It's essential to me that you and I agree to stay together from this day forward. Yes, we need to seal an unbreakable promise right here in these opening lines. Tell me we'll be friends—say it out loud. Only then will I be able to trust you with my story…
I've been sentenced to five years of service at Longfield Manor. You heard that right—condemned by a promise I have no intention of breaking. That already tells you something about me, doesn't it?
Right now, I'm riding in a sleek car, the kind you only see in movies, sitting next to a woman who hasn't looked at me once—the same woman who, a little while ago, laid down the law:
—Follow these three rules. One: for the next five years, the manor is both your home and your prison. You don't leave. Two: don't ask questions. Never question an order. Do what you're told. And finally—and listen carefully—never, ever fall in love with either of them. Understand? I'm talking about Lucius and Killian, the Longfield sons. You're not in their league. Don't get me wrong—you're decent, almost pretty, and what you're doing to keep that promise to your adoptive mother is admirable… but they'll eat you alive in there. It's not exactly a class thing… next to them, you don't even seem like the same species.
Yeah. It's my first day, and I'm in this car with a woman who's already insulted me in every possible way. I want to scream, but I bite my lip instead.
I'm twenty years old, and I'm sure you can understand. Someone important to me died. Carol—my adoptive mother—is gone forever. Besides mourning her, I cut my hair short, the way she always told me I should.
I'm not very tall, but with my long neck and straight posture, I have to admit the short cut looks elegant on me—even if it's very different from the Instagram girl who wore it with attitude. Probably because she was blonde and my hair is jet black. She had perfect curves; I'm more androgynous—slimmer, with small breasts. I could definitely use some sun. And my eyes… it's important you know they're not the same color—one is sky blue, the other green. You only notice up close. Can you picture me now?
Good. Now I need to tell you why I'm in this car, heading to spend the next five years trapped inside Longfield Manor.
As a child, my earliest memories are just flashes of my biological parents fighting. Then they put me in a rusty car… and the memories end. A crash. The vehicle totaled. All I remember after that are police sirens and a deep voice saying:
—Kid, they're gone. The ambulance is coming. You're gonna be okay.
Nothing more.
I came out of it with two scars on my back and lived with an aunt who never wanted me. I ran away every chance I got… until the most beautiful day of my life arrived. I was eleven when Carol Morris adopted me, and I genuinely believed I was the luckiest girl in the world.
Carol had this old, gorgeous house called Mary Garden, overflowing with flowers and a massive library right in the living room.
She homeschooled me. There, I learned to dance, to carry myself properly, and above all… she gave me her greatest passion: caring for flowers. She owned a thousand books on the subject. The most beautiful ones bloomed in the back garden, circling the grave of Mary—Carol's only daughter, who had died from heart problems decades earlier. Carol still mourned her.
Carol got sick when I was sixteen. From then on, year after year, her body slowly shut down. I stayed to take care of her… Don't think of me as a victim. She was so good that I would do it again and again.
Before she died, she confessed that she had fallen behind on a debt, and the house was in danger. With tears in her eyes, she made me promise two things: that I would bury her beside her daughter's grave, and that I would never, under any circumstances, let Mary Garden be sold to pay those debts.
That's my story… I buried her in a small, private ceremony. The woman who's driving me now showed up a few hours later, while my eyes were still swollen with tears. She walked in and said:
—I'm sorry she passed. But that's the world for you—business is business. I lent her the money she needed for treatment. You have one month to pay, or you lose the house.
But the moment she saw the garden, she asked:
—You did this? You took care of all these plants and flowers?
I told her yes—that I'd spent years making the place beautiful to keep Carol happy while she was sick.
She breathed a sigh of relief, dialed a number, and told whoever was on the line:
—I found a competent gardener for the manor.
Then she opened a folder and said:
—Here's the deal: the debt Carol owed me is huge, but luckily for you, the head of staff at Longfield Manor is my sister. Do you know who Mr. Longfield is?
I answered without hesitation:
—Everyone knows he's the most powerful man in the region—and one of the most important in the world.
She nodded and added:
—They need someone to handle the gardens. But these are the conditions: Mr. Longfield demands absolute loyalty and commitment from everyone who works for him. So you'll sign a five-year contract. At the end, you'll receive a very large bonus—enough to clear your entire debt with me. If you quit before then, you get nothing, and you lose the house.
She continued:
—But I'm warning you: Longfield Manor is not an easy place to work, and we're not talking about regular rich men… we're talking about the Longfields. They're several levels above that. Presidents and kings visit that mansion. Once you're inside, everything is strictly confidential, and you won't be allowed to leave.
I accepted. I had no choice. I even thanked her for the chance to keep Mary Garden, but she made it clear:
—Sweetheart, I'm not doing this out of kindness. Within a week, you'll want to run away screaming. But remember—if you want to keep the house, it's five years. Not a day less.
As soon as she told me the pickup day and time, I searched for every scrap of information I could find on Mr. Longfield. What I discovered shook me.
The last photo ever taken of him was from two decades ago—at his wife's funeral, the mother of his two sons. Back then, the boys were children. Now they must be around twenty-five and thirty. Why were there no newer pictures? The theories were endless: some said it was for security, others claimed Mr. Longfield suffered from agoraphobia and never left the manor. But everyone agreed that Lucius and Killian ran several of the family corporations and traveled the world in private jets.
When the car came for me, I climbed in with nothing but a suitcase. So here I am—terrified, heading to the manor, with no one to tell what I'm going through… except you, reading me right now.
God, I have the nerve to ask you to be my friend forever, and I still haven't told you my name.
I'm Carmilla Morris. And I promise I'll be loyal to you. I'll never lie to you, and everything I say will be meant to make you feel exactly what I'm feeling in every moment…
After weaving between skyscrapers, the road took us to the manor's fortified walls, guarded by armed men, then through endless woods along an old Roman-style cobblestone path… until the colossal palace appeared.
Because that's what it is—a palace.
Two majestic wings covered in windows rose four stories high, meeting at a central building with columns and a dome. To one side, a lake glittered beside a sleek black helicopter that looked like it had been pulled from the future.
We reached a side entrance for vehicles, but they made me get out there with one final instruction:
—Wait for my sister Ursula here. She'll come get you when she can. Don't move, don't talk to anyone, and remember what I told you—stay away from Killian and Lucius Longfield.
The woman drove off.
And I obeyed, my friend… I obeyed until night fell and no one came for me. I thought, Something's wrong. Either she didn't tell her sister, or the message never reached her. But it's been over three hours… My phone has no signal here, and no one will see me.
So I did the stupid thing and walked into the garage, hoping to find the head of staff. I only knew her name—Ursula. The place was enormous. At least thirty of the most expensive cars money could buy were parked down there.
And that's when I heard them.
Behind me, a stunning vintage Ferrari rolled in, followed by a loud, powerful motorcycle.
I froze.
They stopped right where I stood. The most beautiful man I had ever seen stepped out of the sports car. In slow motion, my eyes traveled up his six-foot-three frame—from those deep blue eyes to his dark, slightly wavy, short hair. I guessed he was around thirty. He wore a tailored black suit that hugged his lean, well-built body. His exquisite cologne enveloped me completely.
All I could do was give him a respectful nod. I was about to introduce myself, but he walked right past me without even a glance…
I felt ashamed. I felt exactly what I was: an orphan in a world that wasn't mine. I wanted to leave, but a male voice stopped me.
—Who are you, little one? Sorry about my brother Lucius's manners. I'm Killian Longfield.
When I turned, I thought God must be playing a joke on me.
I swear, my friend—standing in front of me was this perfect guy, about twenty-five, as tall as the other one but muscular, with strong arms and broad shoulders. He smelled like gasoline. His long blond hair fell to his shoulders, and his crystal-green eyes gave him a fierce, determined look that matched his short, artfully messy beard. He wore a white T-shirt and held a dark brown leather jacket in one hand while placing the helmet on the handlebar with the other.
—I'm Carmilla Morris. I shouldn't be here… It's my first day. I'm sorry. I was waiting for Ursula, the head of staff, but she never showed up, so I decided to come inside —I answered, flustered.
—Wow… you've got the prettiest, strangest eyes I've ever seen —Killian said. Then he turned and shouted at his brother— Lucius! Come here! Meet Carmilla and look at her eyes.
The man in the suit came back with an annoyed expression, stopped right in front of me—close—and said:
—One eye matches yours, Killian, and the other matches mine…
Looking at his brother with a mocking tone but no smile, he added:
—Want to share her? Half and half.
Then he turned back to me and said:
—Yeah, I think we're gonna share you… What was your name again?
—I'm— —I stammered, shaking and visibly angry.
I wanted to run, but an elegant older woman appeared from one of the service doors and said:
—She's nobody. Just the new gardener. Miss, I'm Ursula. Come with me. It's late, and your contract is waiting. You need to sign it right now.
She turned and started walking. I hurried after her.
I'm not lying, my friend—I was nervous, but also pissed off. That man had just treated me like an object to be shared between them… The phrase "Want to share her?" wouldn't leave my head.
Right before I went through the door, someone grabbed my hand. When I turned, Killian was so close his beard almost brushed my cheek. He smiled in a devastatingly charming way and whispered:
—Don't listen to my asshole big brother… Nobody's sharing you. You're all mine, little one.
Let's seal that pact. Say it out loud… please:
"I solemnly swear that my friendship with Carmilla Morris will last forever. I will never leave her. I will never judge her, and I will love her unconditionally."
Ready? Now that we're officially friends…
I have to confess something…
When Killian took my hand, he slipped me a small note… While I was walking behind the woman to sign the contract, I opened it.
It said:
"Midnight… come down to the wine cellar and have a good bottle with me. I'll be waiting.
K."