Chapter 1
Here I stand... right outside what I’ve always called my paradise.The place that promises to free me — from sorrow, from struggle, from everything that ever broke me.
Door No.17.
To most, just another number. But to me... no.Seventeen is sacred.It’s the echo of my parents’ love.The last fragment of hope I’ve clung to in silence.The number that still dares me to dream... to believe that maybe, just maybe, there’s something waiting for me beyond the pain.
Even if that something is wrapped in mystery.Even if that something doesn’t breathe.
I’ve never really met my parents.All I have are fragments of stories... whispered by the villagers — tales of their eternal love.For each other.For me.For the ones they held dear.
Sometimes, I let myself wonder...Would I ever be loved like that?Deeply. Fiercely. Unconditionally.But I always come back to the same answer:No. Not in this life.
Because the one I love...He doesn’t see me.Not as a person.Not as a soul aching to be held.To him, I’m just a pawn in his twisted little game.Just property...A name. A body.Never the heart that beats restlessly beneath it all.
Author’s POV:Pallavi stood right outside the towering, ancient mansion — old and crumbling, with wild vines snaking their way across the walls like nature’s warning. The front yard looked more like a forgotten graveyard than a welcoming entrance. It was nothing like the sleek, modern homes filled with glittering luxury and soulless shine.
The mansion wasspooky— terrifying, even.No sane person would ever buy such a place.Especially not one rumored to behaunted.
But none of that mattered to Pallavi.
Paranormal whispers and ghost stories never frightened her. She wasn’t here for comfort or style. She cared for something deeper — heritage, culture, the raw beauty of forgotten history.Not polished tiles and designer lights.
The mansion looked exactly as the stories had described it...Over a thousand years old — yet it stood tall, proud, and hauntingly regal.Time had not been kind to it. Cracks ran like scars across its weathered walls.Dust clung to every surface, spider webs draped like ghostly curtains, and age stained every corner.
And yet... there was something timeless about it.As if, despite the decay, it refused to crumble.As if it still remembered what it once was — powerful, feared, and revered.
Pallavi stood in front of the towering entrance, dressed in a loose yet elegantly fitted pastel blue kurti paired with baggy jeans. Her hair was messily braided, strands escaping in the breeze, and her eyes — though tired — shimmered with a quiet amusement at the surreal sight before her.
She dragged her worn black suitcase over the gravel, step by step, until she came to a halt in front of the grand, timeworn doors. Dust blanketed the massive wooden panels, spider webs clung to the edges like forgotten memories.
Just beside the door, etched in fading yet bold golden letters, was a plaque that read:
DOOR NO.17DE HARTWELL MANSION
The name hit harder than a cricket ball to her chest.
De Hartwell.The mansion of the infamous, deadly mafia family — feared, powerful, and shrouded in darkness.Legends said they ruled these lands over five centuries ago...And now, she was about to walk into the home that still carried their essence.
“Oh my God... the legend is actually true.”
Thiswas it — the mansion of the world’s most powerful and feared mafia family.A chill ran down her spine, but it wasn’t fear. It was awe. Excitement.
“I can’t believe I’m really standing here,”she whispered to herself, her eyes drinking in every ruined inch of the place.
She smiled faintly, a spark flickering in her tired gaze.
“I’ve always loved history... and now, I get to live inside it.”
The thrill of uncovering the truth behind the mansion’s past sent a strange rush through her veins. Maybe... just maybe...This place would be her escape.Her distraction.Maybe the echoes of someone else’s past would finally help her forget her own.
With slow, deliberate steps, Pallavi pushed open the centuries-old door. The heavy wood groaned under its own weight, as if waking from a deep slumber. Instantly, a curtain of spider webs greeted her, clinging to the entrance like forgotten memories.
She hesitated only for a second, then gently brushed them aside, her hands trembling—not from fear, but pure, uncontainable excitement.
Dragging her suitcase behind her, she stepped into the heart of the mansion.
“Woah...”the breath escaped her lips without permission.
The air was thick with age, yet it held a strange charm—like stepping into a preserved piece of time. Despite the dust and decay, the grandeur of the place was unmistakable.
“This is the best decision I’ve ever made,”she thought, her eyes wide with wonder.
Towering ceilings soared above her, so high they reminded her of an opera house. Massive chandeliers—now dulled with time—still hung regally, their crystals catching stray beams of light filtering in through broken windows. The furniture, though cloaked in cobwebs and dust, radiated nobility. Every detail whispered stories.
And the walls—Lined with enormous, time-worn paintings and faded portraits, some with eyes that felt just a littletooalive.
All the paintings were beautiful in their own way — timeless brushstrokes frozen in silence. But one in particular... caught her breath.
It hung in the center of the far wall, larger than the others, framed in deep gold that had faded to bronze with age.
A man, perhaps in his twenties.Majestic. Almost regal.
His presence leapt off the canvas with an intensity that made her heart stutter. There was something hauntingly dignified about him — the kind of man you’d expect to find seated on a throne or commanding an empire with a glance.
His eyes...
They were dull, lifeless. And yet—there was a glow to them.Dark wine-red.Not painted... no. It felt too real. Like they were watching.
A strange chill traced her spine as she stepped closer, her gaze fixed on his sharp, elegant features. He looked cold. Not cruel—but unreadable. Untouchable.
His old-fashioned attire, the perfectly tailored suit, the neatly combed hair — it all added to the mystery. He was devastatingly handsome. The kind of beauty that demanded attention.
But Pallavi wasn’t someone easily swayed by a handsome face.And yet...She couldn’t look away.
Slowly, she stepped toward the portrait...Her feet moving on their own, climbing the grand staircase one step at a time.The wheels of her mildly heavy suitcase clattered softly behind her, but her eyes—They were locked.Drawn.Fixed on the man in the painting.
Those dark red orbs...They glowed.Even after centuries of silence, locked in the secrets of this abandoned mansion, they still held life. Fire.And something far more dangerous.
As she reached the landing, the air around her felt heavier... denser.She took a hesitant breath and looked down at the small, weathered label beneath the frame.
It was etched in bright, blood-red ink.The kind of red that didn’t fade with time.The kind that warned...run.
CHASE DE HARTWELLThe letters screamed at her, loud and deafening in the silence.
There it was.Thatname.The name whispered in hushed tones through old books and crumbling scrolls.The name that had lived in legends and nightmares.The name that still made people shiver—Even after five hundred years.
The name of the man who once ruled the shadows.The man who was rumored to haunt the very walls of the mansion she now stood in.
And now...She was in his home.Under his roof.Standing beneath his gaze.
“This man... he’sChase De Hartwell?!”Her voice trembled, barely a whisper, yet loud in the silence of the ancient halls.“The Mafia King... the Lord of Shadows?”
Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing louder than her thoughts.
“The most feared man in all the land?”She took a shaky step back, eyes still glued to the hauntingly regal portrait.His cold, dark-red eyes seemed to stare right through her soul.
“But... no, it can’t be... he’s rumored to be thecruelestbeing to have ever walked this earth...”She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.“They say he killed—killed his own mother...”
Her gaze dropped, flickering to the edges of the portrait as if it might confirm the truth.
“And that his entire family was found drenched in blood at their farmhouse across town...”Her voice faded, almost unsure if she believed the tale—or feared it too much to doubt.
The silence grew heavier.The mansion seemed tolisten.
Suddenly, a rush of wind circled around her, whispering through the silence like an unseen presence. It snapped her out of the trance the portrait had pulled her into. A faint chill climbed up her spine as the realization sank in — Chase De Hartwell.
The name still echoed in her head. The mafia king. The monster in silk.
“I should probably get some rest,” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible, trying to steady her nerves. Turning on her heel, she took the staircase to the left of the portrait, its old wooden steps creaking beneath her weight.
With every step, she felt it. A heavy gaze burning into her back, intense and unrelenting. Her eyes darted behind her for a brief moment — nothing. Just the eerie silence.
“Stop imagining things, Pallavi,” she muttered, trying to shake off the unease. But what she didn’t know... was that the man in the portrait — the very one whose name turned blood cold — had moved.His once still, painted eyes... were no longer lifeless.
They glowed — dark wine red. Watching her ascend the staircase with a storm of fury swirling within. There was no warmth in them. No sorrow. No pity. Only pure, restrainedrage.
And who was going to tell her... that the house she thought would save her, would first break her into pieces — only to piece her back together in the most unimaginable way?Because her fate was already sealed.With the ghost of Door No.17.
“Howdareyou step into my territory, you foolish little human!”His voice echoed like thunder through the silence—rough, ruthless, laced with a venomous fury that could freeze blood mid-flow.“You dare walk into my mansion... my hell... and think you’ll walk out untouched?”
He let out a low, dark chuckle, the sound dripping with sadism.“Get ready to suffer. To beg. To regret the very day you were born.”
His crimson eyes gleamed with murderous delight, his smirk stretching with cruelty stitched into every corner.Mercy?That word had long been bled out of his cold, undead veins.
(To be continued........)
