The mansion stood apart from the other buildings, as if deliberately avoiding neighbors.
Around it was open space, bare and silent. No gardens for strolling, no fences that the aristocracy so loved to display.
No coat of arms, no flags. No family symbols.
Lynette Vereyn walked forward, constantly glancing over her shoulder; her hair whipped in the wind, and the sun beat down.
What awaits me here?
The house seemed too large for a commoner, yet too empty for nobility. There was no sense of grandeur — only the cold certainty of someone who had nothing to prove. It was precisely this contradiction that had brought her here.
Lynette was seventeen. An age where one is not yet considered fully grown, but is already punished for every mistake — as if choice even existed.
She stopped before the heavy doors, holding her breath for a moment. Her heart was racing faster than it normally would.
If he really is who they say he is…
She knocked lightly.
“I’ve been waiting. Come in,” a voice called from inside.
Young and calm. Without a trace of condescension, as if he had been expecting her.
The door opened easily, almost silently.
Upon entering, the door shut behind her. The corridor was enormous. The ceiling disappeared into shadow, and light fell from above through a glass dome, scattering in cold rays.
Where should I go?
Walking further, she reached the hall. The fireplace was clean, but unlit — here, order mattered more than comfort.
Empty. No servants in sight…
Perfect, almost eerie cleanliness prevailed everywhere — not a speck of dust in the air, as if time itself had paused here.
“Does he live alone?” Lynette noted automatically.
Moving further, she saw a young man near the stairs. He appeared slightly older than her.
Simple clothing, made of quality fabric. Nothing excessive. His hands bore no rings and no marks of hard labor. He didn’t try to appear someone else — and that was unsettling. It was difficult to discern his face from a distance.
“Lynette Vereyn?” he asked.
The voice I had heard outside… Has he already reviewed the dossier I sent?
“Yes.”
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Dorian. Let’s go.”
He didn’t extend his hand nor wait for a response. He simply turned, as if certain she would follow.
As she climbed the stairs, Lynette noticed the white walls with barely visible patterns of angels, flying carefree. The space seemed strangely empty and quiet — as if the house itself were carefully listening to her steps.
She entered the office behind him.
The room was flooded with light from large windows, yet shadows stubbornly hid in the corners. In the center stood a desk and chair of dark wood. But her gaze immediately fixed on the left wall.
Tall, stone, with a strange appearance. Hundreds of small niches — open square compartments that formed the wall itself. Most contained some object:
Keys,
Seals,
Dolls,
Medallions without chains,
Scraps of fabric,
Coins from different countries,
Children’s toys,
Burnt paper,
…and hundreds more, whose purpose she couldn’t discern at first glance.
Souvenirs from each case?
“Everything that people wanted to forget or hide is stored here,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “Things connected to cases in some way. I keep them as a memory.”
Dorian sat on the edge of the desk. The sun blinded her, leaving his face hidden. Lynette could only see black hair, absorbing the light around it.
“You came for an interview. Are you sure you want to become my assistant?”
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His voice was alive and direct. It carried neither respect for titles nor fear of them.
“Yes,” she replied. “I understand I have no experience, but…”
“You do,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Just not the kind recorded in recommendations.”
He stopped a few steps away from her.
“You speak plainly and do not behave arrogantly. You stand straight, but your shoulders are tense — as those do who are constantly judged. You are curious why a commoner owns such a house, yet you do not ask — thus, you need a job, not the truth.”
He glanced at her clothes.
“The dress is altered. Neatly, but not new. Gloves are off-season — so you are hiding something. Likely injuries from previous work.”
Lynette clenched her hands into fists.
Everything he said is true.
“I need money,” Lynette said without hesitation. “Mother is in poor health. When we were still aristocrats, expenses weren’t a problem. But Father found a new family… and expelled us. Relatives turned away… and I had to work since I was twelve to support both of us.”
He was silent for a few seconds.
“I’m a commoner,” Dorian finally said. “This house was not inherited. I earned it. Aristocrats don’t care who you are, as long as you’re useful.”
He turned to the wall of niches.
“My name is a pseudonym. No one knows who I am or where I came from. Yet the most influential people turn to me. Why do you think that is?”
His tone openly mocked the aristocracy. There was a touch of madness mixed with self-assurance.
Frightened by the possible refusal, Lynette’s gaze fell to the floor.
I’m scared of him… But I’m even more afraid to leave.
“I gathered information about you before coming,” she said. “You appeared in the capital suddenly and take on cases that defy ordinary methods. You… investigate the supernatural.”
Dorian smiled — not like a detective, but like someone who just made a precise calculation. He carefully lifted her chin.
“Exactly… I used to work alone. But I realized it’s dangerous and ineffective.”
Lynette couldn’t look away from his dark red eyes. They reminded her of wine: deep, calm, yet intoxicating. Against his pale skin, they looked unnaturally piercing.
“Cursed?..” she blurted out.
He froze… then suddenly couldn’t hold back a laugh:
“Ah-ha-ha!”
Fool! Why did I say that?!
“It’s okay. It’s useful to speak your mind,” he added. “Let’s switch to ‘you’.”
Dorian extended his hand.
“Deal, assistant?”
Standing in silence for a few seconds, Lynette realized — she had been accepted.
“I won’t… I mean, I won’t let you down!” she said, stumbling slightly.
“Then let’s not waste time. The first case is already waiting. But first, we need to discuss something — let’s start with the contract.”
Lynette followed Dorian to the desk where the paper lay. And at that moment, the mansion, which had seemed cold and colorless, seemed to change. Even the air felt lighter — like breathing after finally stopping a long run.
She didn’t even notice the tears rolling down her cheeks. Not out of fear, but out of relief. Lynette had been self-educated, without school, without teachers, without outside help.
All this time she had only hoped her efforts wouldn’t be in vain, and that someday her work would truly pay off.
Perhaps… now everything will change.
Dorian silently placed a chair in front of her and the sheet of paper.
“Before you sign,” he began calmly, “I’ll go over the rules. There are several on this sheet. I will speak, and you listen.”
He leaned on the edge of the desk and began:
“First. Absolute confidentiality.”
Dorian tapped a finger on the paper.
“No discussions about cases. Not with your mother, friends, or former employers.”
Lynette nodded and sat, wiping her tears with her sleeve.
“If I find out information has leaked,” he continued, “the contract ends immediately. No warning.”
“And… a penalty?” she asked cautiously.
“There is one,” Dorian nodded. “Financial.”
He raised two fingers.
“The payments are structured differently. The first is for ordinary assistant work — in your case, 20 lira per month. The second depends on case performance, usually set by the client.”
Twenty lira… A fortune. Finally, I can buy those expensive medicines for Mother.
The kingdom of Verdalia had three currency units: lira, shild, and frac.
1 Lira = 100 Shild
1 Shild = 10 Frac
Frac — the smallest unit, used for small purchases.
The system had existed for about 400 years. Large sums were counted in lira, everyday expenses in shild, and a few fracs could buy a candle or newspaper.
“About the penalty…” Dorian sighed. “Three years’ income of an assistant. No money? You work it off. How — I decide.”
Her fingers clenched the edge of the desk.
This is no joke.
“Second rule,” he said, looking directly at her. “You are not a hero.”
A hero?
He leaned in, bringing his face close to hers, and continued:
“If I say step back — you step back. If I say do not interfere — you don’t. Any independent decision during a case is your responsibility. Do not question my orders or actions.”
“And if…,” she hesitated. “If someone gets hurt?”
“Then you live with it,” he replied simply. “Or you don’t. That’s the point. Break the rule, and payment for the case is canceled.”
He slid the sheet closer to Lynette.
“Third. From now on, this mansion is your home. You may visit your mother in free time, and I’ll provide servants and doctors for her.”
All tension suddenly vanished.
“But,” he added, “I ask for your full focus and dedication.”
This is the best option of all!
“And fourth,” Dorian paused, staring at her a little longer. “I can dismiss you at any moment. But you may leave yourself.
He turned and picked up a black quill, a drop of ink staining his sleeve.
“You may leave this profession anytime. But only during off hours. Everything you see and hear here stays here.”
Lynette took a deep breath and sharply grabbed the pen from Dorian’s hand.
The conditions are strict, but intriguing…
Finding a place for her signature, she quickly and sharply traced it. The signature resembled a “V”, its sharp lines confident and precise.
He doesn’t seem like a bad person.
The signature quickly dried on the paper.
Dorian took the completed document and placed it in the drawer, which clicked softly.
“Congratulations, Lynette,” he said. “You are now part of my house… and what I call life.”
He calmly, almost effortlessly, took her hand and led her forward.
“And now…” the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “I’ll show you everything you need to know.”
She didn’t resist and simply followed him. For the first time in years, the crushing weight of the future seemed lighter — as if this meeting had been destined all along.
I’m ready.
As soon as they left the room, the door closed on its own. It was strange, but she didn’t want to think about it…
