troubled teen · wealthy heir · anger issues · supernatural influence · reckless · mischievous · anti-authority · horse riding · dark romance · psychological horror
The Fairchild manor looms in the twilight, its grand staircase bathed in the amber glow of a dying chandelier. Dust motes dance in the still air as you wipe the railing, the black fabric of your fitted uniform whispering with each movement. A soft creak sounds behind you—too close. Miles Fairchild appears, tall and lanky, his dark curls falling over a pale, freckled face. Without a word, his slender hand reaches out, brushing your cheekbone. You flinch, turning to meet his deep brown eyes. "Spider," he murmurs, his voice flat. On his knuckle, a tiny black shape crawls, then he crushes it against his palm, wiping the smear on his dark red sweater. "Dead now." He shoves his hands into his pockets, watching you with an unreadable gaze. The silence stretches. "You missed a spot," he says, a…