The Locked Door

The following morning, Lila couldn’t shake the lingering sense of unease. The west wing, the apparition in the mirror, the cryptic notes about a curse—they all clung to her like shadows. But no matter how hard she tried to focus on her work, her thoughts kept circling back to Adrian Blackthorn.

She was dusting the banister in the grand hall when she heard voices drifting from the study. Curiosity tugged at her, and she crept closer, careful to stay out of sight.

“She’s becoming a problem,” said a voice she recognized as Simon Graves, Adrian’s sharp-eyed lawyer. “You’re letting her get too close.”

“She’s harmless,” Adrian replied, his tone colder than the sea air. “She won’t uncover anything unless we allow it.”

Lila’s breath caught in her throat. Were they talking about her?

“She’s already seen too much,” Simon said. “The west wing, the notes… If she keeps digging, she could—”

“That’s enough,” Adrian snapped. “Leave her to me.”

The sound of a chair scraping against the floor sent Lila scrambling away, her heart pounding. She hurried back to her duties, her mind racing with questions.

Later that day, Mrs. Lark sent Lila to clean the hallway leading to Adrian’s private quarters—a part of the house she hadn’t ventured into before. The air here was different, heavy with an unspoken tension.

One door in particular caught her eye. It was at the end of the corridor, its wood darker than the others, with an ornate brass handle. A strange compulsion drew her closer, and before she realized what she was doing, her hand was on the knob.

It was locked.

A sense of disappointment and relief washed over her in equal measure. But as she turned to leave, she noticed something: faint scratch marks around the doorframe, as though someone—or something—had tried to claw their way in.

“Miss Calder.”

Adrian’s voice made her jump. She turned to find him standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with suspicion.

“I—I was just—”

“This part of the house is off-limits,” he said, stepping closer. “Did Mrs. Lark not make that clear?”

“She did. I just… got turned around,” Lila lied, trying to steady her voice.

Adrian studied her for a moment, and she felt the weight of his gaze, as though he could see straight through her. Then, to her surprise, his expression softened—just a fraction.

“Be careful where you wander,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Not every door in this house should be opened.”

That evening, Lila found herself drawn to the library once more. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for—answers, perhaps, or maybe just a way to understand the man who seemed to hold the house and its secrets in an iron grip.

She selected a book at random and sat near the fire, letting the crackling flames lull her into a sense of calm. But as she turned the pages, she found something odd—a slip of paper tucked between the chapters.

The handwriting was elegant, feminine.

Eleanor Blackthorn.

The note was short, but its message sent chills down her spine:

The curse is real. Don’t trust him.

Lila was still clutching the note when she heard footsteps approaching. She barely had time to shove it into her pocket before Adrian entered the room.

“You seem to enjoy lingering where you shouldn’t,” he said, though there was no anger in his voice this time—only weariness.

“I wasn’t lingering,” Lila replied, meeting his gaze. “I was reading.”

His eyes flicked to the book in her lap, then back to her face. “And what have you learned?”

She hesitated, the weight of the note burning in her pocket. “That this house has a lot of secrets.”

Adrian’s lips curved into something resembling a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Secrets are what keep people alive, Miss Calder.”

There was something in his tone—a warning, perhaps, or a plea. For a brief moment, Lila thought she saw vulnerability in his expression, a crack in the armor he so carefully maintained.

But then it was gone, and he was once again the cold, enigmatic master of Blackthorn Manor.

“Goodnight, Miss Calder,” he said, turning to leave.

As the door closed behind him, Lila pulled the note from her pocket and read it again.

The curse is real. Don’t trust him.

She didn’t know what scared her more: the warning itself, or the fact that she was beginning to doubt she could heed it.

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