THE LETTERS BEHIND THE MASK

POV: EVELYN The morning of her wedding week, Evelyn Hart woke up to a warning that threatened to turn everything upside down. It was just sitting there—right on her breakfast plate. No seal. No handwriting she recognized. Just her name: EVELYN HART, written in bold black ink. She stared at it, half-expecting it to vanish if she blinked. But the house around her was too lively for dreams. Staff darted through the halls, arms full of boxes packed with flowers. Somewhere downstairs, someone argued about table arrangements. Her wedding dress—her dazzling white hope—was waiting in the dressing room, every detail exactly as she’d pictured for months. Three more days. That’s all she had left before she became Evelyn Reed. By now, she should’ve been lost in thoughts about bouquets, vows, awkward family photos, and her fiancé, the man she’d be walking toward. But instead, she just kept staring at that envelope. It shouldn’t even be there. This house was always locked up tight. “Miss Hart?” She looked up fast. Her maid stood in the doorway, balancing a breakfast tray. “I’ll eat later,” Evelyn said. The maid glanced at the envelope on the plate. “Is something wrong?” “No.” Evelyn’s response came out just a beat too quickly. She picked up the envelope, surprised by its weight. Heavier than you’d expect from an ordinary piece of mail. “Who brought this?” she asked. “I don’t know,” the maid replied. “You don’t know?” “The kitchen staff just said it was already there when they picked up your tray.” Evelyn eyed the door. “Did anyone come upstairs?” “No, miss.” “You’re sure?” The maid nodded. Evelyn waited. When she finally left, Evelyn locked the door behind her. Only then did she open the envelope. Inside: a single, plain white sheet. No signature. Just one sentence, written with the same dark, steady hand. She read it. Stopped cold. DO NOT MARRY NICHOLAS REED. She blinked. Kept staring. Then, all at once, she laughed. Not because it was funny—more like the only other option was panic. “Seriously?” she muttered. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to mess with her. She read it again. Nicholas Reed. Her Nicholas. The man she’d loved for almost two years. The one who proposed to her only last winter, under the giant oak tree at his family’s place. The one who’d spent half a year fussing over venue choices and menus with her. Nicholas could be stubborn, keep secrets sometimes, even drive her wild with his moods. But dangerous? That was ridiculous. She folded the letter. Someone was jealous—probably one of those admirers Nicholas never quite managed to shake. Evelyn moved to toss the letter out. Then she caught a second line, much smaller, right beneath the first. Unfolding the paper, she stared. HE HAS ALREADY DECIDED HOW HE WILL KILL YOU. The house felt strangely quiet, like someone had stripped the noise from the air. Even the hammering and footsteps below faded away. Evelyn reread the line. Once. Twice. Her hands went cold. This wasn’t just petty jealousy. This was something else—a real accusation. Her phone was suddenly in her hand. Only one person could clear this fog. Nicholas. ——— Twenty minutes later, Nicholas walked in. He looked perfectly at ease: dark hair refusing to behave, white shirt sleeves rolled up, the glint of his favorite watch catching the morning sun. “There she is,” he said, and smiled. She stayed silent, didn’t smile. He noticed. “What happened?” Without a word, she held out the letter. Nicholas glanced from the paper to her face. “What’s that?” “You tell me.” He walked over, eyes flicking between her and the letter. She watched for some sign—shock, anger, confusion, anything. But Nicholas just studied the note for a few seconds, sighed, then smiled. Evelyn’s stomach clenched. “What?” “You’re angry,” he said gently. “Shouldn’t I be?” He took the letter. Read it. And then—he laughed. Actually laughed out loud. Evelyn just stared. “You think this is funny?” “I think I know who wrote it.” “Who?” He folded the note again. “Me.” She blinked. “Excuse me?” “I wrote it.” “You wrote this?” He nodded, like it made perfect sense. Evelyn’s anger tangled up with disbelief. “You wrote that you were going to kill me?” Nicholas raised his hands, placating. “Evelyn, wait—” “No, don’t ‘wait’ me. You just admitted you wrote a note telling your future wife you’ve already figured out how you’ll murder her.” “It was a joke.” “That’s your idea of a joke?” “A dramatic one,” he said. She stared, refusing to let him off the hook. He stepped closer. “You’ve been impossible to surprise lately. The wedding’s close, and all you do is stress over every little detail—the flowers, the seating, all of it. I wanted to do something unpredictable.” “So threatening me was romantic?” He winced. “It sounds terrible, put that way.” “Because it is terrible.” Nicholas’s laugh died fast. Evelyn didn’t crack a smile. He finally said, “I’m sorry.” She studied him. “You really wrote this?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you sign it?” “I wanted you to wonder—just for a second, you know? A little mystery before the wedding.” “You wanted me to think someone wanted to kill me?” He shrugged, sheepish. “I just wanted some drama.” She stared down at his hand on hers, thumb tracing her knuckles the way he did when she got nervous. Familiar, comforting. “You swear?” she asked. Nicholas didn’t hesitate. “I swear.” She felt something in her relax, just a little. Maybe she really had overreacted. Maybe this was just Nicholas being… Nicholas. She pulled her hand away. “You have an awful sense of humor.” He grinned. “You still love me.” “Unfortunately.” He leaned closer. “Fortunately.” Evelyn almost smiled. Almost. He kissed her on the forehead. “Forget the letter.” He started for the door, then stopped. “One more thing.” “What?” He looked serious. “Don’t let anyone ruin these next three days.” She frowned. “Why would anyone want to?” He held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged back into his smile. “Because you’re marrying me.” And then he left. Evelyn stood alone. She looked at the letter again, wanting to believe Nicholas, wanting to believe that was the end of it. She took the note, walked to the fireplace, and dropped it into the flames. Corner first, then the accusations. DO NOT MARRY NICHOLAS REED. She watched until there was nothing left but ashes. She turned away, not noticing the small black mark the fire left on the stone hearth—a mark that looked a little like a wolf. ——— That evening, the house felt like chaos—wedding planners everywhere, a parade of flowers, her mother locked in a heated debate with the caterer, and, of course, someone had lost the guest list. Nicholas called twice. Evelyn picked up the second time. “Are you still angry with me?” he asked. She tried not to smile. “A little.” “I’ll make it up to you.” “Oh? How?” “That’s a secret.” She laughed. “You’re sounding more suspicious by the hour.” “I learned from the best.” For a moment, it all felt normal. But then Nicholas said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She paused. “Tomorrow? I thought you were staying at your family’s place tonight.” “I changed my mind.” “Why?” A pause. “There’s just something I need to take care of.” Her smile slipped a little. “What kind of something?” “Nothing important.” “Nicholas—” “Evelyn—” Silence. Finally, he said quietly, “Trust me.” The call ended. Evelyn stared at the phone, suddenly uneasy. She tried to shake it off. It’s just that stupid letter. That’s all. She headed upstairs. The room was dark. She flicked the switch—nothing. She tried again. Still nothing. Great. She used her phone’s flashlight. That’s when she saw it: something sitting on her bed. An envelope. Her heart thudded. She hadn’t put anything there. She walked over slowly. The envelope this time was black. No name. No seal. Just three words: HE LIED. Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. Nicholas had promised. He’d sworn it was him. But now, someone—someone who definitely wasn’t Nicholas—had been in her locked room. Left another message. She picked up the envelope, hands shaking. And for the first time all day, her question changed. She stopped worrying that someone was trying to ruin her wedding. Instead, she started wondering if the man she loved had just lied to her. Out beyond the dark windows, somewhere among the trees, a pair of pale eyes watched. Waiting. Watching. Knowing she’d finally opened the wrong envelope.