Chapter 5

It started with a book falling off the shelf.

Savannah had barely touched the spine of a leather-bound volume when it tumbled forward, knocking over the rest like dominoes. She sighed and bent to pick them up, fingers tracing the cracked bindings. One book had fallen flat, its cover ajar like a mouth waiting to speak.

Beneath it, something fluttered to the floor.

A folded piece of newsprint.

Curious, Savannah unfolded it slowly, feeling the age in its brittle corners. It was a clipping from a local paper, dated six years ago. The headline made her heart skip:

Heiress Magnolia Quinn Declared Dead After Mysterious Disappearance.

She scanned the small, grainy photo. The woman was beautiful. Regal. Her dark eyes held a defiant challenge. But it wasn’t her expression that froze Savannah’s blood.

It was the ring on her left hand.

Her ring. The same delicate, old-fashioned wedding band Colton had given Savannah the day she signed the contract. Identical in every curve, every scratch.

Magnolia had worn it first.

Savannah read the short article in a daze. Magnolia had vanished without a trace during her engagement to Colton Briggs. Declared legally dead after months of fruitless searching.

The room felt colder now. The walls closer.

She folded the clipping and tucked it into her blazer pocket, her fingers trembling slightly. She had no answers—only the growing certainty that she was stepping into someone else’s ghost story.

When she turned to put the books back on the shelf, she noticed something even more disturbing. On the spine of the book that had originally fallen—The Art of Possession—was a tiny smudge of dried red. Not ink. Not paint. Blood?

She touched it, then recoiled. Her stomach turned. Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe the house had started whispering.

***

Rhett was in the garage, methodically polishing the side of Colton’s vintage Aston Martin when Savannah found him. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing the tattoos that curled around his forearms — vines, daggers, something in Latin she couldn’t translate.

“I need to ask you something,” she said.

He didn’t look up. “If it’s about the vault door again, you already know my answer.”

“It’s not that.” She pulled the clipping from her pocket and handed it to him.

He unfolded it slowly, scanned the text, then exhaled through his nose.

“Magnolia,” he murmured.

“You knew her?”

He folded the paper once more, but didn’t return it. “Everyone who worked for Colton did. She was the original fairytale.”

“What happened to her?”

He leaned against the car now, his expression hard to read. “Magnolia Quinn was a firecracker. Smart. Bold. She didn’t bend for anyone.”

Savannah swallowed. “Were they engaged?”

He nodded. “For three months. She moved in. Just like you. Wore that ring. Then one day she left for a spa weekend with friends. Never came back.”

“Police?”

“Lots of them. No leads. No body. After six months, her family gave up. Colton never said a word.”

She stared at him. “Do you think he had something to do with it?”

Rhett’s gaze locked with hers. “I think Colton knows how to keep secrets. And I think you should stop chasing ghosts if you want to stay breathing.”

He handed the article back, but his eyes lingered on her face. “There’s a line between curiosity and suicide. Be careful which side you end up on.”

As she turned to leave, Rhett called out softly, “She looked a lot like you, you know.”

That stopped her cold.

***

Savannah stood in the upstairs hallway, the clipping back in her palm, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t stop replaying Rhett’s words. His tone hadn’t been cruel—just tired, like someone who had accepted too many things he couldn’t change.

She turned the corner and froze.

Colton was waiting for her.

He leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest, shirt sleeves rolled neatly. His tie loosened. There was something different in his posture—less CEO, more storm cloud.

“Looking for bedtime reading?” he asked.

Savannah said nothing.

He nodded toward her hand. “That article’s old news.”

“How old?” she asked softly.

He stepped closer. Not fast. Not threatening. Just inevitable.

“Old enough to be dangerous if you believe every word of it.”

“Was she real?”

“Yes.”

“Did you love her?”

His jaw flexed. “That’s none of your business.”

“She wore this ring before me.”

“She’s gone. You’re here.”

Her spine stiffened. “That’s not an answer.”

Colton’s gaze darkened. “If you go digging into my past,” he said quietly, “you’ll find things that bury you.”

The air thickened with silence.

“I just want the truth,” she whispered.

He turned to leave, but paused at the end of the hallway.

“Truth doesn’t care what you want, Savannah.”

The words struck her harder than she expected. Because deep down, something inside her already knew — the truth wasn’t a ladder out of this mess.

It was a trapdoor.

***

Midnight.

The house was sleeping. Savannah’s pulse wasn’t.

She crept through the hallway like a shadow, bare feet silent against the marble. The digital lock on the black door loomed ahead, its panel glowing faintly in the dark.

She reached into her pocket, pulling out a paperclip she had bent into a crude tool. Her hands shook.

This was madness. Dangerous.

But Magnolia’s eyes wouldn’t leave her mind.

She jammed the clip into the lock, felt resistance, twisted gently—

A click.

The door creaked open.

Inside was darkness. The air smelled of dust and lavender, tinged with something metallic. One overhead bulb flickered to life.

The room was bare—except for a single glass case in the center.

Inside hung a wedding dress.

Ivory silk. Lace sleeves. Timeless.

And stained.

A dark streak ran from the bodice down to the hem — brown, rusted, unmistakable.

Blood.

Savannah staggered back a step, the breath punched from her lungs.

The dress stood silent under the dim bulb, watching her.

Magnolia’s final warning.

Savannah turned to run—

But behind her, a floorboard creaked.

She wasn’t alone.