The Wedding Night Curse

Alika's POV

My name is Alika. And I was supposed to die on my wedding night.

Not from an accident.

Not from murder.

But from a curse that had haunted seven generations—waiting patiently for the moment sacred vows were spoken. I know this now. But when it all began—when the proposal arrived—I was just an ordinary girl, exhausted from waiting on a fate that never seemed to come.

I was sitting on the front steps of the orphanage that had raised me since childhood. Evening had begun to descend. The sky was like an open wound—red, gray, and hollow. There was no eerie breeze, no ghostly chill. Just silence. A silence too deep for a town this small.

Until a black car pulled up to the gate.

A limousine. Polished. Expensive. And far too foreign to belong to anyone I knew.

A sharply dressed man stepped out from the back. His face was unreadable, devoid of expression. He approached the headmistress and handed her a sleek black folder, then whispered something into her ear.

I watched from behind a pillar, wary. Uneasy.

They both turned to look at me.

And everything changed after that.

---

“He wants to marry you,” the headmistress said that night.

I nearly choked on my rice.

“Who?”

“Damar Ardhana.”

It took me a moment to recognize the name. Not because he was a stranger—on the contrary, he was a legend. The Ardhana family was old money, said to descend from colonial aristocracy. Their estate on the hill was often called the cursed house. Locals whispered that anyone who married into the Ardhana bloodline… died.

“No,” I said quickly. “This is a joke, right?”

The headmistress placed her hand over mine. Her eyes were serious.

“This isn’t an ordinary proposal, Alika. This is… a kind of pact.”

“I haven’t even met him.”

“You will. Tomorrow morning.”

And just like that, my life shifted course.

I had no choice.

Because when you live under someone else’s roof, destiny rarely asks if you're ready.

---

Damar Ardhana arrived on a cloud-covered morning.

He was tall, composed, and carried an unsettling calm that seemed to freeze the air around him. His face was handsome—but not in a warm way. His eyes were dark, his voice low, and every sentence he spoke sounded like a final verdict.

“I know this is strange,” he said, looking me straight in the eyes. “But I’m not looking for love. I’m looking for a wife.”

“Why me?”

“There’s a reason. But it's not time for you to know it.”

I wanted to laugh at the absurdity. But something about him made laughter feel dangerous.

“What if I say no?”

He was silent for a long beat. “You won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because there’s nowhere else for you to go.”

Cold. Honest. Devastating.

And he was right.

---

Three days later, I wore a white gown as we stood in a grand, echoing hall.

Our wedding was quiet, almost clinical.

No family on my side—because I had none.

On his side, only stern-faced elders and one woman who stared at me like I was already a corpse.

There was no laughter.

No music.

Only silence.

When I said my vows, the sky outside turned black—despite it only being four in the afternoon.

---

The Ardhana estate sat alone on a hilltop. Enormous. Ancient. And terrifying.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the air changed. Not cold… but heavy. Like something was pressing on my chest.

The paintings along the hall watched me with blank, accusing eyes. The deep crimson carpet felt like it had once absorbed blood. My footsteps echoed—as though someone else was walking just behind me.

“This is your home now,” Damar said.

I wanted to ask, And where is your room?

But the words stuck in my throat.

An elderly maid guided me to the bridal suite upstairs. The room was beautiful. Lavish. And as quiet as a crypt.

“Get some rest,” she said.

“And whatever you do… don’t open the middle wardrobe mirror.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

She stared at me for a long moment.

“Because tonight… they’ll come looking for you.”

---

I couldn’t sleep.

It was too quiet.

Too dark.

And the shadows on the wall shifted without reason.

I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door that hadn’t moved since I entered. Damar had yet to come.

The wedding night, he’d said.

But my husband had vanished.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

But my eyes kept drifting to the old wardrobe in the corner—the one I was told not to open.

And that… was my first mistake.

I stood.

Approached slowly.

My fingers trembled as they touched the handle.

I took one last breath…

Then opened it.

A large mirror reflected my image—but it wasn’t just me.

There was another woman.

Standing behind me.

In a wedding dress.

Pale face, hollow eyes, mouth agape… blood seeping from her stomach.

I spun around.

No one was there.

But when I looked back at the mirror—she was closer.

Her hand reached out.

And touched my shoulder… from inside the glass.

I screamed and slammed the doors shut.

My heart pounded. My knees nearly gave way.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway.

I thought it was Damar. I ran to the door and flung it open—

No one.

Only a whisper.

“Welcome home, Alika.”

I shut the door, locked it, and slid down to the floor, shaking.

Tears streamed down my cheeks before I even realized.

That was the moment I knew…

This marriage wasn’t the beginning of a new life.

It was the beginning of my end.