Every woman who marries into the Ardhana family dies on her wedding night. Alika, a quiet orphan with no memory of her origins, receives an unexpected marriage proposal from Damar Ardhana—a wealthy heir known for his cold demeanor and the dark rumors surrounding his bloodline. The townspeople whisper of a curse. Seven brides. Seven deaths. All on the first night. Alika doesn’t believe in superstitions—until she finds herself standing in front of an ancient mansion atop a mist-covered hill, saying vows to a man who won’t meet her gaze. That night, she hears whispers behind the walls. Sees a bride in the mirror who isn’t her. And remembers fragments of a life she never lived. Something isn’t right. Something inside this house wants her dead. But something else… wants her to remember. Now, trapped between a marriage she can’t escape and a past that won’t stay buried, Alika must uncover the truth before she becomes the next name on the gravestone. Because this curse doesn’t kill at random. It kills for a reason.
View MoreAlika’s POVI don’t remember exactly when the drowsiness began to creep in. Maybe after Ethan left the room without saying much. Maybe after I’d sat too long in the chair, staring at the black book still resting on my lap.My head felt heavy, my eyes too hard to keep open. My breathing slowed, and before I could fight it, I was already trapped in darkness.But the darkness wasn’t empty.The sky above me turned deep crimson, like a sunset that refused to fade. In front of me stood a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with long black hair falling neatly across his shoulders. His face… was too perfect to be human. A strong jawline, sharp golden eyes, thin but dangerously inviting lips. Something about him made it impossible to look away.“Who are you?” My voice was hoarse, yet I wasn’t afraid.He gave me a faint smile, stepping forward slowly. Every movement seemed to ripple the air around us, like heat rising from
Alika’s POVThat morning felt heavier than usual. The sun couldn’t even cut through the fog clinging low over the village. The inn’s kitchen was silent; the only sound was the faint crackle of wood in a nearly dead stove. I sat in a wooden chair, a cup of cold tea in front of me, staring at the floor without really seeing it.That image—of the man holding another woman—was still burned into my mind. I kept trying to convince myself it was nothing more than a trick of the glass reflection last night. But the heat in my chest every time I remembered it was far too real to be just a dream.I drained the last of my tea, forcing my thoughts elsewhere, until my eyes caught on a floorboard near the kitchen cupboard. Its color was slightly different. Darker. The edge was cracked. And only now did I notice—it sat just a little higher than the others, as if it had been pried open before.Every instinct
Alika’s POVI was still standing at the edge of the forest.The fog swallowed the place whole, like a damp cloth wrapped over my head, making it hard to breathe. The image of that man—dark suit, broad shoulders, head bowed toward a pale-skinned woman—burned in my mind. I wanted to convince myself it wasn’t Ethan, but that jawline… there was no mistaking it.My fists were still clenched. My palms stung where my nails had dug into the skin. I hadn’t realized I’d been glaring at the spot where they stood, hoping the fog would thin and reveal the truth. But all I got was silence.Then came the voice.Not laughter. Not a wedding song. A whisper, so close it felt like it brushed the shell of my ear.“Mama…”I flinched and spun around. No one. Only the fog, twisting lazily as if stirred by a faint wind.Each step felt heavier as I made my way back to the village path. Tonight, the oil lamps in the houses
The sun had barely risen when the sound of metal striking stone echoed from the center of the village. An old man everyone called Pak Rano hauled up a bucket of mud from the rim of the well they were repairing. Three younger, sweat-soaked workers waited their turn to descend on the rope.“There’s a hollow down here,” one of them called from below. His voice sounded strange, as if bouncing off walls far away.Pak Rano leaned over the edge. Darkness. The smell of wet earth mixed with something older—like stale fabric that had been locked away for decades. “What kind of hollow?”“Like a tunnel… there’s carvings on the wall.”That made two of the workers glance at each other. In this village, everyone knew: carvings underground were never a good sign, especially if they looked like the Blackwell wedding symbol—a circle with a crown of thorns in the center.Despite his hesitation, Pak Rano decided to go down himself. He’d been digging wells for thirty years; no one knew this soil better th
Alika’s POVI don’t know exactly when I fell asleep—or if I actually did. It felt like falling. Deep. Long. Bottomless.When I opened my eyes, I was standing in a room with no walls, no sky. Only tall mirrors surrounding me, reflecting my body from every angle. The floor was made of white stone, warm against the soles of my feet. At the center of the space, there was an altar. Dark marble. And on top of it—me.I was lying there, naked, but not afraid. I knew what was happening. I knew the pain that surged and faded like crashing waves. My body was giving birth.My breathing was uneven. Sweat dripped down my temples. But there was no blood.That wasn’t the strange part.The strange part was—I wasn’t alone. Next to the altar stood Ethan. His hair was a mess, his face pale, but his eyes... they looked at me like I was the only thing that existed.“Alika...” his voice cracked, but he didn’t move. As if something was holding him back.“I don’t know how... I don’t know how to help you,” he
Alika’s POVI took a step back, clutching the old journal tightly to my chest. Ethan—my Ethan—stood frozen beside me, his mouth slightly open. I could hear his breath hitch, feel the heat radiating off his skin, but his eyes were locked on the mirror. On the version of himself that shouldn’t exist.“I was never like that,” he muttered. “Not that young. Not that... dead inside.”The piano stopped. The light dimmed to a faint flicker. And the mirror swallowed the boy whole.We were alone again. Except for the book in my arms, now warm—like it had absorbed the heat of my fear.---That night, the Blackwell estate lit up. Hundreds of lanterns hung from the balconies, casting a golden shimmer across the marble floors. A string quartet played something old and elegant. The ballroom smelled of jasmine and deep red wine.“Just try to relax,” Ethan whispered, handing me a glass of champagne. “They’re just business people. No cult tonight. Hopefully.”I gave him a sharp look. “Not funny.”He he
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