Chapter 8

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Chapter 8: What Was Never Meant to Be Found

The mansion had its own way of breathing. The silence wasn’t hollow — it held weight, like an unspoken truth pressing against the walls. Sometimes, when I was alone, it felt like the house was listening. Waiting.

Especially when I touched Aurelia’s diary beneath my mattress.

Especially when Christopher looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was a blessing or a mistake.

But now, someone else knew.

The anonymous notes had stopped, but the sense of being watched hadn’t. I noticed it in strange details — a door left ajar when I’d closed it, the lingering scent of cologne that wasn’t mine or Christopher’s, the creak of the floor when no one was supposed to be there. The air sometimes felt colder than it should — like something had slipped through the cracks.

Still, I couldn’t stop. Not now.

I needed answers about Aurelia. About why Christopher grew so quiet whenever her name was spoken. About Ethan — and the way his anger felt personal, like a grudge he couldn’t let go.

Every time I thought I was close to the truth, the ground shifted beneath me.

---

One night, when the rest of the house was still, I went to the library. I’d taken a key from Christopher’s drawer. It wasn’t a proud moment — it felt like betrayal, like something I couldn’t come back from — but I had to know what he was keeping behind that locked cabinet.

Inside, I found a box of records — old, delicate, and dusty with time. Faded photos, documents in aging envelopes, and letters, some never opened. All of it smelled like paper and heartbreak.

That’s when I saw the name: Vincent Hartley.

The envelopes were addressed to him in Aurelia’s handwriting. I opened one with trembling fingers.

> "You promised me freedom, Vincent. You said you’d come. But I’m still here. Still waiting. Ethan watches me. Christopher barely looks at me anymore. I’m starting to forget who I am..."

I read the line again. And again.

Who was Vincent? Someone from her past? A lover? Someone who could’ve helped — but didn’t?

And why had Christopher never mentioned him?

---

I couldn’t sleep.

I stared at the ceiling for hours, Aurelia’s words playing in my head like a song with no melody. Around five in the morning, I slipped out of bed and walked down the hallway to Christopher’s room. My hand hovered over the door before I knocked.

He answered almost immediately — shirtless, hair tousled, eyes bleary from lack of sleep. But when he saw me, really saw me, something in his face changed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I need you to come with me,” I said.

In the library, I laid the letters out on the desk. He stood over them silently, his jaw tightening as he read. His shoulders tensed, and I could see the shift happen — from confusion to regret, and then to something heavier.

“You knew,” I said quietly.

He didn’t look at me. “I knew about Vincent. She met him before she married into the family. He wrote to her. I thought it had ended years ago. I never imagined she was still... replying.”

He finally met my eyes. “I didn’t tell you because I was ashamed. I thought I could keep her safe. But she slipped away and I didn’t even notice.”

I hesitated before stepping closer. “She was already falling. You just didn’t know how to catch her.”

He took my face in his hands then — not with urgency, but with something sadder, deeper. When he kissed me, it wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fairytale-like. It felt like a plea. A breaking point.

---

The next morning, Ethan cornered me in the hallway. His voice was calm, but sharp enough to cut.

“You’ve been poking around in things that don’t belong to you,” he said.

“I had every right,” I replied.

He smiled — cold and tight. “Curiosity is a beautiful thing. Until it turns ugly.”

“What are you hiding?” I asked, voice steady despite my shaking hands.

Ethan leaned in, his tone low. “The kind of secrets that bury people. And you? You’re digging your own grave.”

He walked away before I could speak. And for the first time since I came to that house, I wasn’t afraid.

I was angry.

---

That night, Christopher and I met in the greenhouse. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something older — a quiet peace the rest of the house didn’t seem to know.

“He came to me,” Christopher said. “Ethan. He said this has to stop.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no.”

He reached for me and I didn’t step back. “Whatever this is, it’s more than just the past. It’s more than her.”

I nodded. “Then we face it. Together.”

He kissed me again. Slower this time. More certain.

---

Back in the study, he lifted a wooden panel from the floor and revealed a hidden safe. He punched in a code I didn’t ask for. When it opened, I saw a small stack of letters, a photo or two, and a journal wrapped in cracked leather.

“Aurelia’s diary,” he said. “I couldn’t read it after she died. I couldn’t face it.”

He gave it to me. My hands trembled as I opened it.

> "Everyone thinks I’m losing my mind. Maybe I am. This house does things to you. Ethan knows more than he lets on. And Christopher... he’s slipping away from me. I don’t know who to trust anymore. I don’t even trust myself."

I stopped reading, the words settling like lead in my chest.

“She was crying for help,” I whispered. “And no one heard her.”

Christopher sank to the floor beside me. His head in his hands.

“I should have seen it,” he said.

I knelt beside him and pulled him into a quiet embrace. “You were hurting too. It wasn’t just her.”

“But I let her fall.”

“You won’t let that happen again,” I whispered. “We finish what she started.”

No more secrets. No more half-truths.

Even if the truth destroyed everything.

We’d face it.

Together.