The clock struck midnight as Elara sat by the flickering hearth in her chamber, the leather-bound journal open on her lap. The firelight danced across the pages, illuminating her mother-in-law's elegant script. Each word pulled her deeper into the Valmonts' shadowed history—tales of betrayal, forbidden love, and a curse whispered to linger within the estate's walls. Her eyes lingered on a passage: The mirror in the east wing holds the truth, but only the brave dare look.
A shiver ran through her, the room suddenly feeling colder. The east wing had been forbidden since her arrival, its doors locked and guarded by silent servants. Yet the journal's words stirred a restless curiosity within her. She closed the book, her decision made, and slipped into the darkened hallway.
The manor was silent, save for the soft creak of floorboards beneath her steps. A sliver of moonlight guided her toward the east wing, where a heavy oak door loomed. Her fingers brushed the cold handle, and to her surprise, it yielded. The hinges groaned as she stepped inside, the air thick with dust and forgotten years.
At the far end of the corridor, a tall, ornate mirror stood, its frame carved with twisting vines and shadowed faces. Elara approached, her reflection faint in the dim light. As she gazed into it, the glass shimmered, revealing not her own image but a scene from the past—a young Cassian, his face unscarred, laughing with a woman whose features mirrored his own. His mother, perhaps? The vision shifted, showing the same woman collapsing, her eyes wide with terror, while Cassian's anguished cry echoed through the glass.
Elara stumbled back, her heart pounding. The mirror went dark, her reflection returning. Before she could process what she'd seen, a hand gripped her shoulder. She spun around, meeting Cassian's stormy gaze.
"What are you doing here?" His voice was low, laced with a fury that made her breath catch.
"I—I found this in your mother's journal," she stammered, holding up the book. "It said the mirror holds the truth. I had to see."
His expression darkened, but he released her, stepping toward the mirror. "You shouldn't have come. This place is dangerous, Elara. For you, for me."
She steadied herself, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. "What happened here, Cassian? What did I see?"
He turned away, his shoulders tense. "A memory I buried. My mother's death—wasn't an accident. Someone in this house betrayed her. I've spent years trying to uncover who, but the truth stays just out of reach."
Elara's mind raced, piecing together the journal's hints. "And the curse? Is that why you're alone, why you hide?"
Cassian faced her, his eyes raw with pain. "The curse is a story to keep people away. But the betrayal was real. And it's why I can't trust anyone—not even you, not yet."
Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the hall. Gideon appeared, his usual grin absent, replaced by a grim set to his jaw. "Cassian, we have a problem. Someone's been in the west archives. Papers are missing."
Cassian's gaze snapped to Gideon. "Who?"
"Don't know yet," Gideon replied, his voice tight. "But it's someone who knows the house. And they left this." He held out a torn scrap of paper, its ink smudged but legible: The bride will fall.
Elara's blood ran cold, but she lifted her chin. "If someone wants me gone, they'll have to try harder."
Cassian's eyes met hers, a flicker of something—respect, perhaps—breaking through his guarded demeanor. "Stay close to me, Elara. Whatever's happening, you're part of it now."
As they left the east wing, the mirror's reflection lingered in her mind, a silent promise of truths yet to unfold. The manor's secrets were no longer just Cassian's burden—they were hers too. And with each step, she felt the weight of a destiny she was only beginning to grasp.