Chapter 1 – The Proposal from the Cursed House

Alika’s POV

The car arrived just before twilight.

A black limousine—polished to a mirror shine—glided through the orphanage gate like it belonged to another world. It didn’t belong to this crumbling town, not to the cracked pavement or peeling signs. Its presence alone felt like a warning.

I stood frozen by the iron fence, clutching my worn cardigan as the engine stilled.

A man stepped out.

Not young. Not old. Just… sharp. Every line on his suit, every movement, every glance felt rehearsed. He carried something—a sleek black folder—and handed it to the headmistress with the kind of subtle authority that made people listen before he spoke.

He whispered something.

She turned to me. Her expression unreadable.

That’s when everything shifted.

---

“He wants to marry you.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

I blinked across the dinner table, trying to find a punchline. “Excuse me?”

“He’s serious,” she said, folding her hands over the file. “And he’s already sent the contract.”

“What contract?” I laughed dryly. “I haven’t even met the man.”

“You will. Tomorrow morning.”

“Wait—who even is he?”

Her eyes flickered toward the window, as if checking to see who might be listening. “He’s… from the estate.”

I knew instantly which one she meant. The one on the hill. The one people crossed the street to avoid. The one no one spoke of after dark.

“I’m not some item to be offered off,” I whispered.

“No,” she said gently. “You’re not. But you are… alone. And sometimes, that matters more than we want it to.”

---

He arrived in the rain.

No umbrella. No haste. Just the deliberate, steady rhythm of shoes on stone. He stepped through the orphanage gates like he had done it a thousand times, like this moment wasn’t strange at all.

He looked like he belonged in another century.

Dark suit. Crisp shirt. No tie. His presence felt like gravity, like silence sharpened into human form.

He didn’t smile when we were introduced.

But he watched me.

With eyes that felt too old for his face. With a gaze that pinned me in place and made me forget how to breathe.

“This must be strange for you,” he said, his voice like dusk—quiet and inevitable.

“I’d say ridiculous.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Then I appreciate your honesty.”

“You really want to marry someone you’ve never met?”

“I don’t believe in love at first sight,” he replied. “But I do believe in necessity.”

I folded my arms. “So I’m… necessary?”

“Yes.”

“To what?”

He paused. “That’s something you’ll understand in time.”

Everything in me screamed to run. But the strange thing was… I didn’t.

Maybe it was the quietness in him. The way he never raised his voice.

Maybe it was the way he looked at me—not like a stranger, but like someone he’d been searching for, for far too long.

Or maybe I was just tired of waiting for something—anything—to begin.

---

The wedding happened three days later.

No white horses. No string quartet. Just vows spoken in a cold marble hall beneath a stained-glass ceiling that filtered the sun into fractured shadows.

He wore black.

I wore white.

He said his vows like they were etched into his bones.

I said mine because… I didn’t know how not to.

There were no witnesses on my side.

On his, only a row of silent men in matching suits—and one woman, far in the back, with a veil over her face. She never moved. Never blinked.

The moment the rings touched our fingers, the light dimmed.

It was only four in the afternoon.

But outside, the sky turned the color of mourning.

---

The estate was worse than I imagined.

Perched like a watchful bird on the edge of the hill, it loomed over the forest below. The gates groaned open on their own. The house breathed—wood groaning, windows pulsing with old air.

The air felt… thick.

Heavy, like walking through water.

Inside, the walls were lined with old portraits. Women with hollow eyes. Men with proud frowns. A baby in one painting had a blood-red ribbon tied around its throat.

I stopped in front of it. “Who were they?”

“Family,” he said.

The word didn’t sound like comfort. It sounded like a warning.

---

The bridal suite was beautiful. In a terrifying way.

Velvet drapes. Gold-etched mirrors. A chandelier that looked ready to fall with the weight of memory. Everything smelled like roses—but old, dried ones. The kind that crumble when touched.

An elderly maid showed me in. Her eyes never met mine.

“Get some rest,” she said.

Then paused at the door.

“And whatever you do,” she added, voice low, “don’t open the center mirror.”

I turned. “Why not?”

Her lips parted like she wanted to speak… but she shook her head and closed the door behind her.

---

I didn’t sleep.

Not because I wasn’t tired—but because the silence was too loud. The room felt like it was waiting for something. Like I wasn’t alone.

I sat on the edge of the bed, gown spread around me, watching the mirror.

It stood tall and regal in the corner. Three-paneled. Gilded.

The middle section was covered with a black velvet cloth.

Curiosity pressed against my ribs.

I didn’t want to be the kind of girl who touched things she was told not to.

But I also didn’t want to be the kind of girl who obeyed without asking why.

I stood.

Stepped forward.

My fingers touched the cloth. It felt cold.

I pulled it away.

The mirror showed my reflection—alone in the room, pale in candlelight.

But then…

Movement.

Behind me.

I turned. No one.

Turned back to the mirror.

She was there.

A woman in white.

Long veil. Hollow eyes. Blood dripping from her mouth.

Her hand lifted—slow, deliberate—and pressed against the inside of the glass.

I stumbled back, heart hammering.

A whisper slid through the air like wind under the door.

“You opened it.”

The door behind me creaked.

I ran to it. Threw it open.

No one.

Only the hallway. Empty. But not still.

The chandelier swayed. The floor throbbed beneath my feet.

I stepped back into the room and locked the door.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry.

I just stared at the mirror.

The woman was gone.

Only my reflection remained.

And yet I couldn’t help but wonder—

Was it ever me in the mirror at all?