The city never slept, but Adrian Veyne's penthouse was wrapped in silence. After the contract signing, his assistant had fled with pale cheeks and trembling hands, leaving him alone with the woman who now bore his name.
Elara moved through the vast office as if she belonged to the shadows themselves. Her gown whispered against the polished floor, and every step seemed to dim the lights overhead. Adrian watched her carefully, his mind calculating, dissecting, searching for weakness.
"You should know," he said, voice low, "I don't tolerate games. Whatever trick you pulled back there—"
Her gaze lifted, steady and unflinching. "Do you think I control them?"
Adrian's jaw tightened. "Them?"
Elara walked to the glass wall that overlooked the city. The skyline glittered, but her reflection in the glass was wrong. Adrian frowned. Her body stood before him, but in the reflection, she was surrounded by figures—blurred, faceless, pressing close as though eager to escape.
He rose from his chair, crossing the room with deliberate steps. "What are you?"
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "Your bride."
The words were simple, but the air shifted. Adrian felt the temperature drop, a chill crawling across his skin. He reached for the contract folder on his desk, flipping through the pages as if the ink might explain the impossible.
The clauses were ordinary—marriage, inheritance, business ties. Nothing about shadows, nothing about ghosts. Yet the paper trembled in his hands, as though unseen fingers brushed against it.
Adrian slammed the folder shut. "I built this empire on control. No one—alive or dead—takes that from me."
Elara turned from the glass, her eyes dark pools that seemed to hold centuries. "Control is an illusion, Mr. Veyne. You'll learn that soon enough."
The lights flickered again. This time, Adrian heard it—whispers threading through the silence, faint but distinct. Names. Pleas. Laughter that didn't belong to the living.
He scanned the room, every muscle taut. "Where are they?"
Elara tilted her head, listening. "Everywhere. They've followed me since the day I was born. And now, they've followed me to you."
Adrian's hand clenched into a fist. He had faced hostile takeovers, betrayals, and boardroom wars. None of it had shaken him. But this—this unseen presence gnawed at the edges of his certainty.
The whispers grew louder, pressing against the glass walls. Adrian strode forward, slamming his palm against the window. The city lights flickered in response, skyscrapers blinking like dying stars.
"Enough!" His voice thundered through the room.
The whispers stopped. Silence fell, heavy and absolute.
Adrian turned, triumphant—only to freeze.
Elara stood in the center of the room, her gown pooling around her feet. But behind her, shadows stretched across the floor, long and reaching, though no light cast them. They twisted, forming shapes—hands, faces, mouths open in silent screams.
Adrian's breath caught. For the first time in years, fear pricked his chest.
Elara's voice was soft, almost tender. "They don't like being ignored."
The shadows surged. Papers flew from the desk, scattering like feathers. The contract folder slammed shut with a force that wasn't human. Adrian staggered back, his composure cracking.
"Stop this," he demanded. "Whatever curse you carry, it ends here."
Elara's eyes glistened, sorrow flickering beneath her calm. "You think curses end because you command them? No, Adrian. They end when they're paid."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Adrian's mind raced. Paid? With what? Money? Power? Or something far more costly?
The shadows pressed closer, their faceless forms stretching toward him. Adrian's instincts screamed to fight, to dominate, to crush. But how do you fight what you cannot touch?
He forced his voice steady. "Then tell me what they want."
Elara's gaze locked with his. "They want what was promised. And if you don't give it to them… they'll take it themselves."
The lights died. Darkness swallowed the room.
Adrian reached for his phone, for control, for anything—but a cold hand closed around his wrist again. This time, he saw it. Pale, skeletal fingers curling out of the shadows, gripping him with impossible strength.
Elara whispered, her voice echoing in the dark. "Welcome to our marriage, Mr. Veyne."
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