Spun from Moonlight

The following weeks blurred into an intoxicating dream.

Harper was given total reign over the Gilded Estate, an architectural marvel that defied the laws of physics. The mansion spanned across dozens of wings, each more lavish than the last. There were indoor gardens where the flowers bloomed with bioluminescent light, libraries filled with tomes bound in dragon-scale, and dining halls where the shadow-servants served banquets that could feed a small city.

The wealth was not just material; it was magical. Dorian presented her with gifts that made her gasp. He draped a necklace of crushed rubies around her throat that made her skin perpetually warm, banishing the deep chill that had lived in her bones since childhood. He gifted her gowns woven from captured moonlight, fabrics that shifted color depending on her mood.

It was everything Harper had ever dreamed of, multiplied by a thousand. Here, there were no red envelopes. There was no coughing in the next room, no agonizing calculations at the grocery store. There was only opulence, excess, and Dorian.

Dorian was a constant presence. As the Alchemist and Warden of the Estate, he managed the properties of the magical wealth, but his primary focus was Harper. He was endlessly attentive, guiding her through the gardens, teaching her the history of the realm, and looking at her with an intensity that made her breath catch.

One evening, they stood on a balcony overlooking the silver-lit gardens. The air was cool, smelling heavily of ozone. Dorian stood close behind her, the heat of his body radiating through her thin silk gown.

"You seem restless tonight, Harper," Dorian murmured, his voice a low rumble near her ear. He reached out, his long, pale fingers gently tracing the line of her collarbone, resting on the ruby necklace he had given her.

Harper shivered, leaning back into him just a fraction of an inch. She couldn't deny the physical pull he exerted over her. It was magnetic, dark, and deeply seductive. "I'm just... adjusting. It's a lot to take in."

"You are adjusting beautifully," Dorian said softly. "You wear the wealth as if you were born to it. But there is still a wall between us. You hold something back."

Harper’s heart skipped a beat. She forced a light laugh. "Just fragmented memories, Dorian. The amnesia."

He hummed, a noncommittal sound, and kissed the crown of her head. "Rest, my lady. The Estate requires your vitality."

When Dorian finally left her chambers, the facade of the pampered heir fell away.

Harper rushed to the grand fireplace, ensuring the heavy oak doors were bolted. She dropped to her knees on the plush Persian rug and pried up a loose floorboard she had discovered near the hearth.

Beneath the wood was a small, hollowed-out space. It was gleaming.

Over the past three weeks, Harper had been systematically hoarding. She stole solid gold cutlery from the dining hall, pried emeralds the size of robins' eggs from decorative vases, and cut swaths of the woven-gold wall tapestries from unused guest rooms. She had amassed a fortune large enough to buy the hospital that was treating her mother.

She added a heavy, solid platinum candlestick to the pile, replacing the floorboard and rolling the rug back over it.

She had the money. Now, she just needed the exit.

She had searched the Estate for the antique mirror that brought her here, but Dorian claimed it had shattered upon her arrival. She didn't believe him. She felt the crackle of magic in the air, a pulling sensation that always seemed to emanate from the forbidden subterranean levels of the mansion—the only place Dorian explicitly told her not to go.

She sat back on her heels, looking at her reflection in the dark glass of the balcony doors. She was draped in jewels and silk, her stomach full, her skin glowing. But the guilt gnawed at her. Every day she spent in this paradise was another day her mother suffered in reality.

She couldn't let the luxury distract her. She had to find the portal.