Sleep never came that night.
Every sound inside the mansion felt louder than usual—the faint creak of the wooden floor, the whisper of the curtains moving with the wind, the distant ticking of an old clock. My mind replayed everything over and over again: the shadow, the crash, the fear in Ethan's eyes.
I wasn't imagining it anymore.
Something was truly wrong in this house.
At dawn, I finally gave up on sleep and stepped into the hallway. The mansion looked peaceful in the soft morning light, but the calm felt fake—like a mask hiding something dangerous underneath.
I found Ethan in his study.
Old documents were spread across his desk—yellowed papers, faded photographs, letters written in neat, elegant handwriting. He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, his shirt sleeves rolled up as if he had been there all night.
"You didn't sleep," I said softly.
He looked up, surprised. "Neither did you."
I walked closer, studying the documents. "What are all these?"
"My family's past," he replied. "Things my father never wanted me to question."
I picked up a photograph of an older man standing proudly in front of the mansion when it was newly built. "Your grandfather?"
"Robert Blackwood," Ethan said. "He built this place. Before he died, he told my father something strange—that the most important thing in this mansion wasn't money… but a secret hidden inside it."
My chest tightened. "And you think the break-in is connected to that?"
"Yes." His voice hardened. "Someone believes that secret is real. And now they're willing to scare us—or worse—to find it."
Fear crawled up my spine. "Then I should leave," I said quietly, though the words hurt to say. "If I'm the target—"
"No." He stood up immediately. "You're not going anywhere."
I looked at him, surprised.
"I won't send you away like a burden," he continued. "But you need to understand something, Zyra. Once we go further… there is no turning back."
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, ancient key. Its surface was worn, heavy with age.
"This key opens the last locked part of the mansion," he said. "A place my father sealed after my grandfather's death."
I stared at the key in his palm. "And you never opened it?"
"I was afraid of what I'd find," he admitted. "Afraid it would destroy everything I believed about my family."
I slowly closed my fingers around the key. "Then we face it together."
His eyes searched my face. "You're sure?"
I nodded. "I didn't choose this marriage… but I choose not to run."
For a moment, he said nothing. Then he stepped closer, his voice low and sincere. "Thank you, Zyra."
Something shifted between us—quiet, intense, undeniable.
As we walked toward the darker wing of the mansion, the key heavy in my hand, I felt it clearly in my heart:
Whatever waited behind that door would change our lives forever.
And there would be no turning back.