The silence wasn't peaceful.
It was punishment.
Ariana sat motionless at the edge of the bed, the sharp chill of the night air creeping through the open window behind her. The curtains swayed like whispers soft, subtle, but full of secrets.
Damien was gone.
No goodbye. No reason.
Just a hollow text message, hours after he'd already left:
"Out of town for a few days. Take care."
Take care? That was it?
She wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or scream.
But instead, she just sat there, eyes fixed on the spot he used to sleep, pillows untouched and cold. Her mind replayed it all: the distance, the coldness, the growing tension like vines choking a once beautiful bloom.
And then… the truth.
She had found it by accident, though part of her had suspected something was off from the beginning. Their marriage rushed, contract-bound, passionless in the beginning was never about love.
It was revenge.
Damien had married her to hurt someone long dead. A twisted payback aimed at a ghost. And she… she was just the closest body to take the hit.
But even now, after the lie, after the betrayal her heart still ached for him.
How pathetic was that?
She stood and walked to the kitchen, barefoot on the cold marble. Her fingers wrapped around the kettle, turning the stove on in a practiced, numb motion. The water boiled. She didn't move. Her mind was elsewhere.
Back in the study. Back to the files she'd found. His notes. His plans. His obsession with the past.
The name scribbled again and again: Celeste Langford.
The woman his father destroyed.
The woman who gave birth to… who?
Her?
No.
She had found the adoption papers weeks ago. Hidden deep in a drawer, as if meant to be forgotten.
She wasn't Celeste's daughter.
Then why?
Why had Damien chosen her?
Why did he look at her like she carried the weight of every sin ever committed by his family?
A sudden knock at the door jolted her.
She hesitated.
Her heart raced.
Not Damien. She knew it wasn't him. He would never knock.
She approached slowly, peering through the peephole. Empty hallway.
But on the floor… an envelope.
Plain, cream-colored. No markings. No name.
She picked it up with trembling hands, heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She slipped her finger under the seal and pulled out a single note.
Handwritten.
"You were never meant to pay for his sins."
She stared at the words, a cold sweat breaking along her spine.
No signature. No explanation.
But whoever left this… knew.
Knew what Damien had done.
Knew why.
Knew who was truly responsible.
She looked down the hallway again. Still empty. But she wasn't alone. Someone had been watching.
Someone had chosen this moment after Damien left, after she shattered inside to reach out.
Ariana closed the door and locked it.
Then she slid down to the floor, still gripping the note, her breath shallow and uneven.
Everything was wrong. Her life. Her love. Her past.
She had believed Damien. Trusted him. Tried to reach him through all his walls. And somewhere along the way, she'd fallen for him. Hard.
But she didn't know who he really was.
And worse… he hadn't cared to know her either.
Was any of it real?
She didn't know.
But whoever wrote that note they knew the truth. And for the first time in days, Ariana felt something strange and terrifying:
Hope.
Not for Damien.
But for answers.