MEGAN
Sitting alone in my living room, I stared blankly at the lace curtains swaying with the breeze. The dim light from the chandelier reflected off the polished floors, but the room felt cold.
This was my world now—trapped inside Crest Moon Mansion as the "ghost bride." The term felt like a curse.
I sighed, resting my chin in my hand. My thoughts were drifting again, thinking of what could have been.
A sudden knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. Before I could respond, Cindy, my personal maid, entered, balancing a tray of food with shaky hands. Her face was pale, and I immediately noticed the tension in her movements.
“Miss Megan,” she started, placing the tray carefully on the coffee table, “I... I heard something.”
I raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong, Cindy?”
Her eye
