!!Story Time!!
Radhika P.O.V
Italy.
Just a little while ago, everything had felt perfect.
The day had been spent exploring sun-drenched Italian streets, laughing over gelato, and planning a quiet evening. Dinner was set with Justin's mother—a formal but warm meeting I had been secretly dreading all week.
But it went better than I had expected.
She was kind. Gracious. A fan of my books, which caught me entirely off guard. We talked about writing, travel, and the little ironies of life over slow sips of wine and candlelit plates. I had been nervous at first, but as the evening unfolded, I found myself easing into her presence, even laughing—like I belonged at that table.
And for the first time in days, I let myself believe that maybe things were falling into place.
But that illusion didn't last long.
Justin's phone buzzed during dessert.
One look at the screen, and everything changed.
His expression shifted—not dramatically, but enough. A flicker of alarm beneath the calm surface he always wore. I saw it, and he knew I saw it. But neither of us said anything. Not while his mother was there. Not while things still felt... normal.
Because if she found out, it could be dangerous.
She didn't know what we were entangled in. What kind of threats were lurking. And right now, ignorance was protection.
After dinner, Justin gently insisted she return home early, subtly calling his security team to keep close watch over her until further notice. All done with quiet efficiency, like it was just another formality. Like we weren't walking on a wire that could snap at any moment.
I lingered near the kitchen, speaking with his assistant in hushed tones.
"What happened?" I asked, barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer directly. Just said, "We need to go to Dev. Now."
That was enough.
My heart tightened.
He'd already sent a message to Sahil, too. Coincidentally, he and Ishika were in Italy as well, enjoying their vacation somewhere in the hills outside Florence. We had come here for the same reason—a break, a breath, an escape.
But that idea had shattered.
This was no longer a vacation.
Something was coming. And it wasn't finished with us yet.
---
The very sound of the name once felt romantic—like something you'd whisper against a glass of red wine under starlight. But now, standing between endless rows of sun-kissed vines, I felt anything *but* romantic.
Everything looked beautiful. Too beautiful.
The sun spilled gold across the hills. Wind moved through the vineyard like a secret. Yet beneath it all, something felt wrong. Like the silence had a pulse. Like we were being watched again.
I walked slower than the others, my sandals brushing loose dirt, the hem of my dress catching on thorns. My eyes kept drifting toward Justin—never too far from sight, never close enough to read. He hadn't spoken much. Not to me. Not to anyone.
Something inside him had shifted.
And that shift had followed us all the way here.
I didn't know what to make of it.
I didn't know what he was hiding.
And I hated that I didn't want to ask.
It was easier to pretend everything was fine.
Dev and Gulafsha walked ahead—closer than ever, but I could feel the tension in Dev's steps. Sahil was kicking stones, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here. And Ishika… well, she'd stopped walking.
"Guys?" she called out, crouching near one of the vineyard stones. "I think I found something."
That's when I saw it too—a crumpled piece of paper, half-tucked beneath a small rock, like someone had hidden it just well enough for the right person to find.
Justin reached it first. His movements were too calm—unnaturally calm. He opened the paper, read it once, and passed it to Dev without a word.
Dev's voice was low as he read aloud:
**"Florence was only a warning. One of you will make a choice that ruins everything.
One will betray.
One will bleed.
One will disappear.
—Soon."**
A chill cut through the warm Tuscan air. I felt it in my chest before I could even register the words.
We all stood still. No one moved.
No one spoke.
That single word—**"soon"**—echoed like a countdown.
I looked around us: the perfect sky, the untouched vines, the quiet. All of it suddenly felt like a mask, and behind it, something darker was waiting.
This wasn't a new beginning.
This was a warning.
---
That night, the villa was too quiet.
Even the wind had stopped moving.
Everyone had scattered after the message. Dev had disappeared into one of the upstairs balconies, staring out at the darkened hills like he was trying to find something the stars wouldn't give him. Gulafsha hadn't let go of his hand once. Sahil and Ishika had gone silent—which was rare in itself—and Justin... Justin was unreadable, as always.
I couldn't sleep.
My mind kept repeating those words from the letter:
*One will betray. One will bleed. One will disappear.*
It felt less like a warning and more like a prophecy. And we were all standing around, pretending we hadn't just been marked.
I needed air. Or distraction. Or both.
I found myself wandering the corridors of the villa barefoot, the stone floor cool beneath my feet. The walls were lined with ancient portraits and dusty sconces, their candles long melted into silence. The kind of place that kept its secrets in the cracks between the bricks.
At the end of the hall, a door creaked open just a little.
The library.
I hadn't been in here yet.
It was tall, dimly lit, with old wooden shelves that seemed to stretch into shadow. The scent of aged paper and oak filled the room. A fire hadn't been lit, but moonlight filtered through the stained glass window high above, painting colored streaks across the rug.
I ran my fingers across the spines. Italian, Latin, French… then something familiar. English.
I pulled one of the smaller volumes from the shelf. It wasn't a book—it was a leather-bound **journal**. The cover bore no title, just a faint embossed letter: **A.**
I opened it. The pages were handwritten. Dated.
And one entry caught my eye.
---
**June 11**
*They keep coming. Faces change, but the threat doesn't.
The villa isn't safe anymore.
I'm starting to believe the old legend was never a legend at all.
If this reaches anyone—don't trust the staff. Don't eat the wine-cellar fruit.
And for God's sake, don't go near the northern wing after midnight.*
---
I froze.
What?
I looked toward the hallway. Darkness thickened behind the doorway, and I suddenly became aware of every creak, every whisper, every inch of the old house breathing around me.
A sudden voice broke the silence.
"Radhika."
I nearly dropped the journal. I turned—**Sahil** stood in the doorway, his brows knitted, his voice low.
"You felt it too, didn't you?" he asked.
"What?"
"That we're not alone here."
I didn't answer.
Because deep inside me, I'd already known it.
---
Sahil P.O.V
*From Sahil's Point of View*
The villa breathed like an old secret.
Stone corridors stretched in long, creaking silence, the air thick with the weight of untold stories. Whatever this place once was—sanctuary, estate, fortress—it had changed. Or maybe it never had. Maybe it was always like this, waiting for people like us to walk blindly into its history.
We gathered in the west courtyard just past midnight—Radhika, Justin, Dev, Ishika, and me.
No one spoke about the message aloud.
We didn't need to.
It echoed between us in glances and half-sentences. Something about the air had shifted. Justin had gone unusually quiet, his jaw clenched, eyes flicking toward every shadow. Dev looked like he hadn't slept in days—his shirt still half-buttoned from rushing out of bed. And Ishika… she kept touching the back of her neck, like someone had brushed past her and she couldn't shake the feeling.
"I think it's time we talk about the northern wing," I finally said.
Radhika blinked. "The what?"
Dev's expression darkened. "It's sealed. Always has been."
"No wing in an Italian villa is *always* sealed," I replied, keeping my voice calm. "And if that's the only part of this house none of us have been allowed into, I think it's time we ask why."
Justin exhaled slowly. "Because it's dangerous."
He didn't elaborate. That was all he said.
But something about his tone made it feel like he wasn't talking about architecture.
---
Ten minutes later, we were standing at the edge of the northern corridor.
It looked no different from the rest of the house, and yet every step down that hallway felt… colder. The air changed. Even the lights flickered differently. The heavy oak door at the end was chained shut with iron bolts and an archaic-looking lock that didn't belong to any modern system.
Radhika stepped closer, her brows furrowed. "What's behind it?"
"I don't know," Dev said. "None of us do."
"I think someone does," Ishika murmured, eyes on Justin.
He said nothing.
---
Justin's assistant arrived a moment later, holding a thin black case. Inside: antique keys. Real ones. Brass and steel, sharp-edged and intricate.
Justin took one and turned to us. "This was my father's. He told me never to open this wing. Said if I did… we'd wake it."
Radhika's voice was a whisper. "Wake what?"
He didn't answer.
The key turned.
Click.
The lock gave way like it had been waiting all these years to be turned. The door groaned open, pushing out a stale breath of time itself.
Inside: darkness.
No electricity. No windows. Only the distant scent of rotting wood and something faintly metallic. Blood, or the memory of it.
Dev lit a candle.
The flame flickered wildly for a moment, then steadied. The room beyond was a corridor, narrower than expected. Old furniture stacked and covered in white sheets lined the walls, like ghosts frozen in time. Dust floated like ash in the air.
We walked in.
At the end of the hall, there was a painting.
Large. Framed in black iron. Covered in claw marks.
I stepped closer.
It wasn't a painting.
It was a **map**.
And every location marked on it… matched the places we had visited in the last two months.
London. Goa. Delhi. Italy.
Radhika's voice broke the silence.
"This is a timeline."
Justin leaned in. His eyes narrowed.
"No… it's a **target list**."
And one city at the bottom hadn't been crossed out yet:
**Venice.**
The next place we were supposed to go.
---
Thank you....