Have you ever heard the advice to read contracts thoroughly?
It's a universal truth, regardless of era or country. In my opinion, humanity should engrave the painful lesson of "draft contracts carefully" into their minds rather than the biblical teaching to "love thy neighbor." If I had done so, this tragedy would never have occurred.
To cut to the chase, I've fallen victim to contract fraud. Worse still, I signed an insane agreement with my soul as collateral. This predicament stems entirely from my failure to pay attention while signing the contract.
If there's a silver lining, it's that while most scam victims lose their assets, I've gained some. A sprawling hotel on a 50-acre resort is now mine.
You might think: if I've gained wealth, what's the problem?
But this is truly a grave matter.
Because this isn't a hotel staffed by humans.
"Why the troubled look, Miss Lindtale? Ah, I should say 'Madam Director' now, shouldn't I?"
The most unsettling thing of all is the hotel manager standing before me. Hair as black as ebony, eyes as dark and blue as the deep sea, and sharply defined features. He resembles an excessively perfect sculpture—so flawless it's unsettling rather than beautiful.
He raises the corner of his mouth gently and says:
"If you need any assistance, please don't hesitate to ask, Madam Director."
Assistance? I need it right now. Tell the real owner of this insane hotel to come out.
But now I'm the owner? Damn it all.
This happened a few days before I became the owner of this bizarre hotel.
One day, I unexpectedly received a letter from my uncle.
I sat before the fireplace, staring intently at my uncle's letter. My mind was slow to comprehend what my eyes had already read.
So, Uncle Jervis is dead? Just like that?
Wondering if I'd misread, I slowly closed my eyes and opened them again. The sparks from the fireplace still crackled, and the letter in my hand remained unchanged.
"Uncle couldn't have died so suddenly..."
My legs gave way, and I sank to the floor.
It feels like an endless nightmare. No, it's worse. The reality I must face alone is overwhelming.
Three months ago, I lost my parents and younger sibling in a fire. I was the only one who escaped the mansion as it was engulfed in flames.
The longtime maid who helped me dress every morning, the gardener with his cheerful laugh, the chef who strived to please my palate—they're all figures of the past now.
With the mansion reduced to ashes, I stayed at a townhouse in the capital, living in a daze. There was no time to grieve. Funeral arrangements, title succession, inheritance matters—there was too much to handle, and I worked through sleepless nights to sort through these complicated issues.
Sad as it was, I resolved to do what I could as the heir for my deceased family.
"Do you really think you deserve to be the Lindtale heir?"
"Surviving alone while your parents and sibling died! How shameless! Even God won't forgive you."
"Goodness, not a single tear at the funeral. You really are..."
I could tolerate distant relatives I'd rarely met trying to take everything I had left. Uncle Jervis was the only family I could rely on, and his mere existence was a great comfort.
It was fine if he didn't reply to my letters. I could bear his absence at the funeral. He must be busy; it would take time to return to Shetland from abroad. I firmly believed he would return someday, if not now.
But the letter I finally received from him after months contained news of his own death.
I stared blankly at the letter. If I threw it into the hot fireplace, would everything go back to normal? Perhaps uncle's death was a lie. He was always prone to exaggeration, so this letter might be a prank.
I slowly walked to the hallway and gazed at the townhouse entrance, imagining Uncle opening the door, exclaiming "You gullible child!" and laughing heartily.
My mind, unprepared to accept reality, felt ready to explode. I wanted to escape. I needed to distract myself with something else.
Just then, something about the letter struck me as familiar.
I rushed to my room and searched the drawers for the letters I'd received from Uncle. Most had burned with the mansion, but some should remain in this townhouse.
"...Found them. Good thing I kept them."
When I turned fifteen, Uncle suddenly left home and never returned, but he continued to send letters regularly. He said he was traveling around the world. Sometimes he was at the edge of Shetland, in a neighboring country, or on a distant continent... Always promising to take me on that journey someday.
But at some point, Uncle's letters gradually dwindled, with only one in the past year.
I spread several letters across the desk.
This letter arrived five years ago, not long after Uncle left the mansion. At that time, he seemed to genuinely enjoy his travels.
This letter arrived half a year ago and, apart from the one I received today, was the most recent.
Compared to the letter from five years ago, the one from six months ago had so many strange points that I doubted whether Uncle had really written it. If he had, he must have been out of his mind when writing it. I immediately sent a letter asking about his condition, but there was no reply.
Something has gone terribly wrong.
My current situation, the news of Uncle's death today, the letter from six months ago—everything is strange. Uncle occasionally mentioned looking for a hotel, but the traveling Uncle being a hotel owner? It's too sudden.
Uncle said there would be no problem with letter delivery. But I can't believe anything without seeing it with my own eyes.
The next day, I sent a reply saying I would visit the address in the letter soon and hurriedly packed my luggage. Preparing for a potentially long hotel stay, I packed generously, creating a mountain of bags.
After entrusting the townhouse management to the existing caretaker, I boarded a carriage without any servants. There weren't enough staff to manage the mansion anyway.
'Whether the letter arrives first or I do...'
After changing to a train and traveling for quite some time, I reached Grimsworth at the western end of Shetland.
Whenever I tried to rest on the train, nightmares prevented me from sleeping. After taking another carriage from the station and traveling for hours, I reached the entrance to Haven Court. The coachman, who claimed to be a local, stopped the carriage in an unfamiliar place.
In a thick fog where I couldn't see a thing ahead, the coachman opened the carriage door and calmly said:
"Miss, I can go no further. Wait for the carriage sent by the Belvedere."
"...What do you mean by that suddenly?"
Am I really expected to be abandoned alone in this remote place?
First chapter done! I expected something way less romantic comedy from the cover lololol, that's why im dropping this~~ I tried experimenting a bit more w the translation quality & stuff, I'm happy to hear what you all think!
novel info // next chapter
