Rhea's heartbeat thundered in her chest as the wardrobe door hung open, its dark interior yawning like a hungry mouth.
The whisper lingered in the air—cold, feminine, and impossibly close.
Rhea's lips trembled. "Who's there?"
Only silence answered her.
She forced herself to step backward slowly. Her palms were sweating, her throat tight. She reached for the bedside lamp, but before her fingers touched it, the light flickered violently—
Once.
Twice.
Then it went out completely.
The room sank into darkness.
"No… no, no—" Rhea whispered, gripping the edge of the bed to steady herself.
Then she heard it.
Breathing.
Soft.
Delicate.
Right behind her.
Rhea whirled around, her breath caught in her chest.
"Adrian?" Her voice cracked.
She reached out blindly in the darkness—
And her hand touched nothing.
But the breathing moved—circling her, brushing her shoulder, her neck, like invisible footsteps pacing around her.
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut.
"This… this isn't real."
A cold voice whispered back, barely audible, almost sighing:
"Real enough to take you."
The temperature dropped. Frost crawled across the window. Rhea backed away until her spine hit the wall.
"Stop!" She cried.
The whisper laughed softly—mocking, familiar. A woman's laugh.
Suddenly—
The door burst open.
Light flooded the room.
Adrian stood there, chest rising fast, eyes blazing.
"What happened?"
Rhea didn't think—she ran straight to him.
He caught her, arms tightening around her automatically.
She was shaking uncontrollably.
"There was someone… in the room," she gasped. "A woman—her voice—she was right behind me, Adrian!"
His jaw clenched.
"Did she touch you?"
"No… just… whispered."
Adrian's eyes darkened in a way Rhea couldn't understand. Not fear. Not surprised. But anger. A deep, simmering anger.
He cupped her face gently.
"Look at me."
Rhea lifted her eyes to his.
"You're safe now," he said firmly. "As long as I'm here, nothing will touch you."
Rhea swallowed, nodding shakily. But the question broke out:
"What was that?"
Adrian stepped past her, walked to the wardrobe, and placed his hand on the edge. The air around him shifted—thick, tense, electric—as if the shadows bowed to him.
"She's getting bold," he murmured.
"She?" Rhea whispered.
Adrian turned back to her.
The hardness in his expression was gone—replaced by something tired. Haunted.
"There's something you need to know," he said quietly. "But not here."
He reached for her hand.
"Come."
Rhea hesitated. "Where are we going?"
"To the only room in this mansion she cannot enter."
His fingers laced through hers, warm and grounding, pulling her from the icy dread still clinging to her skin.
They walked down the hallway, past portraits whose eyes seemed to follow them, past doors slightly ajar as if someone had just slipped inside.
Finally, Adrian stopped before a heavily carved wooden door covered in strange markings.
Rhea touched one of them. "What are these symbols?"
"Protection," Adrian said. "Old magic."
He pushed the door open.
Inside was a circular room filled with shelves of ancient books, candles burning with steady golden light, and a single painting above the fireplace—a woman with cold eyes and a cruel smile.
Rhea froze.
"Who is she?"
Adrian exhaled deeply.
"My first bride."
Rhea's stomach dropped.
"And the curse," he said quietly, "began with her."