The forbidden Truth

Chapter 8: The Forbidden Truth

The silence in the mansion wasn’t empty — it throbbed, pulsed like a living thing. It pressed against the walls, filled the air between conversations, and wrapped around me when I was alone. I felt it every time I touched the diary hidden beneath my mattress, every time Christopher looked at me as if I were his sanctuary and his sin.

But it was no longer just our secret. Someone else knew.

The notes had stopped — but not the feeling of being watched.

I noticed it in the smallest ways: doors that weren’t closed the way I left them, cold spots in the hall even when the fire was roaring, a flicker of movement in the mirror that vanished when I turned around. The paranoia dug into me like thorns beneath my skin.

Still, I couldn't stop. I needed to know what happened to Aurelia. I needed to know why Christopher never spoke of her death, why Ethan's fury had begun to feel personal, and why every answer led me deeper into a maze of deception.

---

One evening, I returned to the library, heart pounding, and pulled the old family records from the locked cabinet Christopher once warned me about. I’d stolen the key from his drawer — a betrayal that cut me deeper than I expected.

Inside the files were photos, documents, and letters that smelled like time and grief.

Aurelia’s name was on several envelopes — unopened letters she’d written to someone named Vincent Hartley. The name struck no memory, no place in the family tree I’d seen displayed in the hallway.

I opened one.

> “You promised me freedom, Vincent. You promised you would come for me. But I am still here — still trapped. Ethan watches everything now. Even Christopher has become distant. I fear I am losing what’s left of myself…”

My breath caught.

Who was Vincent? A lover? A savior? An accomplice?

And why had Christopher never mentioned him?

---

I couldn’t sleep that night. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, heart racing as pieces began to slide together in my mind — a picture half-formed, terrifying in its clarity.

Just before dawn, I crept down the hall to Christopher’s room.

He opened the door shirtless, his hair tousled, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. But when he saw me — saw the panic in my eyes — all the sleepiness drained from his face.

“What happened?”

“I need to show you something.”

I brought him to the library, to the stack of Aurelia’s letters I had spread across the desk. His expression shifted as he read — first confusion, then pain, then something darker.

“You knew about him,” I said, voice trembling.

He hesitated, then gave the smallest nod. “I thought… I thought it was over. Vincent was someone from her past. Someone she tried to forget. But he kept writing. And she started writing back. I didn’t know she was still sending the letters.”

I searched his face for a lie but found only torment.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?”

“Because I was ashamed. She was slipping away, and I didn’t know how to hold on. I failed her.”

I moved to him slowly, placing my hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. “You didn’t fail her. She was already drowning in something none of us could understand.”

He looked at me, and something in him shattered. He took my face in his hands and kissed me — slow and desperate, like I was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

And maybe I was.

---

But the danger was no longer abstract. The very next day, Ethan confronted me.

In the hallway, his voice low and laced with menace. “You’ve been digging where you shouldn’t. That cabinet was locked for a reason.”

I met his stare without flinching. “I had every right to know.”

“No,” he snapped. “You had every temptation to know. Curiosity is a poison, and you've drunk too deep.”

“What are you hiding?” I demanded.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my skin. “Everything. And I’ll bury you in it before I let you ruin this family.”

For a heartbeat, I thought he might strike me. But he turned and walked away, leaving me trembling — not with fear, but with rage.

---

That night, I returned to the greenhouse to meet Christopher. The glass walls glowed softly in the moonlight, fogged with dew. He stood among the ivy and roses, waiting.

“I need to tell you something,” I said breathlessly.

“I already know,” he replied. “Ethan confronted me. He said if I didn’t put a stop to this… he would.”

He closed the space between us and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I won’t let him hurt you. But we have to be careful. This is bigger than just us now.”

I nodded. “Then we find the truth together.”

He leaned in and kissed me again, but this time, it was different. It wasn’t about passion — it was about promise. About war.

---

Later, we returned to the study, where Christopher opened a compartment hidden beneath the floorboards. Inside was an old safe. He punched in a code I didn’t recognize, and it opened with a click.

Inside: photographs, more letters — and a journal.

“Aurelia’s,” he said. “I couldn’t bear to read it after she died. But now…”

He handed it to me.

I opened the journal, my hands trembling, and began to read aloud.

> “They think I’m insane. Maybe I am. But if I am, it’s because this house made me that way. Ethan has secrets. Dangerous ones. And I’m scared. Christopher is growing distant, colder. But I can’t tell if it’s him or if I’m just losing what’s left of my mind…”

The words struck me like thunder.

She had been unraveling. Slowly. Brutally.

And no one had saved her.

---

Christopher sank to his knees beside me, head bowed.

“I should have seen it.”

I wrapped my arms around him, held him close. “You were suffering too.”

“But I let her fall,” he whispered. “I can’t let that happen again. Not to you.”

“You won’t,” I whispered back. “We’re going to finish what she started.”

We would expose the secrets. We would pull every rotten root from the soil of this family. And we would do it together — even if it destroyed us both.

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