Delilah's Inn: Mated To The Cursed Luna.

"What the—!" I jolted upright, nearly tumbling off the bed. My heart raced as my eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Standing before me was a man barely taller than a toddler, his wrinkled skin peppered with gray hairs, and a trimmed beard that matched his gleaming bald head.

Dressed in a pristine black bellhop uniform, he adjusted the cap perched on his head and cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, his voice deep and gravelly, reminiscent of an elder's. "I'm Jethro. I'm an—"

"Everling," I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

Recognition washed over me. Everlings were the children of mistresses murdered by Veronica. Though their mothers either transformed into Nightingales or faced eternal damnation alongside their lovers, the children remained trapped here in the Inn. They labored as bellhops, cleaners, guards, and chauffeurs for eternity, shackled by the sins of their parents.

Jethro smiled faintly, as if he were accustomed to the weight of his fate. "I see you've already familiarized yourself with the Inn's structure." His smile widened, but it didn't quite lift the heaviness in his eyes. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Adonis. I've been assigned to assist with your orientation."

A bitter wave of reality hit me, cold and hard. I was still here. This room, this strange place—it wasn't some horrific dream. I was no longer an English and Literary Studies student of the University of Westminster. I was now an assistant to Veronica Gordon.

"What time is it?" I asked, yawning as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. There was no sunlight, only the warm glow of a chandelier and bedside lamps.

"Five a.m.," Jethro replied briskly. "Come now, a bath has been prepared for you. You need to get ready."

I slid out of bed, my movements sluggish, as though gravity had doubled overnight. A bath? I could hardly entertain the thought. Instead, I opted for a long, invigorating shower, allowing the water to cascade over me as I attempted to process this new phase of my existence—or rather, death.

By the time I stepped out, I felt more composed, though my reflection in the mirror revealed my lingering nerves. My turquoise eyes stared back at me, restless and uncertain, as I brushed through my wavy blond hair.

"Wear a suit!" Jethro called from the bedroom.

Sighing, I scanned the wardrobe and settled on a well-tailored three-piece black suit from Dolce & Gabbana, paired with sleek black Valentino shoes and a polished Prada tie. If I had to navigate this bizarre new world, I would do so looking sharp.

When I emerged, I found another Everling in the room—a woman dressed in a black maid's uniform and bonnet. Strands of gray hair peeked out from beneath her headwrap. She was only a few inches shorter than Jethro, her sapphire eyes sparkling as they fell on me.

"You're incredibly handsome, Adonis," she exclaimed, her voice high-pitched and lively. "Like the Greek god himself!"

"Oh, come on with that cliché comparison. He's far more attractive than any naked statue," Jethro teased, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever the case, you're exceedingly good-looking, Adonis." She gushed, her enthusiasm reminiscent of a K-pop fangirl.

"Thank you, I'm genuinely flattered. You have beautiful eyes," I responded, smiling.

Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson. "Oh, thank you! I'm Eleanor, by the way." She smiled, leaning in to whisper to Jethro. "I'm beginning to like him; he seems like such a principled man."

Her compliment warmed my heart, and I sensed they would be the only company capable of stabilizing my emotions in this slaughterhouse of an Inn.

"Let's go, Adonis. I'll give you a tour and breakfast. Eleanor is in charge of cleaning your room."

"Oh, thank you both very much."

"Don't mention it," Eleanor replied with a grin.

I smiled at her and followed Jethro outside the bedroom. The hallway was adorned with a luxurious deep red carpet, its ornate patterns barely visible in the dim light. The air felt cold, filled with faint whispers that echoed from the shadows as Nightingales glided past, their laughter chilling yet eerily melodic.

Jethro led me to a grand spiral staircase, beginning my orientation. I quickly learned that the Inn was divided into three sections, each painted to symbolize the duality of its nature: beauty and danger, lust and purity, life and death. The guest rooms, painted red, represented passion and violence. The staff quarters, clad in gold, signified luxury and greed.

In stark contrast, the hallway leading to Veronica's quarters was painted white, exuding a sterile dread—the color of death.

The Inn itself was massive, far larger than any castle I had ever read about. Golden chandeliers hung from lofty ceilings, their light reflecting off polished marble floors. Velvet curtains framed floor-to-ceiling windows, while hedge sculptures lined the driveway outside. Everything was designed with opulence in mind, yet beneath this grandeur lurked an undeniable menace.

At breakfast, I joined a table of Everlings, relieved to escape the predatory stares of the Nightingales. The dining hall buzzed with life, bustling with staff—270 in total, according to Jethro. As I picked at my food, snippets of nearby conversations caught my attention.

"…and he nearly assaulted her. Can you imagine? Veronica sliced him in two," one Everling remarked.

Her friend nodded, taking a bite of her meal. "Well-deserved, if you ask me. What a pig."

"They're discussing how Veronica killed a politician," Jethro murmured beside me.

"Who?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"Samuel Lawson, Duke of Oxfordshire."

My spoon clattered onto my plate. Six months ago, Samuel Lawson had been found dead in his office, entangled with a mistress. The scandal had rocked the tabloids, tarnishing his family's reputation. But if Veronica had killed him here at the Inn, how had his body ended up elsewhere?