Updated Mar 10, 2026 • ~8 min read
The creditors arrive at dawn.
Sera watches from her bedroom window as three carriages pull up to Ashford House. Men in black coats. Ledgers under their arms. Legal documents already prepared.
They’ve come to take everything.
“Miss Sera?” Clara, her lady’s maid, stands in the doorway. Her eyes are red. “Your father requests your presence in the study.”
Sera’s stomach drops.
She hasn’t been summoned to her father’s study in months. Not since the gambling started. Not since he stopped pretending everything was fine.
“Tell him I’ll be down shortly.”
Clara nods and disappears.
Sera takes one last look at her room. The pale blue wallpaper. The mahogany furniture. The portrait of her mother above the fireplace—the mother who died when Sera was ten, leaving her with a weak father and two younger siblings to protect.
She knows what’s coming.
This is the end.
Her father sits behind his desk, looking twenty years older than he did last month.
Edmund and Beatrice—her younger brother and sister—stand beside him. Edmund is seventeen, trying to look brave. Beatrice is fourteen and crying.
“Sera.” Her father’s voice cracks. “Sit down.”
She doesn’t sit. “How bad is it?”
“We’re bankrupt. Completely. The creditors are seizing the house, the land, everything. We have until the end of the week to vacate.”
“What about the investments? The properties in London?”
“Gone. All of it. I gambled it away.” He can’t meet her eyes. “I thought I could win it back. I was so sure…”
Sera feels like she’s been punched.
Everything. Gone.
“What about Edmund’s school fees? Beatrice’s dowry?”
“There’s nothing left. Edmund will have to leave school. Beatrice…” He swallows. “There won’t be a dowry. Or a season. Or anything.”
Beatrice sobs louder.
Edmund puts his arm around her, but his jaw is clenched. Furious. Betrayed.
“So what do we do?” Sera asks. “Where do we go?”
Her father finally looks at her.
And she knows.
She knows before he says it.
“I received a letter. Three days ago. From Lord Damien Corvus.”
Sera’s blood turns cold.
Lord Corvus. The reclusive nobleman who lives in the crumbling estate on the edge of the county. The one no one ever sees. The one people whisper about in church and cross themselves when his name is mentioned.
The cursed one.
“What does he want?” she asks, though she already knows.
Her father slides an envelope across the desk.
Sera picks it up with shaking hands.
The paper is expensive. Black wax seal. No family crest—just a blank circle pressed into the wax.
She opens it.
Lord Ashford,
I am aware of your financial difficulties. I am prepared to pay all debts in full—including your children’s education and future provisions—in exchange for your eldest daughter’s hand in marriage.
The arrangement is non-negotiable. If Miss Ashford agrees, she must arrive at Corvus Manor by week’s end. The ceremony will take place immediately upon her arrival.
No courtship. No delay. No refusal.
If she does not come, the offer is rescinded.
Lord Damien Corvus
Sera reads it three times.
Then looks at her father. “You already agreed, didn’t you?”
He flinches. “I had no choice—”
“You had a choice! You could have stopped gambling! You could have sold the properties before you gambled them away! You could have done ANYTHING except sell your daughter to a stranger!”
“Sera, please—”
“Did you even ask me? Did you consider for one second what I might want?”
“What choice do we have?” Her father’s voice rises. “Edmund will be thrown out of school! Beatrice will have no future! We’ll be destitute! Living on the streets!”
“So I should sacrifice my entire life to fix YOUR mistakes?”
“You’re twenty-three years old with no prospects! No dowry now! No one will marry you! At least this way you’ll be Lady Corvus. You’ll have security. A title.”
Sera stares at him.
She’s always known her father was weak. Selfish. A coward.
But this?
This is unforgivable.
“What if I refuse?” she asks quietly.
Her father looks away. “Then we lose everything. Edmund’s education. Beatrice’s future. Everything.”
“So you’re saying if I don’t marry a stranger—a man rumored to be cursed, who lives in isolation, who no one has seen in a decade—my siblings suffer?”
“I’m saying this is our only option.”
Sera looks at Edmund and Beatrice.
Edmund won’t meet her eyes. He’s seventeen. He wants to go to university. He wants a future.
Beatrice is crying. Fourteen years old. She deserves a season. A dowry. A chance at happiness.
And Sera?
Sera has been taking care of them since their mother died.
Protecting them. Raising them when their father couldn’t.
She can’t stop now.
“When do I leave?” she asks.
Her father exhales in relief. “The carriage comes tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Lord Corvus was very clear. Immediate departure. Immediate ceremony.”
Sera feels like she’s drowning.
Twenty-four hours.
Twenty-four hours until she’s married to a stranger. A recluse. A man people cross themselves over.
“Fine,” she says. “But I want it in writing. Edmund’s school fees paid in full through university. Beatrice’s dowry—enough for a proper match. And a stipend for father so he can’t gamble away whatever’s left.”
“Lord Corvus already agreed to those terms.”
Of course he did.
Because he’s buying her.
Like livestock. Like property.
“Then we have a deal.” Sera turns to leave.
“Sera—”
“Don’t.” She doesn’t look back. “Don’t pretend this is anything other than what it is. You sold me. Own it.”
She walks out.
That night, Sera packs her belongings.
Not much. Lord Corvus’s letter specified she should bring personal items only. Everything else would be provided.
Clara helps her fold dresses. Both of them crying silently.
“You don’t have to do this,” Clara whispers. “You could run. Disappear.”
“And let Edmund and Beatrice suffer? No.”
“But the rumors about Lord Corvus—”
“Are just rumors.”
“They say he’s cursed. That his servants are terrified. That his first wife disappeared—”
“He’s never been married.”
“That’s what they want you to think.”
Sera closes the trunk. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
“Not when the people you love are depending on you.”
Clara is quiet.
Then: “I’ll pray for you. Every night.”
“Thank you.”
Because Sera has a feeling she’s going to need all the prayers she can get.
The next morning, the carriage arrives.
Black. No family crest. Just like the letter’s seal.
The driver is silent. Won’t meet her eyes when he takes her trunk.
Edmund and Beatrice hug her goodbye. Both crying.
“I’m sorry,” Edmund whispers. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I’ll come visit. As soon as I can.”
Sera doesn’t tell him that she doubts Lord Corvus will allow visitors.
Beatrice clings to her. “What if you don’t come back?”
“I’ll come back. I promise.”
Another lie.
Because she has no idea what’s waiting for her at Corvus Manor.
Her father doesn’t come to say goodbye.
Coward.
Sera climbs into the carriage.
The door shuts.
And as they pull away from Ashford House—the only home she’s ever known—Sera allows herself exactly one minute to cry.
Then she wipes her face.
Straightens her spine.
And prepares to meet the monster she’s been sold to.
The journey takes six hours.
Through farmland. Through forest. Through increasingly desolate countryside.
The trees grow darker. Twisted. Like something out of a nightmare.
No birds singing. No signs of life.
Just dead, skeletal branches reaching toward a gray sky.
The driver still hasn’t spoken a single word.
As the sun begins to set, they round a bend.
And Sera sees it.
Corvus Manor.
Her new prison.
The estate is massive. Gothic. Crumbling in places like it’s been abandoned for decades instead of inhabited.
Black stone. Pointed towers. Windows like empty eyes staring out at the dead forest surrounding it.
No lights in the windows. No smoke from the chimneys.
It looks like a mausoleum.
The carriage stops.
The driver opens her door. Still silent.
Sera steps out.
The air is cold. Wrong. Like something is watching her.
The front door opens.
And a man steps out.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed entirely in black.
And wearing a silver mask that covers half his face.
Lord Damien Corvus.
Her husband.
He doesn’t bow. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t offer any greeting.
Just stares at her with eyes so dark they look black.
“Miss Ashford,” he says. His voice is deep. Cold. Empty. “You came.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“No.”
At least he’s honest.
“The ceremony will take place in one hour,” he continues. “Marcus will show you to your room. You’ll dress there. Do not be late.”
“Don’t I get to—”
“No.” He cuts her off. “No questions. No delays. You signed the contract. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”
Then he turns and walks back into the manor.
Leaving Sera standing in the cold, dead courtyard.
Wondering what the hell she’s just agreed to.
And whether she’ll survive long enough to regret it.
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