LOGINI should have been walking down the aisle. Instead, I was running through the woods in my wedding dress. The white fabric caught on every branch, tearing apart like my life. My name is Camela Siegel. My father is the Mayor, and he sold me to save himself. Vincent Castellano was supposed to be my husband. They call him the Mad Prince, but I learned he’s so much worse than that. His hands trembled when he touched me—sometimes gentle, like I might break, and sometimes rough, like he wanted to overpower me. “You’re mine now,” he’d whisper in the dark corners of that house. “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to hurt you but me.” I tried the door handle every day for three months. It only turned from the outside. When help finally came, I thought it was over. I thought I could go home and pretend none of it ever happened. I was wrong. Vincent found my journal—the one where I wrote about him, about what he did to me, and about who he truly is. Now he’s not just keeping me locked up. He’s hunting me. They call him “The Fox” for a reason. He’s patient and waits. When he catches what he’s after, he never lets it go. I can feel him watching me even now—through my bedroom window, from across the street, in the shadows where I can’t see him but I know he’s there. My father thinks making that deal saved his life. He doesn’t realize it destroyed mine. Vincent said he’d keep me until the last day of my life. I’m starting to think that day is coming soon.
View MoreCamela’s fingers trembled around the key that Vincent had forced into her palm. The gold luster felt cold and heavy in her hand.Vincent’s voice echoed from the doorway. “You have a choice,” he said. “Free them all… or break the mirror and bury their names forever.”Camela swallowed hard. “You want me to choose death for them… or erase them?”Vincent’s smile was tight. “It’s your choice.”Leaning against the doorframe, Vincent added, “Take your time.”Camela’s pulse thundered in her ears. She didn’t trust him, but she clung to one hope: maybe they weren’t all goneBacking toward the wall, she tried to turn the doorknob—it was locked. “I want out,” she stated, her voice soft but determined.Vincent shook his head. “No way out until you make a choice.”In desperation, Camela slammed her shoulder into the wall. Pain shot through her collarbone, and to her surprise, the panel behind her shifted.She gasped.A hidden corridor opened—dark, dusty, and silent.Knee-jerkingly, Camela jerked ba
Rain hit the trees hard.Rain pounded the forest. Trees bent and groaned in the wind. Wind howled like wolves in the night.Camela ran.She just ran—barefoot, breathless, and terrified.Her white wedding dress clung to her legs, soaked and heavy. Tore on every branch, the lace catching like claws. Her bare feet sank into the mud, bled from thorns and sharp stones. The cold bit at her skin, and branches whipped at her face. Her lungs burned. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. But she didn’t stop.Behind her, footsteps crashed through the trees. Voices shouted behind her.“Find her! She couldn’t have gotten far!”Camela didn’t look back. She couldn’t. If she did, she might freeze and if she froze—she’d be caught.“No,” she whispered. “Keep going. Keep going.”The woods around her were dark. The trees looked the same in every direction. Her veil had been torn off miles ago. Her legs were bleeding, her ribs ached and her heart felt like it might burst but she didn’t stop.Just that m
Rain slapped the windshield harder. Camela couldn’t stop shaking. Her hands gripped the edge of the backseat tightly. Her dress was soaked, her bare feet were numb.“Is he still following?” she askedThe woman driving—Cynthia, she had introduced herself—checked the mirror. “No sign of him now.”Camela turned, her heart pounding. There was nothing but a dark road behind them.“He was there,” she whispered. “I saw him.”Cynthia’s voice remained calm. “You’re safe now.”“No, I’m not,” Camela replied. “Not with him out there.”The phone buzzed again in her lap.Unknown caller.Camela didn’t answer.Cynthia’s eyes flicked to the phone. “Do you want me to throw it out the window?”Camela remained silent. Instead, she opened the door just a little and tossed the phone out into the storm.Cynthia nodded. “Good girl.”But Camela didn’t feel good. She felt like prey.They arrived at a small-town police station, where a single streetlight flickered above the building. Cynthia opened Camela’s doo
The envelope was waiting on the floor when Camela woke up. She didn’t hear anyone knock, nor footsteps. Just silence, and this white envelope staring up at her. It hadn't been there the night before. Slowly, she bent down and picked it up with shaky fingers.There was no stamp, no return address, and no seal. Only two words were written in perfect handwriting across the front: “Camela Castellano”Her fingers trembled. She almost dropped it. “No,” she said out loud.She tore it open. Inside was one line, written in blood-red ink:“You wear my name like it’s poison. But it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”Her chest tightened, and her palms began to sweat. She whispered, “He knows where I am.”Camela paced the room in panic and fear. Just then, Cynthia came in, locking the door behind her.“What’s wrong?” Cynthia asked.“You didn’t open the door for anyone, right?”“No,” Camela replied. “But someone still got in.”Camela handed Cynthia the envelope. Cynthia’s jaw tightened as she
The power went out. Camela and Cynthia ran through the small house. Camela hurriedly tossed clothes into a backpack while Cynthia checked every shadow, vent, and window. Suddenly Camela froze. “That was him, wasn’t it?”Cynthia cursed under her breath. “He’s playing with us.”A sound echoed from b
Camela froze, her hand still pressed against the cold surface of the mirror where her name—Camela Castellano—had been carved into the glass, alongside dozens of others. The letters seemed to pulse now, as if mocking her.Her hand rested on the edge of the broken mirror, blood from her palm streakin
Back in her room, Camela waited until he left. Then she searched the attic again, this time with purpose. The key trembled in her hand—perhaps it was her hand that was shaking. She stood before the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall, the same one Vincent had told her never to open, the one tha
Camela's mother gradually removed her mask, revealing eyes that seemed dark and empty. “Mama?…” Camela called, her voice trembling. Her mother’s lips formed a sad smile. “You have been found guilty,” her mother stated. The hall fell silent. Camela's vision was clouded by tears, and her hands
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