The wind howls as she steps out of the cab, clutching her jacket tighter around her. The estate looms ahead—cold, vast, and still as death. Moonlight casts jagged shadows across the ivy-covered stone, and the tall iron gates creak shut behind her with a sound too final for comfort.

No one greets her. No lights flicker on. Just silence.

Her name is Mira, and she’s been sent to clean the old mansion once a week. Though no one she works with has ever stayed past the first visit. There are whispers, of course. Of the reclusive billionaire who owns the estate. Of what happened to his fiancée years ago. Of...