Chapter 4
1148 Words
The Attempt
The sound of the diary snapping shut still rang in my ears. Craig sat in my chair as though he owned the air I breathed, the space I thought was mine. He didn’t look angry. That would’ve been easier. Instead, he looked… disappointed.
“You weren’t supposed to read ahead,” he repeated, his voice a low murmur.
My throat tightened. “Why? Why not? Am I supposed to just smile and play perfect little bride while this book writes my death sentence?”
His gaze flickered, sharp as broken glass. Then, slowly, he rose to his feet. The diary dangled in his hand, careless, as though its contents didn’t shatter me.
“Do you believe everything you read, Adele?” His tone was almost mocking. “If so, I should lock you away from newspapers and magazines. They’d convince you I’m worse than the devil.”
“Then tell me it’s not true!” The words ripped out of me, raw, desperate. “Tell me these pages aren’t real. Tell me they’re not predicting my every move!”
For the briefest moment, something unguarded crossed his face—fear.
But it vanished as quickly as it came. He set the diary on my nightstand, his movements controlled, deliberate. Then he leaned close, so close his breath brushed my cheek.
“Do you want the truth?” His whisper curled down my spine. “The truth is… you’re still here. Isn’t that enough?”
The words struck like a blow. Because buried inside them was an unspoken threat: You could be gone.
My chest ached as he left the room, his footsteps echoing down the hall. The diary sat there, mute and menacing.
I wanted to burn it. I wanted to tear out the pages until it was nothing but shreds.
But when I reached for it, my hand trembled too much to touch it.
--- Morning came with golden light and the distant sound of waves. I clung to the routine Craig orchestrated like a conductor—breakfast on the terrace, a walk through the gardens, tea by the fountain. But every smile, every gentle word, felt like glass cutting into my skin.
The diary’s prophecy haunted me. She will try to escape the island.
So I tested it.
I skipped breakfast, hiding in my room. Later, I took the east garden path instead of the west. I even avoided the beach entirely. Each time I returned, the diary’s words had shifted.
She skipped breakfast, pacing her room.
She wandered the east path but found no peace.
She avoided the waves, though they called to her.
My blood ran cold. It wasn’t prophecy. It was surveillance. The pages recorded what I had already done.
Unless… it was writing in real time.
That thought terrified me more than any ghost story.
By evening, I was unravelling. Craig noticed.
“You’re quieter than usual,” he observed, pouring me wine at dinner. His dark eyes searched mine. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.” I forced a smile, but it cracked at the edges. His jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me.”
The sharpness in his tone was new. It cut deeper than I expected. For a flicker of a moment, I saw not the attentive host, not the enigmatic lover—but the ruthless man who built empires by breaking anyone in his way.
I pushed the glass aside. “Maybe I’m tired of being treated like a prisoner.”
His gaze darkened, but instead of fury, I saw anguish. “Prisoner? Adele … you’re the only reason I breathe. I’m trying to keep you safe.”
Safe from what? Or who?
Before I could ask, he rose abruptly and left the table, leaving me with unanswered questions and a heart that pounded like a war drum.
--- That night, the diary delivered its cruellest blow yet.
Day Four: She will stand at the dock and find nothing. She will return to him empty-handed. I bit down on a sob. But something inside me rebelled. If the diary wanted me at the dock, then I would go. Not because it commanded me—because I needed to know if fate had already trapped me.
Slipping out of the mansion, I followed the winding path beneath a silver moon. The ocean stretched vast and endless, waves whispering secrets I could almost understand. The dock jutted out like salvation. But as the diary promised, the boats were gone. Everyone.
The wood beneath my feet groaned as if mocking me. Salt air stung my lungs.
For one wild second, I considered throwing myself into the sea, swimming until my body gave out. But the current was merciless. I wouldn’t last an hour.
My knees buckled. I sank against the dock post, clutching myself as tears burned my eyes.
It was hopeless.
And then, a voice cut through the night.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
I whipped around.
Craig stood at the path’s edge, shadows clinging to him like a crown. His expression wasn’t angry—it was weary, almost… betrayed.
He walked toward me, slow, deliberate.
“I wondered how long it would take,” he murmured. “The diary always wins in the end.”
His words sent ice flooding my veins. “So you do know what’s in it.”
His silence was answer enough.
I staggered back as he reached me. “What are you? What are you hiding from me?”
He caught my wrist—not violently, but firmly, as if afraid I’d vanish if he let go. His touch burned with desperation.
“I told you once,” he said hoarsely. “I’ve lost others before. But I can’t lose you, Adele. I won’t.”
“Then explain it to me!” My voice cracked, raw with anguish. “The photographs, the diaries, the missing boats—what am I supposed to believe? That this is love?”
His grip trembled. For the first time, his composure fractured.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Because even when you hate me, even when you fear me—you still feel it too. Don’t you?”
God help me, he was right.
My heart betrayed me, hammering with more than fear. My skin remembered his touch, my lips remembered his kiss.
And that terrified me most of all.
I yanked free, stumbling back toward the mansion. He didn’t stop me. He just stood there, watching, as though letting me run was part of some game only he understood.
When I returned to my room, the diary lay open on the bed. My breath caught.
New words had appeared.
Day Four: She returned to him. Empty-handed. Empty-hearted.
And beneath it, scrawled as though by my own hand:
Tomorrow, he will betray her.
---The diary shifts, warning that Craig will betray me next.
- Writer
