Chapter 1
That night, Gwendolyn Fairchild returned to her Tiny Lodge after a departmental dinner, feeling a bit tipsy from the drinks she had enjoyed with her colleagues. After washing up, she quickly fell asleep, enveloped in a deep slumber. Amidst her dreaming, Gwendolyn felt a strange sensation. She stirred, sensing that someone was touching her. Startled, she awoke with a jolt. The moonlight streamed through her window, illuminating her small bedroom, but she didn’t see her brother Henry anywhere. “Oh, it was just a dream,” she reassured herself, wiping the cold sweat from her forehead. This area was known for its safety, and she had securely locked all the doors and windows. There was no way a burglar could have entered. With exhaustion creeping back in, she couldn’t keep her heavy eyelids from closing; she drifted back into sleep. This time, the dream became more vivid. A man tenderly kissed her lips, his warm tongue softly parting her mouth as he explored her. It felt like her first kiss, but in a dream. Gwendolyn's heart fluttered with a hint of melancholy; she had never been with a man before—she was still a virgin. Yet there was someone she liked—Edmund Blackwood, the charming and gentle head of their department. She had been secretly crushing on him. Was it because of the flirtatious remarks he had whispered in her ear during the dinner, his breath warm against her neck? That connection might have sparked this dream. Desperate to see the face of her dream man, she tried to open her eyes, but they felt weighted, heavy with darkness. Her senses remained acute, each touch, smell, and taste overwhelming her. The man's kiss tasted of tobacco and the remnants of wine—a sure sign it was Edmund Blackwood. “Oh, it's Edmund Blackwood... how delightful...” she thought, succumbing willingly to his embrace as she draped her arm over his shoulder, returning his kiss with fervor. The kiss was intoxicatingly pleasurable. His hands roamed over her body, kneading her breasts, sending shivers of delight coursing through her. She felt the fabric of her shorts and underwear slip away, and soon she felt him pressing against her entrance. Though it was only a dream, her instinct sparked shame within her. She instinctively struggled, but his strong grip held her firmly against him, his lips kissing her again, dizzying her senses. As his weight pressed down on her, he began to thrust deep inside. A sudden wave of pain jolted her, forcing her to arch her back. “Why does this dream feel so real?” she thought. She wanted to wake up, to escape from the overwhelming sensations, yet she felt utterly trapped. The initial pain quickly gave way to an extraordinary pleasure, washing over her like waves. It was exhilarating and delightful, unlike anything she had ever experienced. She lost herself, floating between ecstasy and confusion, caught in a whirlwind of desires that felt both heavenly and devastating. Eventually, the pace quickened, and Gwendolyn felt him reach his climax, flooding her with a warmth that was both shocking and intoxicating. The following day was Saturday, and Gwendolyn awoke naturally, only to feel as though a truck had run over her. As she pulled off the sheets, she froze—she was completely bare, with unmistakable evidence of her night’s encounter. Her eyes widened, unable to scream. “No... it wasn’t just a dream…” Panic rising within her, she rushed to check the doors and windows, alarmed to find no signs of a break-in. Her bedroom door was still locked, and the outer door of the Gentleman’s Lounge remained firmly shut. Her windows were secured with solid bars—there was no way that anyone could have snuck inside. “How did he get in?” she muttered, her heart racing. She grabbed her phone, contemplating calling the police, but hesitated. This was far too embarrassing to speak about. They'd think she merely had an erotic dream. But she needed proof. She remembered the man had definitely… entered her. She dashed to the bathroom, peering into the mirror as she gingerly touched her body, fingers probing at her entrance. Her hymen—gone. But the realization felt hollow; it wouldn’t stand as proof. The police might dismiss it as self-inflicted. Frantically, she continued searching, but nothing felt amiss. Somehow, everything was dry and normal, the scent barely different from what she usually recognized. “But he had to have... how could there be no trace?” Frustration mounted as she gripped her hair, panic coursing through her. “What on earth happened?” Just then, an unsettling thought crossed her mind. “Could it be… no, it couldn’t be!” A chill ran down her spine as she contemplated the unimaginable. “What if… what if a ghost had…” Her heart raced, panic settling in as she whispered, “No, it can’t be…”
Chapter 2
Gwendolyn Fairchild was remarkably ordinary—her looks barely passing muster, her academic achievements limited to a bachelor's degree, and her professional skills only average. After graduation, she secured a job as a copywriter at The Enterprise, a small advertising firm in Brambleford, where she barely scraped by. Her background didn't help her much; both her parents worked for a wealthy family in town, her father as a chauffeur and her mother as a housekeeper. When she was five, her father was in a car accident that left him untouched but destroyed the luxury vehicle he was driving. Embarrassed, he resigned, and her mother couldn't stay employed either, so they moved out. They ended up running a fruit stall, living an unremarkable life like many others. The only remarkable feature about Gwendolyn was her stunning black hair—long, sleek, and thick, cascading down her back like a dark waterfall. It was the one compliment she often received: “That girl has beautiful hair.” In all honesty, her hair did elevate her otherwise average appearance, placing her just above the curve in attractiveness. For now, Gwendolyn had to protect that hair. Last week, The Enterprise landed a lucrative shampoo commercial, and while the lead actress was already chosen, they still needed two long-haired beauties as background models. When one of the original choices dropped out last minute, Edmund Blackwood, her boss, suggested Gwendolyn for the role, scheduling the shoot for the end of the month. In the two weeks leading up to the shoot, Gwendolyn was required to take special care of her hair, which meant a daily conditioning routine. Given the harsh winter air, she was also instructed to keep her hair styled up and covered with a hat to prevent damage—details clearly outlined in her contract. For the $5,000 paycheck, she willingly complied. So, even after a drunken night out, she remembered to wash and condition her hair. Now, she slouched on the couch in her cozy cottage, her long hair flowing around her as she absentmindedly pondered the events of the previous night. Gwendolyn didn't believe in the supernatural. Could it be that she had actually done something to herself? Despite being naturally averse to intimacy, she found it strange that at twenty-three, she had never had a steady boyfriend or even a casual fling. How had she managed to lose a part of her innocence without realizing it? Thoughts like these gnawed at her. What would her future boyfriend think? Would she tell him she was still a virgin? Frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair, letting out a deep sigh. It was no use dwelling on it. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she was hungry. She reached for her phone to order takeout when it rang—a call from Edmund Blackwood. She accepted it quickly. “Hey, Edmund,” she said, her voice steady yet tired. “Gwendolyn, could you come into The Enterprise today? Client wants to revise the proposal.” Edmund’s voice carried a nasal tone, like he had just rolled out of bed. “I asked around, but everyone else is too hungover to come in. Would you mind covering for me? I’ll be there shortly.” She had never been good at saying no, especially not to Edmund, her boss. “Sure, I can do that,” she replied, slipping out of her lounge wear. After changing, she ran out, picking up a breakfast wrap from a nearby shop on her way to the bus stop. The Enterprise wasn't too far from her quaint little lodge, just six stops away. By the time she arrived, Edmund still hadn’t shown. She decided to meet with the client first to avoid any delays. “Gwendolyn, over here! Come meet Miss Seraphina Lark,” someone beckoned her as she stepped inside. “She’s the newly appointed marketing director of the House of Fairtrade and has some feedback on our previous proposal.” “Gwendolyn Fairchild,” she introduced herself, smiling as Seraphina’s eyes lit up with recognition. “It’s great to finally meet you!”
Chapter 3
Gwendolyn Fairchild was taken aback when she recognized the person in front of her: it was Seraphina Lark, the heiress of the prestigious Lark family. Gwendolyn recalled her parents occasionally collaborating with the Lark family during events, and because of that, she had spent some time with Seraphina. They didn't know each other well, but they were more than just strangers. "Miss Seraphina, what a coincidence," she said with a smile. The receptionist, a cheerful girl named Lucy, chimed in, "So you two know each other! That’s fantastic—it'll make communication easier!" "Today is supposed to be a weekend, and I’m sorry to pull you in for overtime, Gwendolyn," Seraphina said, her tone warm and courteous. Gwendolyn remembered how well-mannered and graceful Seraphina always seemed—a model of poise and kindness. Admiration mingled with envy as Gwendolyn thought of Seraphina's ever-composed nature. In the world of advertising at The Enterprise, working extra hours was commonplace, so Gwendolyn felt no reluctance. She responded with a bright smile, "It’s my duty, Miss Seraphina. Just tell me how you’d like to adjust things, and I’ll take care of it." Seraphina gently grabbed Gwendolyn’s wrist and said, "Gwendolyn, we’ve known each other long enough. You can call me ‘Sister.’" Flattered yet surprised, Gwendolyn felt a rush of warmth as she noticed the curious glances from their coworkers. Flushing slightly, she complyingly said, "Sister Seraphina." "Ah," Seraphina said, beginning to turn away when she called to a man sitting on a nearby sofa, "Benedict Silverstone, I’ll be right back; could you hold on for a moment?" "Sure," he replied. Gwendolyn’s gaze naturally followed Seraphina's direction to the man. He was strikingly handsome, with defined cheekbones and sharp features that looked almost sculpted. He sat with his legs crossed, casually flipping through a magazine, exuding an air of cool detachment. His expression was relaxed, but his eyes had a distant chill, communicating an unapproachable intensity that caught Gwendolyn off guard. How could someone be so good-looking? His piercing gaze seemed to pull you in, almost entrancing. Gwendolyn stood there, mesmerized, until Seraphina stifled a laugh, clearly amused by Gwendolyn's reaction. Though Gwendolyn felt a bit embarrassed for becoming flustered, Seraphina quickly regained her composure. "Gwendolyn, let’s get going," she said. Feeling her cheeks grow warm at the unexpected attention, Gwendolyn nodded and replied, “Oh, of course, right this way, Sister Seraphina.”
Chapter 4
Benedict Silverstone noticed Gwendolyn Fairchild daydreaming but chose to ignore it. After all, he was accustomed to women being infatuated with him. He couldn't even muster the energy to frown or smirk; instead, he kept his gaze fixed on the magazine in his lap, waiting for Seraphina Lark to finish. He met Seraphina at the racetrack, where her equestrian skills and striking looks had drawn everyone's attention—everyone but his. Yet, for reasons unknown even to himself, he found her intriguing and agreed to see her. They had planned to attend a charity gala that night, but an urgent marketing project for Fairtrade Enterprises had come up last minute, prompting him to accompany Seraphina to the event. Ordinarily, he disliked waiting, but today he found himself more patient with her. Perhaps it had something to do with the vivid dream he'd had the night before. It had been so intense that he still felt the lingering sensations of what had happened in it—sensations he dared not dwell on. The sheets were stained and dry from the overflow of desire he had released. He knew it was just a product of too long without intimacy, which likely explained why he didn't reject Seraphina's invitation and found himself waiting so eagerly for her. Just then, Seraphina emerged from her discussion, and he barely looked up as a disheveled man rushed in. Edmund Blackwood entered with a pallor that suggested illness, his slumped posture and frail frame giving the impression that a gust of wind could knock him down. Gwendolyn, who had been momentarily enamored by Benedict, rushed to him, her concern unmistakable. "Edmund, you look awful. Are you alright?" From Benedict's vantage point, he couldn't help but notice the warmth and intensity in her gaze; it was clear she held feelings for this sick man. Her intrigue with him moments earlier now seemed more like admiration for his looks than any real desire. A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth; he didn't mind women who appreciated his appearance while knowing their place. “Edmund, let me take you to the hospital,” she urged, wraps of concern woven in her tone. Edmund brushed her off, turning to Seraphina instead, “I’m sorry, I must have kept you waiting. I’m here now… about the proposal—” “It’s fine, Gwendolyn already fixed everything for me,” Seraphina replied graciously, brushing aside any complaints. “If you’re not feeling well, you definitely should go see a doctor.” “Right, thank you Seraphina,” Edmund nodded, still looking unwell. “Let’s go, Shall we?” Seraphina said, linking her arm through Benedict’s as they made their way out. She waved to Gwendolyn, “Goodbye, Gwendolyn.” “See you later, Seraphina!” Gwendolyn called back, her eyes tender as she watched them leave. Once they were gone, Edmund clutched his stomach, bending over in pain. “Edmund, are you alright?” Gwendolyn asked, guiding him to a couch. “This is serious; let me take you to the hospital.” “Proposal—” Edmund started before a cramp seized him, cutting off his words. “It’s all sorted, really! I’ve worked with Seraphina before, and she had some minor suggestions,” Gwendolyn reassured him. “You can rest easy about that. I insist we go to the hospital. You need to check this out.” He hesitated, but another wave of pain washed over him. Seeing darkness flickering at the edges of his vision, he finally relented. “Fine, thank you.” Gwendolyn helped him to his feet, and they made their way outside to hail a cab, ready to head to the hospital.
Chapter 5
Gwendolyn Fairchild accompanied Edmund Blackwood to the hospital, her heart heavy with worry. He had suffered a perforated ulcer, and the doctors had insisted he be admitted immediately. Gwendolyn arranged for his admission, brought him meals, and stayed by his side as he received intravenous fluids. It was late by the time she finally returned to her small apartment. Despite the exhausting day, she maintained her routine; even while showering, she meticulously washed and conditioned her hair. Stepping out of the bathroom, she toweled her hair dry and sat on the edge of her bed. Recently, she had been using the shampoo and conditioner gifted to her from Lark Manor, and it was working wonders. Her naturally dark, glossy hair felt even stronger and more vibrant, shimmering in the light. There was a delightful fragrance that accompanied it—something elusive but pleasant. However, the scent didn’t last; every morning after washing, it faded completely by the time she woke up, leaving not a trace behind. On one occasion, she had woken up around six hours after going to bed, eager to catch a whiff of it, but the aroma had vanished. Once she finished drying her hair with a blow dryer, she slipped under the covers and turned off the lamp. Sleep had already pulled at her eyelids, but an unease washed over her, preventing her from drifting off. Though she lay in her own bed, it felt strangely unfamiliar, as if she were in someone else's space. The quilt felt lighter and softer than usual, wrapping around her like a different embrace. Her curiosity piqued, Gwendolyn instinctively reached out to the other side of the bed. “Ah!” she screamed, her heart racing when her hand brushed against warm, solid flesh—definitely a man’s body. Panic surged, and she quickly leaped out of bed. “Who are you? Why are you in my bed?” She flicked on the light, only to be met with an empty room. There was no one there, yet she had definitely felt someone. She stood frozen, her heart racing with realization of what had happened the night before. Slowly, her racing pulse began to steady, but the memory caused it to race again. She clutched her chest and cautiously moved back to the bed, kneeling beside it, her hands blindly feeling the sheets in front of her. “Ah—” She gasped again, as her fingers encountered a body sitting up. She had reached over to Seamus' side of the bed, confirming what she had already suspected. She didn’t see him, but she felt his solid torso beneath her touch. Uncertainty washed over her as she contemplated how to react. Just as she thought to pull back, his hand captured hers. In an instant, he leaned toward her, pressing her down onto the mattress, kissing her with an unexpected softness. Her eyes widened at first, momentarily stunned. “Mmm… let go of me, oh…” she managed to murmur, struggling against his strength. Despite his assertive hold on her, he did not seem violent—his kiss was gentle, igniting a warmth within her that was difficult to resist. Wearing only a sleep shirt, Gwendolyn felt vulnerable as it slipped away from her body with little effort. She could feel his mouth trailing down, taking in her softness, while his knee nudged her thighs apart. His fingers explored, finding their way, and as she instinctively twisted away, he held her waist firmly. His lips found hers again, hungry and eager, their tongues dancing together in a wild mix of urgency and desire. Gwendolyn found herself drowning in the sensation, lost in his kiss. The world around her faded, and her body turned pliable and weak beneath his touch.
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