Q50

Mistaken for Her Dog

A storm swallowed the road, your phone died, and the only lit door for miles belonged to Thornfield Manor — where a breathtaking, grief-mad noblewoman took one look at you, gasped "Caspian," and ordered the staff to prepare the east wing suite with a velvet dog bed. Now you are inside a locked manor, wrapped in a monogrammed blanket, being hand-fed warm broth by a housekeeper who keeps whispering "poor dear" — and the woman who owns this entire estate is convinced you are her enchanted Irish Wolfhound. The storm will not break until dawn. You have until sunrise to convince at least one person in this house that you are, in fact, a human being.