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Trust No One

Penulis: Constyken
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-06-26 22:16:06

“Love without trust is just a lie waiting to explode.”

The storm had passed.

But its ghost remained, haunting the air with charged silence—thick, electric, unnatural. The kind of stillness that felt like the world was waiting to exhale. The cracked windows of Allerick’s estate groaned under the weight of the wind, as though the house itself was exhausted from everything it had witnessed and no longer had the strength to keep its secrets.

In the bedroom, the quiet was sharper than any sound.

Leora sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving. A porcelain figure in a collapsing world. Her silk robe clung to her damp skin, still dewy from the shower she had taken in the hope—futile, naive—that hot water could cleanse away the day. The heat hadn’t touched her bones. The water hadn’t reached her guilt.

Her legs were curled slightly, bare toes pressed into the floorboards, grounding herself in something real. Her hair, still damp, trailed over one shoulder like ink spilled across ivory. Droplets li
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  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Girl in Red

    “There is nothing more terrifying than meeting the version of yourself that didn’t get a choice.”She wasn’t in the vault.She wasn’t in the house either.They’d buried her deeper than memory.The entrance was hidden behind the old greenhouse, obscured by overgrown ivy and crumbling brick. It looked like nothing—just a forgotten root cellar sealed with rusted hinges and a padlock no one paid attention to. Except one person.Vael’s hand shook slightly as he fit the key into the lock.“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “The Council will know. They’ll feel it if she’s disturbed.”Leora stood behind him, eyes narrowed and fists clenched tight at her sides.“Then let them know,” she said coldly. “Let them feel it.”With a reluctant twist, the lock gave way. Metal scraped against metal. The door opened inward with a groan that echoed too long, like the earth itself didn’t want her to descend.The air that rose up from the cellar wasn’t stale—it was sterile. Clean,

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Council’s Eyes

    > “They don’t kill you with guns. They kill you with blueprints.”Leora didn’t sleep.Not even for a moment.She sat curled by the window, her forehead resting against the cool glass, Eliora’s journal clutched tight to her chest like armor. Outside, the moon hung high and pale, its light the only thing keeping the dark from swallowing her whole.But inside?Inside, it had already happened.There was no room for sleep when your entire identity had been rewritten by someone else’s agenda.She had read the entries again. Every word Eliora had written in that trembling, careful hand.A bloodline.A backup girl in red.The Council.Leora wasn’t just here by chance.She wasn’t just a replacement bride.She was a result.The thought made her stomach churn. She’d once believed fate had brought her here—that perhaps there was something poetic in her crossing paths with a broken heir, a cursed estate, a twisted love story just waiting to be rewritten.But fate had nothing to do with it.She had

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Blood Archivist

    > “Some histories are not written in books. They are kept in bodies.”The taste of the vault lingered in Leora’s mouth like smoke. No matter how much she rinsed or how hot the water ran in the shower, the flavor remained.Dust. Ash. Memory.She’d scrubbed herself raw, fingers trembling as she dragged the towel across her skin. But it wasn’t just grime she wanted to remove—it was something deeper, something coiled in her blood. Something ancient.She stood in her room now, damp hair curling at the ends, eyes locked on the locket she’d tossed carelessly onto the desk earlier. Its chain was twisted, the clasp glinting faintly under the bedside lamp. It looked harmless—innocent even—but it pulsed in her thoughts like a heartbeat she couldn’t ignore.Her reflection in the mirror didn’t help.Same face. Same storm-colored eyes. Same haunted look. She didn’t know Eliora, not truly. She had never spoken to her, never heard her laugh. But somehow, Leora felt like she had met her in a thousand

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Vault Beneath

    “Some doors are sealed not to hide what’s inside—but to protect us from it.”It was nearly midnight when Leora moved again—quiet, calculated, and utterly alone.The estate was a sleeping beast, its ancient breath rising and falling with the hum of electric silence. Guards paced their predictable loops outside, unaware that danger, or perhaps destiny, had already awakened inside the walls. The hallways, lined with velvet drapes and timeworn portraits, felt colder tonight. The kind of cold that whispered not of weather, but of buried things.Leora didn’t leave a note.Didn’t alert a soul.She wore black—matte, silent fabric that drank in the dim light. No perfume. No jewelry. Just her own breath and the weight of a memory she hadn’t even lived through. A letter scorched into her thoughts like ink into flesh.> Ask Allerick what happened the night of the violet storm.Ask him why no one speaks of the vault beneath the old cellar.But she hadn’t asked. Not yet. Not when his eyes still wor

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    The Den of the Wolf

    .“It’s not the lies that kill you. It’s the silence between them.”The estate loomed ahead like a beast at rest—its breath held, its eyes closed, but nowhere near asleep. Leora stood at the gates, heart pulsing like war drums under her ribs. The iron arches opened with a mechanical hiss, like an inhale before a scream. Not a single guard challenged her. No dogs barked. No eyes met hers.Still, she felt watched.She wasn’t sneaking in.She was being let in.As if they already knew she was coming.And worse—they were waiting.She didn’t waste time going to her room. There was nothing in that cage of velvet and perfume she needed now. No gown or mask could prepare her for what she intended to do.Her heels clicked across the marble, sharp and purposeful, a deliberate sound that echoed down the hall like a challenge. She passed the chandelier-lit corridors, the cold-eyed portraits of Vortiga ancestors, and the grand staircase—all silent witnesses to countless sins.She stopped outside the

  • Bride of the Mafia cripple    Into the Den.

    “Some ghosts don’t haunt you with screams. They haunt you with resemblance.”Leora stared at the violet.Pressed flat. Fragile. Dry as ash.And yet somehow, alive.Like it had been waiting—not just in this room, but across time. Across silence. Like it had known she’d return. That eventually, she’d come back here, open the book, and see it.Not as a flower.But as a message.A trace. A warning. A ghost trapped between pages.Her throat constricted as if the air had turned to smoke. “You told me she wasn’t real.”Mateo didn’t flinch.He didn’t look away.He just stood there, like a man already drowning, staring up at the storm.“I lied,” he said.The words landed hard—simple, heavy.Leora couldn’t breathe for a moment. The silence between them grew so dense it had weight, filling the space like fog soaked in regret.Her pulse pounded in her ears. Loud. Too fast. A rising drumbeat that matched the tremor in her hands.“You said the Girl in Violets was an old tale,” she whispered, “a par

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