The journal sat in my lap like a living thing.
Its leather cover was scuffed and warm from my hands, the corners bent from use, the gold-embossed initials on the front faded just enough to suggest age.
E.S.
Evelyne Sinclair.
The woman who came before me.
Or was still here.
I had found it last night — hidden beneath a silk robe in the third-floor bedroom Julian told me was "off limits." The room looked untouched, like someone had walked out mid-morning routine and never returned. The perfume in the air had been cloying. Heavy. Like old roses pressed between book pages.
I hadn't slept since. My body was exhausted, but my mind was racing, crawling over every entry like it was the only map that could lead me out of the madness I had woken up in.
The handwriting was elegant. Slightly rushed. Familiar.
Too familiar.
It was mine.
But the words? They weren't.
October 6
He said we're going to spend forever together.
I believed him when he gave me the key to the mansion.
Now I think it was a cage.
October 19
He touches my hair at night. He says he loves the way it curls like it's still wild.
He says I need to stop running.
I didn't know I was.
November 2
There's a camera behind the mirror in the master bathroom.
When I moved the vase, it blinked red.
I flipped faster now. My hands shaking. A growing horror spreading through my chest like smoke.
November 9
He brought someone home today.
She looked like me. Same cheekbones. Same smile. Same hair.
He said she was just a model for one of his campaigns.
But when I caught them in the wine cellar, she was sitting on his lap.
And he whispered, "No one will love you the way I do."
I sat back, staring at the page until the ink blurred. My ears rang. I felt like I was falling, even though the chair beneath me hadn't moved.
How long had he been doing this?
Replacing her?
Replacing me?
I looked around the dim library. The curtains drawn. The fire dying. The walls lined with ancient books and velvet bindings that felt more like tombstones than stories. I was alone in a house that felt like it had been built from lies.
Julian said she left. That she lost herself.
But what if she hadn't?
What if she'd been erased?
It wasn't just the journal.
There were other clues. Things I'd brushed off before, thinking I was overreacting. The drawer of perfume bottles in my closet that smelled used. The box of scarves that had lipstick stains. The bloodstain I saw on the bathroom tile on my first morning here, which Julian had claimed was rust.
Now, every detail sharpened.
Now, I saw the truth hiding in plain sight.
This mansion wasn't built for me.
It was built for her.
And now I was wearing her life like a dress tailored to my size.
I heard footsteps echoing faintly outside the library door. I snapped the journal shut and tucked it beneath a cushion, standing up quickly. I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and tried to erase the haunted look from my eyes.
Julian entered the room with two steaming cups of coffee and that ever-calm smile.
"I thought you might be awake," he said, holding one out to me. "Can't sleep again?"
I took the cup with trembling hands. "No. Couldn't stop thinking."
"About us?" he asked, watching me closely.
My throat tightened. "About everything."
He nodded like he understood. Like he had compassion. But the light in his eyes didn't reach the corners. It never did.
"I know it's still confusing," he said, stepping closer. "But Ava… we're meant to be here. Together. You're my wife. That hasn't changed just because your mind is playing tricks on you."
I sipped the coffee to avoid answering. It was too sweet — exactly how I hated it. Which was strange.
Julian sat beside me on the couch. "I used to read to you here," he said, looking around. "Remember? You'd fall asleep with your head on my shoulder."
I shook my head, unable to lie. "I don't remember."
"Not yet," he said smoothly. "But it'll come back. In pieces."
He brushed my hair behind my ear, the same way he must've done with her. His fingers lingered on my neck.
"It always does."
That afternoon, I returned to the journal while Julian took a call in his office. He'd left the door open just slightly, but I heard nothing but low murmurs.
I turned to the final pages.
December 1
He knows I know.
He stopped smiling today. I think I've lost control.
The girl came back. The one with my face.
He kissed her the same way he kissed me before we got married.
I watched him from the hallway. He didn't see me.
Or maybe he did.
December 3
I found the documents. The will. He changed the beneficiary.
My name isn't on anything anymore.
He said I was being paranoid.
I'm not.
December 4
I saw her wearing my wedding ring.
I think she's going to replace me.
If this is the last thing I ever write…
That was it. The page ended mid-sentence. No punctuation. No signature.
The rest of the journal was blank.
A pit opened in my stomach. I stared at the page until the words burned behind my eyes.
Was I her?
Or was I the girl she warned about?
And if I was — what did that make me?
A shadow fell across the room.
I snapped the book shut and turned.
Julian was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, watching me.
"I see you found her little diary," he said.
His voice was calm.
But his eyes were not.