บททั้งหมดของ The Wedding Night Curse: บทที่ 21 - บทที่ 30

Ethan's POVThe dreams were no longer dreams.They were memories—fragmented, disjointed, stitched together by fear and blood. Every night I saw the same thing: Alika, standing barefoot in the middle of a dark chapel, her wedding dress stained red, her eyes empty as a blade slid across my throat—by her hand.And every morning, I woke up choking on the silence, with the ghost of pain still carved into my neck.I had to know the truth.There were stories whispered among the Blackwells, ones that no one dared commit to paper. But my father once mentioned a book—the original chronicle, he called it. A cursed tome locked deep beneath the manor in a sealed archive. He told me to never look for it.And now, of course, that was all I could think about.The manor was quiet when I moved through its ancient halls, guided only by the dying flame of a single candle. The air felt heavier than usual, like the house was reluctant to let me through. As if the walls themselves knew what I was about to u

Alika’s POVI used to think horror stories exaggerated things. That walls don’t bleed. That houses don’t whisper. That curses were metaphors for family trauma.But now, in this cursed manor—this breathing tomb of Blackwell secrets—I’ve learned the truth.They don’t just whisper.They scream.It began just past midnight. The fire in the hearth had long since died, the last embers no more than glowing dust. I lay awake, heart too restless to sleep. Too many questions tangled in my chest: Who was the sixth bride? What did Louisa’s words mean? Why did the mirror show Ethan dead, again and again?I turned to the window. The moon hung low, almost yellow, like a dying eye.And then I heard it.Drip.Drip.At first I thought it was the leaky sink in the hallway. But the sound was coming from behind the wall above my head.I sat up slowly.The room smelled wrong. Like iron. Like

Alika’s POVThe sound came again — faint, distant, and haunting.A bell.Low, echoing, and impossibly slow. One single chime, then silence.I froze in the hallway, candle trembling in my hand. The flame flickered as if the air had shifted. For a moment, I thought I was imagining it. But then it rang again — softer this time, almost... beckoning.The problem was, no one else seemed to hear it.I’d asked Ethan earlier that evening if there was a chapel or bell tower on the estate. He gave me a blank look, said no, then brushed it off like I was hearing things. But I wasn’t. I knew what I heard. And I’d heard it every night since I found that old photograph behind the mirror — the one where a woman stood beside a bell etched with strange markings, her eyes hollow, her hands clasped as if mourning something no one else could see.Tonight, the bell was louder.Tonight, it was calling me.**

Alika’s POVThere was a ringing in my ears again.Not like the bell in the tower.This was deeper. Internal. Primal. Like something ancient inside me had been stirred and now refused to settle.I stared at my reflection in the silver hand mirror I found in the master bedroom’s bottom drawer, left hidden beneath yellowed linens that smelled of lavender and rot. The mirror's surface was slightly warped, framed in ivy-carved silver with initials engraved at the base: H.V.Harriet Voss.One of the brides.And when I picked it up, something happened.A current, like a spark, licked across my fingers. I dropped the mirror in surprise, but it didn’t break. Instead, it spun on the wooden floor like a coin, refusing to settle—until it finally pointed at me.I shouldn't have touched it again.But I did.And that’s when I saw her.

Alika's POVI stood in front of the old mirror, breath coming in short gasps, skin slick with cold sweat. The wedding dress—Anindya’s cursed heirloom—clung to my body like a second skin. No, not just that. It breathed. It pulsed.I reached back with trembling hands, fingers fumbling for the laces. They wouldn’t budge. They tightened, almost biting into my skin. I tried to find a zipper, a seam, anything—but the fabric had somehow fused together, as if it was no longer clothing, but flesh.“Ethan!” I cried out, panic creeping into my voice. “Ethan, help me!”No response.The mansion was too vast, its silence too greedy—it swallowed every desperate sound I made.I yanked at the sleeve, harder this time, but the fabric stretched and then tightened, constricting like muscle. Warm. Alive.“What the hell is happening to me?” I whispered to the reflection.The woman in the mirror wasn’t me—not exactly. My skin looked paler, my eyes red-rimmed, like I’d been weeping for hours. And the dress..