Chapter 5
1062 Words
The Truth He Won’t Tell
The words glared at me from the page like a curse etched in fire.
Tomorrow, he will betray her.
I slammed the diary shut, but it didn’t erase them. They pulsed behind my eyelids, poisoning my veins with dread.
When I finally slept, it was fitfully, plagued by dreams of Craig turning his back while the ocean swallowed me whole.
--- Morning light dragged me back into reality. Craig was waiting at breakfast, the picture of calm elegance—white shirt open at the throat, sleeves rolled up, dark eyes unreadable. His casual beauty made me want to believe in safety. But the diary’s warning hung between us like a blade.
“Sleep well?” he asked, pouring me tea as though nothing had changed.
I almost laughed. Sleep well? When does the book beside my bed predict my destruction?
“I dreamt of drowning,” I said instead. “Does that count?”
His hand froze on the teapot. For a heartbeat, I saw something flicker across his face—pain. Then the mask returned, smooth and unbreakable.
“You shouldn’t read too much into dreams.”
I met his gaze. “And what about diaries that write themselves?”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Craig set the pot down with deliberate care. “You went back to it last night, didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
His jaw tightened. He leaned forward, every inch of him sharp and unyielding. “Adele, listen to me. There are things you don’t understand. Things I can’t—”
“Can’t, or won’t?” My voice cut through his.
The air thickened between us. His lips pressed into a hard line, and for once, I wasn’t sure if he was angry at me—or himself.
I pushed my chair back, the scrape of wood against marble echoing like defiance. “I’m done living in riddles. If you want me to trust you, then stop treating me like a child locked in the dark. Tell me the truth, Craig. About the diaries. About the women in those photographs. About why there are no boats.”
His hands curled into fists. He rose slowly, towering over me with a force that stole the breath from my lungs. But when he spoke, his voice cracked—not with rage, but with something rawer.
“Because I’ve lost them all.”
The words hung in the air, ragged and trembling.
I blinked, stunned. “Lost… who?”
He turned away, bracing a hand on the terrace railing as though holding himself together. “The others. The women before you.”
My blood chilled. “What happened to them?”
His shoulders stiffened. “They left. They ran. They were taken from me.”
“That doesn’t answer—”
“Because there isn’t an answer you’ll accept!” His voice broke, his composure splintering. “Adele, do you think I don’t know what you see when you look at me? A captor. A monster. A man you should fear. But I swear to you—” He spun back, eyes burning. “I would burn this island to ashes before I let anyone take you from me.”
His desperation slammed into me harder than his fury.
This wasn’t just possession. It was an obsession laced with grief. Whoever those women had been, whatever had happened to them—it had carved something jagged into him, something that bled whenever I pressed too close.
I wanted to recoil. To scream at him for his secrets. But instead, my heart twisted in my chest. Because beneath the fear, I saw a man terrified of breaking.
“Craig…” My voice softened against my will.
He reached for me then, his hand trembling as it brushed my cheek. “You don’t understand what you are to me. You’re the first… the only one who still makes me believe I can change this.”
His touch seared, melting resistance into something reckless.
I should’ve pushed him away. Instead, I leaned into him. His mouth claimed mine with desperate fire, the kiss tasting of longing and ruin. It was too much, too fast—anger and fear twisting into desire so fierce it shook me.
When we finally tore apart, breathless, I whispered, “And if you can’t change it?”
His jaw clenched. “Then I’ll damn us both before I let fate decide.”
--- The rest of the day unfolded in uneasy silence. He was gentler, attentive again, as if the storm at breakfast had been a hallucination. But every glance, every brush of his hand, carried a weight heavier than before.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling that something inside him was unravelling.
That evening, I slipped away under the pretence of bathing. My steps carried me to the study, my pulse wild with both fear and determination.
If Craig wouldn’t give me the truth, I would take it. The drawer in his desk called to me like a forbidden spell. I’d seen him lock it before, but when I tried, the handle gave way with a soft click.
Inside lay stacks of leather-bound journals. Diaries. My breath caught. Each bore a woman’s name embossed on the spine in gold.
Lydia. Charlotte. Emily. My hand shook as I pulled one free. The pages smelled faintly of salt and roses. I flipped through them, my stomach knotting with every line.
They were love stories. Day-by-day accounts of women swept into Craig’s world—his charm, his gifts, his promises. Each entry brimmed with passion.
Until the endings.
They all ended abruptly. Pages stopped mid-sentence. The last words are always the same.
Day Thirteen: He swears he loves me. But love is the cage I cannot escape.
My chest tightened, air clawing at my throat. Heart pounding, I reached for the last diary. It was blank. Except for one thing.
My name was pressed into the leather cover in gold.
Adele.
The book slipped from my hands and hit the desk with a hollow thud. Footsteps echoed behind me. I spun, and there he was. Craig. His face was unreadable. His eyes locked on the diary that bore my name.
“What,” he asked softly, dangerously, “are you doing, Adele?”
--- Craig Catches me in the act.
- Writer
