Haunted Mansion Beating Heart Bride Novels & Stories

Eleanor realized with a twist of unease that the Heart Chamber had not responded to Alaric. It had responded to her. To Blackwood blood. To the bond. The woman spoke again. “The last bride cried too.” Eleanor’s stomach dropped instantly. “What last bride?” Silence. Then slowly, Alaric closed his eyes. No. No no no. The realization struck before anyone answered. “There was another.” The words came out barely above a whisper. Alaric looked devastated. Father Matthias stared at the floor. Cowards. Both of them. The woman beneath the mountain sighed.

"Breaking news! Bride loses her mind at billionaire wedding!" "Guess she wasn't meant for the high life. So close to marrying into money, and she snaps." Below the stage, guests in tailored suits crowded together. Some pulled out hidden cameras and started snapping photos nonstop, while others crouched in corners, clutching their heads and whispering prayers. All because, while Malcom Blair and I were exchanging vows just moments ago, I slapped him across the face, then dragged over a filthy man from the entrance who looked like a homeless drifter and kissed him in front of everyone.

“Revenge.” “What?” “It's simple, Steph. Your life was almost ruined because of your fiancé and his secretary. Don't you want revenge on them?” He asked, his voice holding a mischievous edge and I shuddered “I do. But—” “Disappeare for two years, Stephanie. Your death certificate will be signed. Stephanie will die today. But you'll return as a different woman. As my wife.” He explained, and I froze in shock. “What?”

--- Her Father's words rang in her ears. " Everyone in the Requiem is a wolf and you are the Requiem's Bride." The shadows hugged the corners of the dimly lit din hall. She sat down on the chair alone. Everyone had left. The darkness and silence amplified her rage. She stared into the darkness, her blood boiling, her fist clenched as she scoffed under her breath. The Requiem's Bride. That was a title she never asked for. A life she was going to be forced to live with a man worse than her Father.

She chuckled, making me sigh, but keeping the pace, we were welcomed by a Caribbean theme where two powerful vampires watched us approach the mansion. The estate was a vast open field where majestic horses ran at ease, while the other part had a huge man-made pond, making it relaxing. But the mansion's structure has a Caribbean theme with a mix of Victorian feel, expressing elegance, old-fashionedness, and eeriness. However, arriving at the grand staircase of the mansion, we were suddenly stopped as the vampire knights surrounded us. They were doing their jobs, but they should have been informed about our arrival; sadly, they weren't. They got wary about our presence, and I didn't like the v

I hadn't gotten that far yet, so it didn't matter. One door after another, now. I just had to keep going. I was so close to my objective. My heart pounded as I arrived at the door, and the cascading muffled screeches coming from behind it told me all I needed to know. Someone was in there, and it had to be Lucy. The screeches were distinctly bat-like, so unless this mansion had some sort of bat house with a different large animal thudding against the walls of something, it was The Vicious.

“Our wedding date. 0-6-2-1,” There’s a way he says it that makes me swallow but I don’t show it as I turn, pressing in the numbers. The elevator doors open and he steps in. The second it closes, it starts moving up like it knows where we have to go. He says nothing, the only sign of him even being alive is his heart beating against mine. When the doors finally open, we’re in a room— his bedroom.

A maid entered, not meeting my eyes, pushing a cart with covered trays and a single package on top. “Your breakfast, ma’am,” she murmured before walking away. “Wait-this package. Who sent it?” But she was already gone. The box was a little heavy, expensive-looking. I opened it slowly and froze. Inside was a crimson-red dress. Short, very revealing and silky Underneath lay a pair of silver heels and a folded note: ‘Be ready by 2:30pm. I’ll pick you up.’ I frowned. Damon? He'd just said 4pm in his text. Why the change?