Whatever Knows Best

and maybe there’s a study that needs to be done on his brain because you’ve told him countless times that you’re his. you don’t want anyone but him. but it’s almost like he can’t hear or understand you unless you’re saying it with his cock shoved inside of you and you’re babbling it out to him. 

like right now.

with his silver brows drawn in, he grunts rolling his hips against yours, “i hate when he talks to you.” 

he, is jeremiah, and the talking was a simple greeting followed by your name when you and xavier went to visit him at philo after work. 

you grip at his arms with clammy hands and you let out a shaky laugh, “h-he’s your best friend, xavie, don’t– fuck, baby– don’t be cr-crazy.”

“you’re my best friend. don’t care about him– only you, you hear?” he’s literally splitting you open, thrusting into you like a rabid bunny with a pout on his face. “hate that he even said your name.”

“ah, xav, please!” you cry, but there’s no stopping him when he gets like this. “he was just– just being nice, jere–”

he cuts you off with haste, his sapphire eyes turning a shade darker. “don’t even say it.” he demands, voice dropping an octave lower. “don’t say his fucking name.”

and then he offers a deep, hard thrust and you moan, arching your back off the bed. your nails dig into his skin leaving red, little crescents in his milky skin. 

he’s hissing out your name and leaning in to shove his face in the crook of your neck. he licks and bites and licks and bites until he’s sure that the entire right side of your neck is littered with hickies. 

“you’re mine, right, honey?”

you clench tightly around him, breathing out all the words as they come from the bottom of your heart. “all y-yours, baby. always gonna be y-y– mmph– yours.” 

he kisses your neck again. this time, it’s a soft, little peck which is a stark contrast from the way his cock ravages your cunt. “this is mine.” he mumbles against the tainted skin. 

he pulls back, his hands coming to squeeze your tits gently. “these are mine.” they trail down, one on your hip and the other splayed right over your abdomen where he can feel his dick inside of you. “and this right here, baby?”

he pushes down with a lazy smile on his gorgeous face all while he watches you cum for him. 

“this is me taking what’s mine.”

#ZAYNE: THE ONE IN CONTROL! 

before seeing you again, zayne had nothing but med school and work. he never let loose, never made many friends, never had anything. the only thing he had holding him together was the memory of you and the thought of what it would be like to see you again. 

then one day… he ran into you at that cafe and you’ve been practically inseparable since. 

now you stand to be the one person in all of deepspace to make zayne completely and utterly lose his mind.

“keep quiet,” he said, pushing his pointer and middle finger down on your tongue. “bad girls don’t get to talk.”

you whine, the noise garbled by excess spit and his long digits. you wish you could say you were surprised that you’re even in this position, but you’re not. not shocked in the slightest.

you’d been teasing your busy boyfriend all week– sending him ‘i miss you’ texts, showing up to akso on your lunch wearing low cut tops and teasingly threatening to play with yourself if he didn’t fuck you soon. his last straw was when you sent him dirty pictures and videos of you doing that just that followed with a text that read:

fucking myself since you won’t do anything about it :/

it’s almost like you wanted zayne to turn you inside out with his cock…

and now here you were, fingers in your mouth, cock in your sopping cunt and a very, very angry zayne above you. 

“you think it’s okay to tease me? think it’s okay to send nasty videos of yourself while i’m at work, huh?” and he’s fucking you so hard that the bed creaks with every thrust. it hurts– the way his cock bruises your cervix– but in a way that has the knot in your belly drawing in and your gummy walls tightening around him.

your eyes roll back as drool seeps out of your mouth down his hand. you’d think this would bother him, him being your (nagging) doctor and all, but it doesn’t. he loves this. seeing you so messy and disheveled– mascara running down your face and your chin drenched with your saliva. he loves doing this to you,

he pulls his fingers out, watching you splutter with a smirk on his face. he leans in, grips your chin and makes you lock eyes with him. “this is what you wanted, isn’t it? you wanted to see me like this.”

you pant his name, softly, “zayne–” 

“answer me,” he demands, tilting your chin up all the while his dick drives into you deeper and deeper if it’s even possible. 

you cry, overstimulated.  “yes, wanted it s’bad! f-fuck, just wanted you to fuck me, zaynie,” 

he smiles cockily, shaking his head, “what a troublemaker.”

then you’re empty, your orgasm dissipating to nothing. 

you gasp at the abrupt action on his part. you sit up, your teary eyes widen in confusion, but he places his soft lip against your cheek and speaks before you can question him. 

“bad girls don’t get to cum either. we’ll talk when you stop being such a brat.”

#RAFAYEL: THE ONE WHO WORSHIPS YOU!

rafayel loves having sex with you. he’s enthralled by your beauty and body– you’re his muse after all. so it’s no surprise that he enjoys reminding you how fucking gorgeous you are while his cock spears in and out of you. 

you’re on your side and he’s behind you, chest pressed against your back where you can feel just how erratic his heart is beating. 

“so good for me, cutie,” he moans, lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “so pretty ‘n perfect. god, you were just made to be worshipped.”

and it’s so overwhelming. every word, every praise, every single sound that slips past his swollen lips goes straight to your cunt and it merely spurs him on. the adoration never ceases. 

rafayel doesn’t fuck you fast. no, not today. today, he needs you to feel it. to feel every second of it, every inch of his cock. he needs you to feel the way his tip french kisses your cervix. it wouldn’t be right otherwise.

“r-raf,” you whimper, bringing your hand to tangle in his hair. you guide him to your pulse point and he smiles against your skin. “faster, please.”  

“you’re so demanding,” he teases as he sucks and nips at the thin skin until he knows there’s a splotchy, red spot left in his wake. 

“but it feels better like this, no?” he asks after giving you a particularly sharp thrust. “bet you can feel me everywhere, can’t you, princess?”

his lips move up, placing soft, wet kisses along your jaw and you turn your head slightly to capture his with yours. you mewl into his mouth, body pulling taut.

you’re close, you both know it. he’s been fucking you like this for what feels like hours and you’re all pent up. all you need is a little push to have you seeing sounds and hearing pretty colors.

and rafayel has studied your body. you’re the best thing the universe has ever created… his absolute favorite thing, so of course he has you memorized. it’s how he knows to snake his hand down to your swollen, neglected clit. 

you gasp, the sudden action sending shockwaves right through you. “right t-there, baby.”

“pfttt, duh,” he scoffs, slightly offended, giving you another rough thrust. “i already know, princess. you don’t have t’be so bossy. just make a mess for me, yeah?”

a few more thrusts is all it takes for you to give him what he wants. a choked sob slips out and you're drenching his cock in your slick, honey-like arousal. 

he smiles big and wide, eyes shining with more adoration. he whispers in your ear and it sends another shiver running down your heated spine.

“my pretty girl.”

#SYLUS: THE ONE THAT LIKES TO SWITCH! 

sylus is massive in every sense of the word. you’d think a man so domineering– the leader of onychinus– would have the filthiest sex, bending his girl every which way.

but… then you’d be wrong. so, very wrong. 

sylus has a reputation for being a big, bad wolf, but the truth? sylus is an absolute sucker for you. always at your beck and call. you want him to sit? he sits, proudly, with the slyest grin on his face. you want him to come over? he’s there in 30 minutes or less no matter what he’s doing or where he’s at.

you want to ride him and you don’t want him to touch you?

he nods his head obediently and says, “whatever you want, sweetie.”

it’s how you wind up sinking down on his throbbing cock and fucking him senseless. and, fuck, does sylus love every second of it. 

he’s so used to being in control, but with you? that’s not happening. he’s yours. mind, body and soul. he loves watching you take the reins even though you cutely struggle to take his girthy length at first. when he bottoms out, though, all he can think is that’s my fucking girl. 

despite your demands to keep his hands to himself, he’s obsessed. “h-hands off, sy. you know the rules.” you pant out, peeling his hot and heavy paws off of you. 

he all but moans– the sound you love pulling out of him the most. “you’re so cruel, baby.” he says, hooded, red eyes burning into yours.

you just smile, placing your hands back on his chest and bouncing up and down his cock like it was what you were made for. “you love it when i use you.”

he nods, and his next words come out a little slurred like he’s already pussydrunk. “love it bad, sweetheart.” 

you tighten around him, the affirmation encouraging you. 

your pulsating vice of a cunt has his brows furrowing and eyes rolling back. he longs to hold you, to feel your skin on his calloused hands.

but sylus has waited for you for lifetimes. he adores you. all he breathes is you. 

so he’ll do anything you say, whenever you say it. 

when you tell him to cum for you, to cum so deep inside of you that you’ll feel it for days… he does just that with a groan, fisting at the sheets so roughly that you swear you hear the faint sound of fabric tearing.

and the copious amount of warm seed that fills you to the brim triggers your own orgasm. it’s so intense that you’re clawing at his chest like the kitten he claims you are. you’re babbling on top of him, breathlessly going on and on saying, “love you, love you s’much, sy,” and “fuck me more, please,”

and he gives up all his restraint, grabbing your hips, flipping you over and filling you up all over again. 

#CALEB: THE ONE WHO CAN’T GET ENOUGH!

caleb has always loved you unconditionally. the time without you was unbearable– it changed him. he yearned like never before. he put every rom-com male to shame.

so, now that you’re back in his life– now that you’re finally his girl, he doesn’t waste time. 

his stamina is basically infinite when it comes to you. poor, pent up caleb has spent years upon years hiding his feelings from you and now it’s all coming out. 

literally. 

“more, you can take more, baby,” he whispers, eyes dilated and toned body layered in a sheen of sweat. “know you can take more.”

he doesn’t wait for your protest, not like you would, he just pins your legs back and watches his previous loads of cum seep out of your cunt with hearts in his eyes.

he uses his cock to scoop up his seed and he pushes back into you in one go thrust. 

“caleb,” you cry. 

he nearly growls. it’s so out of character that you’re almost concerned but then his raspy voice rings in your ears. “again.”

you cock your head to the side, “w-what?”

he grabs at the back your thighs, driving in and out of you with fervor. “fuck, pips… say it again. say my name, lemme know who’s fuckin’ ya this good.”

you practically feel him in your throat, let alone your battered, painted walls. he’s fucking you like he needs it to breathe. like if he doesn’t give you at least 2 more loads of cum, then he’ll just die. 

because… yeah, he just might. caleb can’t lose you ever again. he couldn’t bear it. he’d die for you and he’d be nothing without you. 

“cal-caleb!” you cry, tears streaming down your face as your hands press against his rock hard chest. “‘s too deep, caleb. ‘s too much!”

he moans himself, cock twitching uncontrollably. it’s not deep enough for caleb. he needs more, he needs you stuffed full 24/7. he needs you to be his forever. 

“i know, baby, i know.” he’s able to say even though the only thing he can hear in his unchaste brain is more, more, more, more. “fuck, i know, but you’ll take it for your caleb, right?”

you can’t. his words and the way his cock pistons in and out of you at the speed of light has your orgasm washing over you out of nowhere. you scream his name– so loud that it leaves your throat raw– as you gush all over his washboard abs, soaking him completely. 

caleb malfunctions, cumming with a stupidly loud whine as soon as he realizes you’ve squirted for him. 

he doesn’t even give either of you the chance to recuperate before he’s pleading.

“a-again… please, just one more, pips.” he lies. one will never be enough. 

“i just need ya s’bad.”

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" you exclaimed, quickly gathering your composure as you exited the car and reached for your luggage in the trunk.

But the driver stepped in first, waving off your attempt with a polite gesture. "It's alright, ma'am. I've got it," he assured you, effortlessly grabbing the bags from the trunk and carrying them inside the motel lobby for you.

You thanked the driver profusely as he set the bags down near the reception desk. He responded with a warm smile, a nod, and then turned to walk out, leaving you to take in your surroundings. 

The motel appeared old. Not just in appearance, but genuinely aged, with faded paint on the walls and creaky wooden floors. Yet, it exuded a cozy, welcoming vibe, the kind that made you feel as though you had stepped into your own home rather than a rundown establishment. Soft lighting from outdated lamps cast a gentle glow over the lobby, and the musty aroma of old books stacked on a nearby shelf surrounded your new environment.

You approached the reception desk and pressed the small bell, its chime echoing faintly in the quiet space. Moments later, an old woman emerged from a door behind the counter, her steps slow but steady, her face wrinkled with years of experience.

"Ah! You must be the one who called. Ms. (reader), right?" she inquired, her voice carrying a gentle, reassuring tone as she adjusted her glasses.

You confirmed with a nod, and she continued efficiently. "Okay, we've got your room ready. Second floor, third room on your right." She handed over the keys, their cool metal pressing into your palm as you slipped them into your pocket. “We serve breakfast, lunch and dinner. Please refer to the pamphlet in your room for the timings.” “Sure, will. Thanks.”

With the keys secured, you picked up your bags, their weight tugging at your arms, and headed toward the elevator at the end of the hallway. Before you could press the button, however, the woman called out again, her voice apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry, love, but the elevator's broken."

You turned back to see a sorry smile on her face, her eyes filled with genuine regret. Her gaze dropped to the bags in your hands, and she added, "I'd love to help you, dear, but I couldn't climb ten steps without stopping to catch my breath. And I'm alone here at the moment, so–"

"It's fine, I'll carry it myself. No worries," you replied, offering her a reassuring smile despite the sigh that escaped your lips as you eyed the luggage.

The bags seemed heavier now, their straps digging into your fingers as you assessed the task ahead. You weren't about to make a second trip down those stairs, not after the long journey. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you grasped everything tightly, distributing the weight as evenly as possible across your shoulders and hands.

The staircase loomed before you, its wooden steps creaking slightly under your weight. The air grew slightly cooler as you climbed.

Halfway up, you paused for a moment, adjusting the strap of one bag that had begun to slip. Utilising the small break, you took a deep breath and wiped the beads of sweat that had collected on your forehead.

Reaching the second floor, you let out a relieved exhale, the hallway stretching out before you with its numbered doors. The third room on the right was easy to find, its brass number plate slightly tarnished but clear. You fumbled for the keys in your pocket, the bags finally thudding to the floor with a satisfying thump as you unlocked the door.

Inside, the room mirrored the lobby's cozy vibe. Simple furnishings, a neatly made bed with plaid covers, and a window overlooking the dimly lit street below. You closed the door behind you, the click of the lock sealing in the quiet. Setting the bags down properly, you rubbed your sore arms. “Why’d I bring literally every single thing?” 

You groaned softly as you settled onto the worn couch, the cushions sinking beneath your weight. The day's fatigue lingered in your muscles from carrying the bags up the stairs, but you pushed it aside, pulling out your phone once more to resume your job search. The screen illuminated your face in the dim light.

Hovering your finger over the filter tab, you adjusted the location settings to your current town. After all, a nearby position would be more convenient.

The listings refreshed, but the options were sparse and uninspiring. Low-paying retail roles or temporary gigs that held little appeal. You scrolled mindlessly, dismissing one after another, until a particular advertisement captured your attention. It described a vaguely outlined position as a household assistant at a local estate, emphasizing exceptional compensation and full accommodations provided on-site. The details were minimal, yet the offer seemed almost too ideal for someone in your situation.

It was perfect.

Without hesitation, you clicked on the listing, swiftly filling in the required information. Your qualifications, contact details, and a brief statement of interest. As you submitted the application, a quiet hope stirred within you.

***

A week passed in a blur of idle exploration, with little to occupy your time beyond awaiting a response. Each morning, you went out for sightseeing, wandering through the town's quaint bookstores, antique shops and boutiques. You occasionally paused to admire a piece but refrained from purchases to conserve your funds. 

The trail park offered a welcome respite, its winding paths lined with towering trees and the occasional bench for reflection, allowing you to lose yourself in the natural surroundings while checking your phone intermittently for any notifications.

Initially, you had not dwelled much on the job's specifics when applying, driven more by necessity than curiosity. Now, however, questions began to surface in your mind. What precisely did the role of "household assistant" entail? The description had been so ambiguous. Pperhaps managing daily operations, organizing events, or handling administrative tasks? But the exceptional pay raised suspicions. Why would such a position offer compensation that exceeded normal jobs?

Moreover, the inclusion of full accommodations at the very property intrigued you further.

Compelled by your growing interest, you had taken it upon yourself to visit the estate one afternoon. Approaching the wrought-iron gates, you were met with signs indicating private property, barring entry even for casual sightseeing. Respecting the boundaries, you observed from a distance, admiring the structure's grandeur without intrusion.

The castle, constructed in the 17th century, stood as a testament to architectural majesty, its stone towers rising elegantly, adorned with intricate carvings and ivy. Every aspect of it exuded grace, the symmetrical facade, the arched windows, and the surrounding grounds.

You lingered there briefly, captivated by its beauty, before turning away to continue your day.

***

You awoke the next day to the soft filtering of morning light, your body still adjusting to the unfamiliar bed. Out of habit, you reached for your phone on the nightstand, your movements groggy as you unlocked the screen and began scrolling through the accumulated notifications. Missed calls from acquaintances, social media alerts, and routine emails that blurred together in your half-awake state.

One notification, however, stood out sharply amid the mundane stream. An email subject line reading "You Have Been Accepted," followed closely by a text message from an unfamiliar number extending a formal invitation for an in-person interview at the estate that very afternoon.

The news propelled you into full alertness, and you practically jumped out of bed, your heart racing with a surge of excitement and determination. This opportunity represented a critical step, especially with your impending college enrollment, and you were determined not to miss it.

Almost instantly, you threw open your bags, which still lay partially unpacked on the floor, and began rummaging through the contents in search of a suitable outfit. One that conveyed professionalism without excess formality, perhaps a crisp blouse paired with tailored pants that you had packed for just such occasions.

Satisfied with your selection, you hopped into the washroom for a refreshing shower, the warm water cascading over you as you mentally rehearsed potential interview questions and envisioned the grandeur of the estate you had glimpsed from afar.

You really needed this job, and you were not going to allow any minor obstacle to get in your way.

After dressing and partaking in a simple breakfast of motel-provided coffee and toast in the small dining area downstairs, you found yourself with time to spare before the afternoon appointment. Lingering around the motel to pass the hours, you paced the lobby, occasionally glancing out the windows at the quiet town streets, your mind occupied with thoughts of the upcoming interview.

As you wandered, your attention was drawn to the lady from the reception desk, seated comfortably on a couch near the window, her hands busily engaged in knitting what appeared to be an intricate scarf or shawl, the yarn unraveling under her skilled fingers.

You quietly walked up to her, offering a polite greeting as you took a seat on the opposite couch. She looked up with a warm, acknowledging smile, setting her knitting needles aside momentarily.

"So, are you in town for work, love?" she inquired gently.

"Oh, no," you replied evenly. "I got into college, you know, microbiology."

"Oh, that's fantastic! How's that going for you?" she responded, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest as she resumed her knitting.

"Classes start next week," you explained. "I just came here earlier for a little sightseeing, getting to know the new environment, and looking for a job in the meantime."

She looked up from her work, her expression shifting to one of helpful concern. "Oh, sweetie, you could've asked me! I know everyone around here. What kind of job are you looking for?"

"Well, I did find one," you shared. "I have an interview this afternoon."

"Oh, right. At Marge's bakery?" she questioned, tilting her head as if piecing together possibilities.

"No, no," you corrected. "At, um, this estate here in town."

"Oh, right," she said, her tone taking on a note of surprise. "I didn't know they let people in."

"They don't," you clarified. "It's just for an interview."

She nodded thoughtfully, her gaze dropping back to the unfinished piece in her hands, the yarn twisting methodically as she continued her work without missing a stitch.

"So, you know the place?" you asked, curiosity prompting you to probe further. "Well, not much, dear," she admitted, her voice measured. "All I know is that it's old, has always been in one of the five oldest families from here."

Then she leaned in slightly, as she lowered her voice to a whisper. "They say five young masters live there, but no one's ever seen them. Lord knows what they do in there or if they even exist."

You glanced at your watch, the hands ticking toward the appointed hour, and realized it was time to leave for the estate. With a polite smile, you excused yourself from the conversation. You ascended the creaky staircase to your room, retrieving your phone and handbag from the bedside table, ensuring you had everything needed for the interview. The estate was within walking distance, eliminating the need for a taxi, allowing you to clear your mind with a brisk stroll through the town’s quiet streets.

As you walked, the old woman’s words echoed in your thoughts. Her story of the five mysterious masters who supposedly resided in the castle, unseen by anyone. True, you had never seen such activity yourself during your brief explorations, but you had occasionally caught glimpses of the gardener tending to the grounds or other workers. Perhaps the masters left at times when you were not present, or maybe they simply preferred the solitude of their grand home.

Some people cherished their privacy, after all.

Reaching the estate, you paused at the foot of the front door, its heavy oak surface adorned with intricate carvings but lacking a doorbell. Uncertainty crept in, were you meant to call out, or perhaps send a message to the number that had texted you? You hesitated, weighing your options, when movement caught your eye. The gardener emerged from a nearby shed, clutching a watering can, his weathered face set in a focused expression as he began his rounds.

You waved to catch his attention, calling out as he came within earshot. Before you could explain, he spoke first, his tone firm but courteous. “Ma’am, the estate is closed for visits.”

“Oh, no, I’m not here to visit,” you clarified quickly. “I was called for an interview.”

He raised an eyebrow, skepticism flickering across his face, and set the watering can down deliberately on the grass. “Well, let me inquire first,” he said, stepping away toward a small gatehouse nearby, presumably to confirm your appointment. You waited, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, the grandeur of the 17th-century castle looming before you.

Minutes later, the wrought-iron gates creaked open, granting you access. You stepped inside, your footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path as you took in the meticulously maintained grounds. Before you could advance far, a middle-aged woman emerged from the estate’s main entrance, striding toward you with a confident grace. Her attire was elegant yet practical, a tailored dress that complemented her charismatic presence. She greeted you with a warm smile that seemed to radiate reassurance.

“You must be (reader),” she said, her voice smooth and welcoming as she extended a hand.

You replied, your voice betraying you with a hint of nervousness despite your efforts to remain composed. She must have sensed your unease, for her smile softened further. “Oh, no need to be nervous,” she said gently. “Just think of it as a tour.”

With a graceful gesture, she motioned toward the open doors of the castle, inviting you to follow. You nodded, clutching your handbag a little tighter, and stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the shadowed interior. The air inside was cooler, carrying the faint scent of polished wood and aged stone.

You couldn't help but raise your head to take in your surroundings as you entered the grand foyer, the beauty of the space captivating you immediately. The castle's interior was a masterpiece of 17th century architecture, with vaulted ceilings adorned in intricate plasterwork depicting mythical scenes, and walls lined with rich tapestries. Lavish furniture filled the area, ornate mahogany tables polished to a gleam, velvet chairs, and crystal chandeliers dangling overhead, their prisms catching the subdued light to cast faint rainbows across the marble floors. The air carried a subtle fragrance of beeswax and aged wood.

As you glanced around, absorbing the details of gilded frames holding somber portraits and the faint echo of your footsteps in the vast hall, you heard the woman speak, her voice drawing you back to the present.

"Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier," she said, turning to face you with a composed expression. "I'm Astoria Hawthorne. I manage all affairs of the estate. Hiring staff, overseeing maintenance, basically anything that has to do with the estate."

She proceeded toward a wide corridor, gesturing for you to follow as she began the tour. The hallway stretched onward, its walls punctuated by arched doorways leading to various chambers, each one promising further wonders. After a few moments of silent walking, during which you admired the detailed cornice work and the occasional suit of armor standing sentinel, she spoke up again. "So, why did you apply for this job? As I understand, the listing was indeed very vague."

So much for not thinking of it as an interview.

You paused briefly, gathering your thoughts before responding. "Well, I moved here from (city). I got accepted into college just last month, and at the moment, I'm just running short on funds, so any decent job, even if it's vague, would be appreciated."

She laughed lightly, a sound that echoed softly in the corridor, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I like your honesty, Miss (reader)."

With that, she continued the tour, leading you through the castle's labyrinthine layout. You passed by various rooms, each more impressive than the last. A grand library with towering shelves crammed full of leather-bound volumes, their spines gilded and worn from use. Adjacent to it was a study, furnished with a massive oak desk cluttered with antique inkwells and parchments. The different halls unfolded in sequence: a ballroom with polished parquet floors that could host elegant gatherings, and a conservatory filled with exotic plants.

Eventually, she guided you to a beautifully adorned room tucked away in a quieter wing of the castle. The chamber was a vision of refined elegance, featuring a four-poster bed draped in silk canopy, intricate wallpaper patterned with floral motifs, and a fireplace mantel carved with delicate scrollwork. "This is where you'll be staying," she announced, stepping inside to allow you a full view.

She excused herself momentarily, stepping out into the hallway, and you heard her voice addressing someone unseen. "Right this way, please."

Moments later, she returned, followed by two men, one carrying a large vanity mirror framed in ornate gold, the other holding a similarly styled bathroom mirror. They proceeded to install them efficiently. The vanity mirror placed atop a dressing table with cabriole legs, and the bathroom mirror affixed to the wall in the adjoining washroom.

You remarked as they worked. "I didn't even notice there weren't any mirrors."

She smiled in response. "We don't keep mirrors in unoccupied rooms."

"Right, I see," you replied, accepting the explanation without further question.

She then guided you toward the expansive gardens, the transition from the castle's dimly lit interiors to the open air was marked by a gentle breeze carrying the scent of flowers. The gardens unfolded before you, stone pathways winding through beds of roses in deep crimson and ivory hues, and ancient fountains in the background. As you strolled alongside Astoria, the gravel crunching underfoot, she broke the comfortable silence with a measured tone.

"The masters have ensured you'll have everything you need during your stay," she explained, her voice steady against the rustle of leaves. "But there are a few ground rules you should be aware of: no pets, please do not draw the curtains of any room except, of course, yours. You are welcome to explore the castle on your own, but please make sure not to enter any of the rooms on the fourth floor. The masters prefer their privacy."

You nodded in agreement, the guidelines seeming reasonable given the estate's grandeur and privacy. "Yeah, of course," you replied.

As you continued walking, the path curving around an ornate gazebo draped in vines, curiosity prompted you to inquire further. "So, I understand there are five occupants?"

"Ah, yes," Astoria confirmed, her steps unhurried. "Masters Zayne, Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, and Caleb. They are, well, how do I put it? Very reserved."

Yeah, not shit.

Her words lingered in the air, but you refrained from pressing for details, sensing the boundaries of discretion in this household.

The conversation shifted as you circled back toward the castle's rear entrance, the sun casting elongated shadows across the lawns. You decided to address the ambiguity of your role. "So, about the job posting, what exactly am I hired for?"

Astoria paused briefly, turning to face you with a reassuring smile. "You should settle in first, get used to this new change of scenery. You'll be notified of your duties soon."

Her response, while evasive, carried an air of finality that you accepted for the moment. The transition back indoors felt abrupt.

As you approached the foyer once more, you posed another question to clarify your next steps. "If you don’t mind my asking, when can I move in?"

"Whenever you're free to do so," she replied promptly.

"Oh, that's great," you said, relief evident in your voice. "I just have a couple of things back at the motel."

"I'll send someone with you," Astoria offered without hesitation, gesturing subtly to a nearby staff member who nodded in acknowledgment.

With arrangements swiftly made, you accompanied the assigned worker, a sturdy, middle-aged man introduced briefly as Elias, back to the motel. Upon arriving, you ascended the familiar creaky stairs to your room, gathering your belongings. 

You carried your bags downstairs, and set them in the lobby where Elias waited patiently. He picked up most of them with ease, his strong frame handling the load as if it were negligible, leaving you with only a lighter handbag to manage.

The old woman at the reception desk glanced up from her knitting, her eyes widening slightly in recognition. "Leaving already, dear?" she asked. You kept your response brief, focused on the task at hand, bid her farewell and exited the motel.

As you walked alongside Elias on the return path to the castle, your attention was drawn to a small figure huddled under the shade of a tree. The little puppy appeared dirty, its fur matted with grime and patches of mud, and its ribs protruded slightly, a clear sign of starvation. You paused briefly, glancing at Elias who continued ahead without noticing, and rummaged through your handbag. Your fingers brushed against a sausage you had picked up on your way back from an outing yesterday, still wrapped in its paper packaging.

You unwrapped it carefully, the savory scent wafting into the air, and placed it gently on the ground in front of the puppy, ensuring it was within easy reach.

The puppy sniffed tentatively at first, then devoured the offering with eager bites, its tail giving a faint wag of gratitude. Satisfied, you straightened and resumed walking, catching up to Elias as the castle's silhouette loomed closer. A couple of minutes later, as you neared the estate's gates, a faint tapping sound reached your ears from behind. Soft patters against the pavement. You looked back, your eyes widening at the sight of the puppy trotting along, its tail wagging heartily as it followed you with unwavering determination.

"Oh, shit," you muttered under your breath, halting abruptly.

You bent down to the puppy's level, pointing a firm finger toward the ground in an attempt to command obedience. "No. You stay. Stay. Don't follow," you instructed, your voice stern yet soft.

The puppy tilted its head, then sat obediently, its eyes locked on yours as you took a few cautious steps backward. It remained seated, and you sighed in relief, turning to proceed through the gates with Elias. The estate's grounds enveloped you once more, the gravel path crunching underfoot as you walked along the garden. Elias led the way inside, carrying your bags with steady efficiency toward your assigned room.

As you were about to follow him up the stairs, the familiar tapping sound echoed again, closer this time. Groaning inwardly, you turned around and spotted the puppy scampering toward you, having somehow slipped through the gates undetected. "How did you even get in?" you whispered, bending down once more to address it, your hands hovering uncertainly.

"You're cute, but I'm sorry. I can't keep you. Rules are rules," you explained softly.

The puppy responded by sticking its tongue out in a playful pant, followed by a sharp bark that pierced the quiet foyer. You whisper-shouted in alarm, "No! Don't make any noise," your eyes darted around to ensure no one else had heard.

Undeterred, the puppy barked again and began running in excited circles around your legs, its energy undiminished by your attempts to quiet it. You tried to shush it, waving your hands gently and murmuring pleas for silence, but it suddenly darted away, bounding up the grand staircase with surprising speed, its nails clicking against the polished wood.

"Oh no!" you exclaimed, your heart pounding as you hurried after it, ascending the steps two at a time.

The chase led you up to the fourth floor, a secluded wing you had not yet explored, where the air grew cooler and the lighting dimmer. Faced with a long hallway lined by five ornate doors, each bearing subtle engravings, you paused, scanning for any sign of the intruder. "Shit! Don't tell me you're in one of these," you whispered to yourself.

A sudden thud came from behind one of the doors.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself against the breach of rules, and approached the source of the noise. With a soft knock that echoed faintly, you turned the knob and opened the door, stepping into the unknown chamber.

What door are you gonna choose?