Shadows Beneath the Surface

The next morning dawned heavy and grey, a mist rolling in from the sea and clinging to the windows like cobwebs. Lila stood in the grand hall with her dusting cloth in hand, but her thoughts were elsewhere—still tangled in the haunting melody Adrian had played the night before.

Why had his music felt so raw, so broken? And why had he reacted with such anger when she’d found him?

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Turning, she saw Mrs. Lark approaching with a grim expression.

“Miss Calder, I need you to tend to the west wing today,” she said, handing over a fresh list of tasks.

Lila hesitated. “I thought the west wing was off-limits?”

“It usually is,” Mrs. Lark replied, her tone curt. “But Mr. Blackthorn has given specific instructions. And remember: do not touch anything that isn’t on your list.”

With a nod, Lila made her way to the west wing. As she crossed the threshold, the atmosphere seemed to shift. The air was colder here, and the corridors darker, with windows draped in heavy velvet curtains.

One of her tasks was to clean a sitting room near the far end of the wing. The space was grand but neglected, the furniture covered in white sheets like ghosts waiting to be unveiled. A large mirror hung on the wall, its gilded frame tarnished with age.

As Lila worked, she caught her reflection in the mirror—and froze.

Behind her, just for an instant, she thought she saw a figure. A woman in a flowing black gown with raven hair and piercing eyes. The image was gone as quickly as it appeared, but it left her heart racing.

Shaking off the unease, she returned to her tasks, though she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Later that evening, Lila found herself in the library, unable to sleep. The room was vast and labyrinthine, with towering shelves that seemed to stretch endlessly upward. She ran her fingers along the spines of old, leather-bound books, marveling at their age.

One book in particular caught her attention. Its cover was plain and unmarked, but when she opened it, the pages were filled with scrawled notes and sketches.

The handwriting was unmistakable—Adrian’s.

The notes detailed a series of dates and events, all cryptic and fragmented. But what struck Lila most was a single phrase repeated throughout the pages: The curse must be broken.

Before she could read further, the door creaked open, and Adrian’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“Do you make a habit of prying into things that don’t belong to you, Miss Calder?”

She snapped the book shut and turned to face him, her heart pounding. “I wasn’t prying. I just… found it.”

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with an intensity that made her want to look away.

“That book,” he said, stepping closer, “is not for your eyes.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough,” he interrupted, his voice low and dangerous. “Curiosity will get you into trouble in this house.”

He reached out and took the book from her hands, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. The contact sent a jolt through her, but his face remained cold, detached.

“Go back to your room,” he said.

Lila hesitated, wanting to ask him about the notes, about the curse, but the look in his eyes stopped her. She nodded and left the library, her mind racing.

As she lay in bed that night, the pieces of the puzzle refused to fit together. Who was Adrian Blackthorn, really? And what was he hiding behind his stoic exterior?

But more troubling was the question she couldn’t ignore: why was she so drawn to him, despite the warning bells screaming in her mind?

For the first time since arriving at Blackthorn Manor, Lila wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answers.

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