Sinful Whispers

Chapter 6: The Offer

I barely made it down the front steps of Waverley Manor before I exhaled, the weight of that interview pressing into my chest. The cold air helped clear my head, but even then, I couldn’t shake the strange, lingering energy that clung to my skin.

What the hell had I just walked into?

The butler—who still hadn’t offered me his name—appeared out of nowhere like a wraith, hands clasped behind his back, expression perfectly unreadable.

“Miss Johnson,” he said smoothly, extending a folded parchment toward me. “Mr. Montgomery expects a response by tomorrow evening.”

I frowned but took it carefully. The paper was thick, heavier than expected, and sealed with a stamp of black wax pressed into an intricate crest—intertwining vines or serpents, I couldn’t tell which.

Everything about this place felt old. Ancient. Like it existed in a time apart from my own.

I fought the urge to ask the butler a hundred questions. Instead, I nodded. “Thank you.”

He gave me the barest bow of his head before vanishing back inside as silently as he had come. The second the door closed behind him, the gates groaned, swinging shut on their own.

A deep chill crawled up my spine.

I should have just ignored the weird feeling in my gut and walked away from this job right then and there.

But I didn’t.

That night, I sat alone in my tiny apartment, staring at the letter.

The room felt emptier than usual. Maybe because I knew I wouldn’t be here much longer, one way or another. The rent had already lapsed, the fridge was nearly bare, and my savings wouldn’t last another week.

The folded parchment sat in front of me, untouched. I traced the wax seal absentmindedly, its pattern raised beneath my fingers.

I could say no. I could rip it in half, toss it in the trash, and pretend I never stepped foot inside Waverley Manor.

But then what? Another week of empty job boards and desperate applications? Another month waiting for interviews that would never come?

I pressed my lips together before breaking the seal.

The handwriting was sharp and deliberate, penned in heavy black ink.

Miss Johnson,

Should you accept, you will report to Waverley Manor at precisely 7:00 p.m. on Sunday. There will be no extensions, no hesitation. Bring only what is necessary. Your quarters will be prepared upon your arrival. Expect that once you enter Waverley Manor, your responsibilities will begin immediately.

Discretion is absolute.

Leave your curiosities at the door.

— Cassius Montgomery

I read it three times, waiting for my instincts to make up their damn mind.

But all I felt was quiet.

The kind of quiet that precedes something inevitable.

I woke up the next morning with the letter still on the table, as if I had been hoping I’d dreamt the entire thing.

I hadn’t.

By noon, I was pacing, phone in hand, trying to convince myself there was still time to change my mind. I called Sophie, my only real friend in the city, because I needed to talk this through with someone who wasn’t… me.

She answered on the second ring.

“Hey, you,” she said, her voice bright but familiar. “You sound weird. What’s up?”

I let out a small laugh. “I sound weird?”

“Yeah. Like… hesitatingly distressed.”

I flopped onto the couch. “Well, I have a job offer. And I don’t know if I should take it.”

Silence.

“Is this another minimum-wage retail nightmare, or…?”

“It’s a live-in position.”

A beat of hesitation. “Oh?”

“At this creepy-ass mansion with this weirdly intense, brooding rich man who might be a vampire. Or a murderer. Or just an old-money asshole, it’s hard to tell.”

Sophie burst into laughter. “I’m sorry. I was with you until vampire.”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are.” She sobered slightly, but I could hear her grinning through the phone. “You’re actually considering it?”

“I need a job, Soph.”

“…Does this guy at least check out? No crime history? No unsolved disappearances in his lineage?”

I chewed the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know. But something about him doesn’t sit right.”

“Then don’t do it.”

I sighed. “Easier said than done.”

Sophie hesitated. “But… it pays well?”

I nearly laughed. “Better than I’ve ever been paid in my life.”

She hummed. “Then maybe… you just try it out? Like, worst case scenario, you pack your bags and leave.”

Something about that didn’t feel true, though. Like once I stepped through those gates, walking away wouldn’t be so easy.

Still, what other option did I have?

By the time evening rolled around, my decision was made.

I packed a single duffel bag, choosing only the essentials—clothes, my old journal, and my favorite bottle of vanilla lotion, because I refused to let an eerie-ass mansion make me smell like despair.

Then I sat on my mattress for a solid ten minutes, staring at the door, waiting for that last-minute instinct to kick in and tell me not to go.

It didn’t.

I grabbed my bag, took one last look around my apartment, and stepped outside.

At exactly 6:58 p.m., I stood at the gates of Waverley Manor.

The sky had gone dark early, the clouds hanging heavy and low, swallowing the last traces of daylight. The air was damp, a storm lingering at the edges of the night.

This time, I didn’t even need to touch the intercom.

The gates groaned open on their own, dragging against the gravel as if reluctant to let me in.

My chest tightened, but I took a breath and stepped forward.

The gravel crunched louder underfoot. The manor loomed ahead, its stone face lit only by flickering sconces at the entrance. This place belonged in another era—one where people whispered of curses and locked their doors at night for reasons other than thieves.

And yet, here I was. Walking straight into it.

At the top of the steps, the massive oak doors opened without so much as a knock.

The butler waited in the threshold, hands folded neatly in front of him. “Miss Johnson.”

My grip tightened on my bag. “Evening.”

His face remained passive. “Mr. Montgomery is expecting you.”

Of course he was.

I stepped inside. The moment I did, the air shifted. Thicker. Heavier.

The butler shut the doors behind me, the echoing thud sealing me inside.

I swallowed hard. No turning back now.

A soft knock broke the silence.

Cassius Montgomery stood at the top of the grand staircase, silhouetted by the low chandeliers above. His suit was different from last time—this one a deep navy, the fabric clinging to the rigid lines of his frame. He watched me with the same unsettling patience as before.

“So,” he murmured. “You came.”

I lifted my chin. “Seems that way.”

He stepped forward slowly, measured. “Is this out of desperation? Or curiosity?”

My fingers tightened around my bag strap. “Does it matter?”

His lips curved slightly. “No. I suppose not.”

Then, with a tilt of his head, he said, “Follow me.”

And I did.

Like a fool.