers, with a devil-may-care attitude that made him seem almost approachable — almost. But beneath his playful exterior, there was something dangerous in the way he smiled at her, like a predator who enjoyed toying with his prey before the kill.
Vincent sat to the side, his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes glaring at her with undisguised contempt. He was broader than the others, with a muscular frame that suggested he was no stranger to violence. His black hair was cropped close to his head, and there was a permanent scowl etched into his face, as though her very presence offended him. He looked ready to pounce, like a coiled snake waiting for an excuse to strike.
And finally, Raphael. He sat quietly, his hands folded neatly in his lap, his soft brown hair falling in gentle waves around his face. His expression was kind — almost too kind — and his green eyes seemed to hold a sadness that tugged at her heart. He was the only one who smiled at her, though it was a small, almost sorrowful smile, as though he pitied her for the fate that had befallen her.
She stood frozen, her heart racing. The weight of their gazes felt suffocating.
"Eleanor Alonso," Duke Adrian said, his voice cutting through the silence. "From this day forward, you are bound to this house, to us," he continued, tone as cold and commanding as ever. "You will serve each of us in whatever capacity we see fit, and in return, we will allow you to continue living under our protection. Do you understand that?"
Ella’s throat tightened with a spasm of fear mixed with nerves, but she managed to nod. "Yes, Your Grace," she whispered, voice barely audible.
"Good," Adrian said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You will learn quickly that defiance will not be tolerated here."
There was a tense silence before Sebastian broke it with a laugh. "Oh, Adrian, must you be so serious all the time?" He stood, walking over to Ella with an easy grace that belied his true nature. "You’re scaring the poor girl."
He stopped just in front of her, close enough that she could smell the faint scent of smoke and leather that clung to him. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "There’s no need to be afraid, little bird," he said softly, while his eyes glittering with amusement. "We won’t bite… yet."
Ella’s heart skipped a beat, and she took a step back, her skin tingling where his fingers had touched her. She could feel the heat of his gaze, the intensity of his presence. He was dangerous — they all were — but Sebastian seemed to enjoy playing with that danger.
"Enough, Sebastian," Lucien said, his voice quiet but firm. He still hadn’t looked up from his book. "You’re being insufferable."
Sebastian chuckled but stepped back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I’ll behave — for now."
Vincent’s dark gaze bored into her, his lip curling in disdain. "This one won’t last long," he muttered under his breath, though loud enough for everyone to hear. "She’s weak."
Ella’s cheeks burned with anger, but she bit her tongue, refusing to rise to the bait. She knew better than to provoke him.
"Vincent," Raphael said softly, his voice carrying a quiet authority that surprised her. "Don’t be cruel. She hasn’t even had a chance yet."
Vincent’s glare shifted to Raphael, but he said nothing, only scoffing under his breath.
Adrian stood from his seat, effectively ending the discussion. He walked toward her with measured steps, his eyes piercing as they locked onto hers.
Ella swallowed hard, her body trembling as she again nodded. She noted ironically to herself that this was perhaps the only thing she had been capable of during conversations in recent days.
Adrian’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her alone with the four remaining brothers.
Lucien finally looked up from his book, his gaze cool and analytical. "Don’t let them frighten you," he said, though there was no warmth in his voice. "This place… it has rules. Learn them quickly and you may survive."
Ella stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. Sebastian smirked at her, while Vincent continued to glare daggers in her direction. Raphael offered her a kind smile, but even that did little to ease the knot of fear in her chest.
This was her new life. She had to endure it. She had to survive.