Chapter 1

Violet Rowe pressed her hands together to stop them from trembling. The carriage ride had been smooth, but the sight of the looming Halloway estate sent an involuntary shiver through her. It was larger than she had expected, its grey stone façade imposing against the overcast sky. The spires and turrets clawed toward the heavens, framed by gnarled trees that swayed in the cold afternoon wind. The mansion, with its Gothic splendor and undeniable sense of age, was like something out of an old storybook—a story where things did not end well for young women traveling alone.

She took a breath and stepped down, her boots crunching against the gravel. She had accepted this job because it paid well, and because it came with room and board. The alternative had been to rent a small, cold room in town and scavenge for tutoring jobs that never lasted. Here, at least, she would be in one place. The Halloways had been particular about choosing a tutor, and she had passed their tests well enough. Mathematics and Biology had been her strongest subjects, and they were what Clara and Theodore required.

Before stepping down from the carriage, she had thought back to her interview with Augustus Halloway. He had been direct—almost cold—in his questioning. "Discipline and focus are paramount in this household," he had told her, his pale eyes scrutinizing her every response. "You will do your job well, and you will not concern yourself with anything beyond that."

Then, after a long pause, he had set down the letter of recommendation she had provided and exhaled deeply. "There have been tragedies in this house, Miss Rowe. My stepdaughter, Lysandra, was taken from us two years ago. A break-in gone horribly wrong. And my wife, Eleanor... she fell ill soon after and never recovered. Loss has left its mark on this family. You will understand if we are... particular."

Violet had swallowed hard, nodding. "Of course, Mr. Halloway. I'm sorry for your loss."

Augustus had simply stared at her, unreadable, before gesturing for the butler to escort her out.

Violet had nodded, assuring him that she was only here to teach, nothing more. But something in the way he had studied her, as if weighing more than just her qualifications, had unsettled her. Now, standing before the mansion, she realized how little she knew of the family she was about to live with.

The butler—an elderly man with a stiff posture—greeted her with little more than a nod before leading her inside. "Miss Rowe, you'll find your quarters upstairs, third door on the right," he said, his voice hollow. "The family will meet you at dinner. Until then, you are free to explore—within reason."

"Thank you, Mr.—?" Violet prompted.

"Edward," he replied simply. "I oversee the household. Should you need anything, I will be available."

Violet thanked him, though she wasn't sure what 'within reason' meant. She climbed the grand staircase, feeling the weight of the house around her. The place was too quiet, as if sound itself hesitated to move through the halls.

Her room was simple but lovely—a four-poster bed draped with heavy velvet curtains, a writing desk of polished oak, and a wardrobe carved with intricate patterns of ivy and roses. The window overlooked the sprawling estate, the gardens unkempt, stretching toward a dense line of trees in the distance. A fireplace sat at the far end of the room, though it looked like it hadn't been lit in years.

She exhaled, shaking off the unease. The house was just old, nothing more. She unpacked her things, setting a few books onto the desk before lighting the fireplace. Once that was done, she readied herself for dinner with the family.

Dinner was an awkward affair. The family sat around the long dining table, each member strangely distant from one another. Augustus Halloway sat at the head, his presence faded but his eyes sharp. The patriarch's hands trembled slightly as he raised his wine glass, observing Violet with an unreadable expression.

To his right sat Everett, the eldest son, his posture rigid, his gaze lingering on his plate rather than on anyone else. He had spoken barely a word since she had arrived. Felix, seated beside him, offered a tight smile but nothing more.

Then there was Clara, the young girl she would be tutoring in both Mathematics and Biology. Clara had a nervous energy about her, a quiet unease that made her seem perpetually on edge. And Theodore, whom she would also be tutoring in the same subjects, watched her with an unsettling intensity, his gaze lingering a little too long.

It was Ophelia who finally broke the silence. "So, Miss Rowe, what made you choose to work for our family?"

Violet hesitated. "It was a good opportunity," she answered honestly. "I've tutored before, but never in a place like this. The estate is beautiful."

"Isn't it?" Ophelia said, her voice laced with something unreadable. "Though, I suppose, beauty often hides things, doesn't it?"

A fork clattered against a plate. Clara had dropped hers. She mumbled an apology and quickly reached for her napkin, her fingers trembling.

Violet glanced around the table. "I've heard a little about the estate's history. It must have been in your family for generations."

Ophelia smirked. "Oh, yes. And history has a way of weighing on the present. Don't you think?"

"Ophelia," Augustus said sharply, his gaze cutting toward her.

But Ophelia ignored him, turning her attention back to Violet. "Tell me, Miss Rowe. Have you ever been in a house like this before? A house filled with... memories?"

Violet frowned. "No, I can't say I have."

Ophelia leaned forward, her expression darkening. "Then you wouldn't understand what it means to live with ghosts."

"Enough," Augustus said, his voice firm.

Violet looked to Clara and Theodore. Clara's hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her face downcast. Theodore, on the other hand, wore a small, unreadable smile.

"Miss Rowe will be teaching, not entertaining gossip," Augustus continued, his voice calm but commanding. "That is the end of this conversation."

Ophelia's jaw tensed, but she said nothing more. The rest of dinner passed in near silence.

That night, Violet lay in bed, unable to sleep. The silence of the house was thick, pressing in on her. Every so often, she swore she could hear something—soft footsteps in the hallway, a whisper too faint to make out.

She sat up, pushing the covers aside. Perhaps she was letting her imagination get the better of her. But as she moved toward the window to clear her thoughts, her gaze landed on something in the garden below.

A figure stood near the overgrown hedges, barely illuminated by the moonlight. The posture was rigid, unmoving.

Violet's breath caught in her throat.

And then, just as quickly as she had noticed them, they turned and disappeared into the darkness.

She stepped back from the window, heart hammering in her chest.

The next morning, Violet woke up feeling as though she had barely slept at all. She dressed quickly, determined to shake off the unease from the night before. Breakfast was a quieter affair than dinner had been, with most of the family members absent. Only Clara and Theodore sat at the long table, quietly eating their meal.

"Did you sleep well?" Clara asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Violet hesitated before nodding. "Well enough. And you?"

Clara didn't answer immediately. Her fingers played with the hem of her sleeve before she simply said, "The house can be strange at night."