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Trapped within an invisible pyramid-shaped house, Seraphine is a ghost bound by a curse to protect a treasure no one can see. For centuries, she’s watched the world from the shadows, longing for someone to stay with her—someone who won't leave once they discover the gold buried within the house's cursed walls.

When Lucien Vale, a desperate man with nothing left to lose, stumbles upon the legend of the house, he risks everything to find it. A man broken by poverty, haunted by his past, Lucien seeks only wealth—but when he crosses the threshold, something shifts.

Seraphine sees him for the first time, not as a greedy trespasser, but as a chance for love, for companionship. But as their fates entwine, she must confront a haunting truth: all who seek the house come for gold, and in the end, greed is always the thing that tears them apart.

In her loneliness, Seraphine has killed every man who tried to escape, burying them in the graveyard behind the house. Will Lucien be the first to stay? Or will his own darkness unravel them both?

Unfolded

She composed herself slowly, as if she hadn't just collapsed in front of him.

Her spine straightened. Her hands smoothed the fabric of her dress. Her chin lifted with the same practiced grace she'd once worn in ballrooms and balconies. Even if everything else had fallen apart—she would not.

She was still the mistress of this house. Even if the house no longer listened.

Lucien sat in the chair, watching her.

And for a moment, she let herself see him.

He looked nothing like the boys from her past. There was something rough about him. Wild. Like the wind that slipped in through cracked windows. His jaw was sharp, unshaven, his lips chapped from the cold. A thin scar cut just above his brow, the kind no one ever asked about. His eyes, dark and unreadable, flicked over every inch of the room like he was memorizing it.

He wasn't beautiful in the way portraits were beautiful. He was beautiful in the way storms were.

And still, when he looked at her, he softened. Just a little. Enough.

"I assume," she said, voice cool and even, "you intend to stay."

Lucien blinked. "I'm not sure I have a choice."

"You're in the east wing," she said, rising to her feet and steadying herself on the back of the couch. "It's the only portion of the house you have access to. This room, the kitchen, the bathroom, and the small room down the hall—you may use it."

Lucien stood as well, a little slower. "And the rest?"

"Off limits," she said simply. "The house... doesn't like strangers."

He raised a brow. "But it let me in."

"It let you touch the door," Seraphine said, crossing to the window with practiced grace. She glanced out, knowing there was nothing to see anymore but mist and memory. "That's not the same as giving you keys."

Lucien walked to the hallway and glanced down it, as if trying to count doors. Then turned back to her.

Seraphine turned from the window. "You ask many questions."

"I have many," he said. "You're not exactly... ordinary."

She didn't smile. But there was a flicker of pride in her voice when she replied, "Neither is the house."

He stepped a little closer. "So why me?"

For a breath, her mask cracked.Just slightly.

"I don't know," she said. "But I'm glad it did."

Lucien didn't answer. Not right away. He studied her like he was trying to see something past the surface. As if he was wondering whether she was the key—or just another riddle.

She straightened her posture again.

"You're a guest," she said, crisp and polite. "You may use the small room. I suggest you rest. The house… shifts, when it's testing someone new."

"And you?" he asked quietly. "What are you, in all this?"

Seraphine looked at him with eyes older than they should've been.

"I'm the girl who opened the door."

Guest of the House