They say you can't run from your past, but what if you've never known what it is you're running from? That's the thing about inheriting secrets—they don't come with an instruction manual, and they certainly don't care if you're prepared for them. When my father passed away, I expected grief, not a cryptic journal and a summons to the infamous Blackthorne Manor. Standing before its looming gates, I felt like the protagonist of some gothic novel, complete with a darkly handsome man who knows far more than he's letting on. Enter Ashford Blackthorne: all sharp suits, sharper wit, and a smirk that screams trouble. He claims he's here to help me, but his idea of help looks an awful lot like keeping me in the dark. What he doesn't realize is that I'm not the kind of woman who stays in the dark for long. As I dig deeper into my father's journal and the labyrinthine halls of Blackthorne Manor, I uncover more questions than answers. Who was my father, really? What is the curse that has haunted the Blackthorne family for generations? And why does Ashford seem so determined to keep me from finding out? They say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. I just hope satisfaction doesn't come with a body count—mine, in particular.
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