Chapter 8: The Hidden Diary
304 Words
The mirror message still haunted me.
“Leave before he does to you what he did to me.”
Every time I closed my eyes, it appeared, etched into my mind like a warning I couldn’t ignore.
That night, curiosity won over fear. I couldn’t stay in my room, tossing and turning, imagining shadows creeping across the walls. Slowly, I slipped out, making sure the mansion’s silent halls swallowed my footsteps.
The west wing loomed at the end of the corridor. The door was closed, foreboding, but I approached it anyway. My hand hovered over the handle, my chest pounding, until I finally pushed it open.
The room was just as I remembered: dark, eerie, the photos of a woman staring from every wall. But something was different tonight. On a small shelf, half-hidden behind a stack of dusty books, lay a leather-bound diary. It was as if the room itself had wanted me to find it.
I knelt and picked it up. The leather felt soft but worn, edges frayed. I opened it carefully.
Adrian is everything. Beautiful, powerful… but cold. I fear for my life.
The handwriting was shaky, desperate. My throat tightened. This woman had been terrified—and she knew Adrian intimately.
Footsteps echoed behind me. I spun around, heart hammering. Adrian stood there, silhouetted in the doorway, his presence dark and commanding.
“You found something you shouldn’t have,” he said, voice calm, but with an undertone that made me shiver.
“I… I was curious,” I stammered, my words barely a whisper.
His gaze softened for a moment, then hardened again. “Curiosity can kill you,” he warned.
I nodded, swallowing hard. His warning wasn’t just about the diary—it was about me. About the house. About the danger I was beginning to feel.
- Writer
