Behind the door

Midnight confessions

Chapter 6 - Midnight Confessions

The clock in the hall struck midnight. Each chime seemed to reverberate through the walls of Marlowe House, echoing deep inside Elena’s chest. She sat upright in bed, unable to shake the sound of Adrian’s whisper at her door.

“Don’t open it. Not tonight.”

The words clung to her like a second skin.

She rose quietly, wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and lit her candle once more. The house breathed in silence, but it was not the silence of peace—it was the silence of something watching.

Elena crept into the hallway. The hidden door loomed at the far end, shadowed and impenetrable. She hesitated, drawn toward it like a moth to flame. When she touched the cold brass handle again, she thought she felt warmth on the other side—like someone had pressed their palm there, moments before.

Her breath quickened. She turned back, and that’s when she saw him.

Adrian.

He stood at the bottom of the staircase, half-shrouded in darkness, his coat still damp from the storm. The flicker of her candle caught his eyes—storm-gray, sharp, unreadable.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was low, steady, but there was tension in it, like a violin string pulled too tight.

Elena’s grip tightened on the candleholder. “What are you doing in my house again?”

He stepped forward slowly, as though approaching a frightened animal. “I heard something. I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

Her heart slammed against her ribs. “Safe—from what? From you?”

For the first time, his composure cracked. His jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to the locked door behind her. “No. From this house. From what it keeps.”

Elena’s skin prickled. “You keep saying things like that. Secrets, danger, warnings. But you never explain. Why should I believe you?”

Adrian ascended the stairs one measured step at a time until he stood just below her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from him. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.

“Because, Elena… your grandmother asked me to protect you.”

The candlelight trembled. “What?”

“She came to me before she died,” Adrian continued, his expression taut with something between pain and duty. “She knew someone would come for you. That the past would surface the moment you returned. She made me promise I’d watch over you.”

Elena’s knees weakened. Part of her wanted to step back, to retreat. Another part wanted to lean closer, to search his eyes for the truth.

“You expect me to believe that?” she whispered.

Adrian reached the top step, closing the last distance between them. His gaze softened, and for a heartbeat, the weight of the storm in his eyes lifted, revealing something startlingly vulnerable.

“No,” he said quietly. “I expect you to feel it.”

The silence between them crackled, charged, dangerous. Elena’s pulse thundered. She could smell the rain still clinging to his coat, the faint warmth of his skin.

Her lips parted, but before she could speak, the sound of a sudden thud echoed from behind the hidden door.

They both froze.

Elena’s candle flickered violently, casting long, trembling shadows down the corridor.

Adrian’s hand shot out, steadying her arm before she could drop the flame. His grip was firm, grounding, and she hated how her body betrayed her—heat flaring where his skin touched hers.

“Don’t,” he whispered, his face inches from hers. “Don’t open it. Not tonight.”

Another thud rattled the door, louder this time, followed by what sounded like a faint scrape, as if nails—or fingers—dragged along the wood.

Elena’s breath hitched. “What’s in there, Adrian?”

His expression hardened, the storm returning to his gaze. “The reason you should have never come back.”