🌙 Aira's POV
The mansion felt too big.
Too quiet.
Too full of secrets.
Princess Zara had kindly given me one of the guest rooms to stay in, but sitting still was never something I was good at. Especially not in a place like this.
So I wandered.
Dressed in boy's clothing — loose trousers, a dark coat, and my hair tied back — I moved through the corridors like a shadow. Most people would glance once and assume I was just another young servant or messenger boy.
Exactly what I wanted.
The halls stretched endlessly, decorated with old paintings, carved wooden doors, and antique lamps that glowed softly against the stone walls.
Everything about this mansion whispered history.
And secrets.
Eventually, curiosity pulled me into one of the old guest chambers.
It looked untouched.
Like no one had stepped inside for years.
A thin layer of dust covered the furniture. Pale moonlight slipped through the tall window, illuminating floating particles in the air.
I stepped inside slowly, my eyes scanning every corner.
A wardrobe.
An old writing desk.
A large mirror covered with a white cloth.
Something about the room felt… forgotten.
My fingers brushed across the desk, leaving a clean line through the dust.
And that's when I noticed it.
A small leather book lying near the corner of the table.
Half hidden.
Completely covered in dust.
A diary.
My heart quickened with curiosity as I picked it up carefully. The cover was worn, the leather cracked with age.
No title.
No name.
Just silence.
I wiped the dust away with my sleeve, revealing the faded surface beneath.
For a moment, I hesitated.
Something about it felt important.
Like opening it might reveal something that was meant to stay buried.
But curiosity has always been stronger than caution for me.
Slowly…
I opened the diary.
And began to read.
The diary felt heavier than it should have.
Not in weight… but in meaning.
Dust clung to its worn leather cover as I brushed it gently with my sleeve. The faint smell of old paper and forgotten memories rose into the air.
This diary had been here for years.
Maybe longer.
For a moment, I hesitated.
Something about it felt personal… almost sacred.
But curiosity won.
It always does.
Slowly, I opened the diary.
The first page revealed itself under the pale moonlight coming through the tall window.
My breath caught.
Written across the page in beautiful, elegant handwriting were the words:
नफरत - प्यार -इश्क - जुनून
Hatred.
Love.
Passion.
Obsession.
The ink looked old but carefully written, each letter curved with delicate precision as if the writer had poured their entire heart into those words.
Around the writing, dried flower petals were pressed gently into the page.
Rose petals.
Some had faded into soft shades of brown and pink, fragile with time. Yet they still carried a strange beauty, like preserved pieces of a memory that refused to disappear.
I lightly touched one of the petals.
It crumbled slightly beneath my finger.
Whoever owned this diary had loved deeply.
Or suffered deeply.
Maybe both.
My curiosity grew stronger.
What kind of story begins with hatred… love… passion… and obsession?
Holding the diary closer to the window light, I slowly turned the next page.
Somewhere in this mansion…
Someone had once written their heart into these page..
Are you opening my dairy ? it is my privacy do not read it....
Seeing the writing, a small smile appeared on my lips.
The words felt mysterious, almost like the diary itself was warning me not to read further. For a moment, I just stared at the page, tracing the letters with my eyes.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps.
I quickly lifted my head.
Zara Maa stood at the doorway, looking at me with her gentle but serious expression.
"Aira," she said softly, "come to the hall."
Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts.
I quickly closed the diary and placed it back where I had found it, brushing the dust from my hands.
"Coming, Maa," I replied.
Taking one last glance at the old diary, I walked out of the room and followed her toward the hall, my mind still wondering about the secrets hidden inside those pages.
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I had barely stepped into the hall when I saw Zara Maa waiting for me.
Her expression was serious, something I wasn't used to seeing on her face. The hall that was filled with music and celebration earlier now felt tense… almost heavy.
"Aira," she said softly, walking closer to me.
Then she began telling me everything that had happened in the hall.
Every word she spoke made my heart beat faster.
By the time she finished, I stood there frozen.
Barely breathing.
Barely believing what I had just heard.
Shock rushed through me like cold water.
"How… how can this be?" I whispered.
My mind was racing, trying to understand everything at once.
I looked at Zara Maa again.
"Wait for me," I said quickly. "I'll talk to Papa and Mama. Everything will be alright."
Even though I said those words with confidence, inside I wasn't sure how I was going to fix this.
But one thing was certain—
I had to try.
Without wasting another second, I turned and hurried away, hoping I could bring some peace to the storm that had suddenly taken over our family.
The wind whipped past me, a cold reminder of how fast I was moving, but I didn't stop. In my haste, the unthinkable happened: the pins gave way, and my wig slipped, tumbling to the floor. My natural hair spilled out, messy and exposed, just as a tall figure stepped into the corridor.
It was Alexander.
I froze, my breath hitching in my throat. He didn't look shocked; instead, a slow, dangerous smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Before I could find my voice or my wig, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me firmly into a vacant room, the door clicking shut behind us.
The silence of the room was heavy. He stepped into my space, his gaze burning with a mix of triumph and something much darker. He tilted my chin up with his thumb and forefinger, forcing me to meet his eyes. Without a word, he leaned in, his lips crashing against mine in a kiss that was as sudden as it was intense.
I barely had time to react before his touch shifted; his lips left mine, trailing a path of fire down to the sensitive skin of my neck.
I held my breath, forced to look directly into his eyes. They were dark, intense, and utterly haunting—like he could see every secret I'd been trying to hide under that wig.
The smirk on his face deepened, sharp and knowing. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous velvet crawl against my skin.
"Running away from me, my little Camellia?"
The nickname sent a shiver straight down my spine. He didn't wait for an answer; he just watched the panic flicker in my eyes, clearly enjoying the fact that he'd finally caught his prize.
He didn't give me a chance to pull away. Instead, he closed the distance entirely, wrapping his arms around me in a tight, possessive hug. I felt the heat of his body through my clothes as he pulled me flush against his chest.
He buried his face in my loose hair, breathing in deeply as if he'd been starved for this moment. The weight of his head resting there made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"My beautiful Camellia," he whispered, his voice vibrating against my temple. He took another slow breath, his voice turning thick and honeyed.
"You smell like heaven."
The air in the small room felt like it was disappearing. For a man who usually moved with such calculated coldness, his hold on me now was desperate, almost as if he was afraid I might vanish back into a disguise if he let go.
Before she could even register his words, Alexander swept her off her feet, lifting Aira as if she weighed no more than a feather. He ignored her startled gasp, carrying her down the hallway with long, purposeful strides toward his private quarters.
"Leave me, you fucker! Fuck you!" Aira spat, her face flushed with rage as she struggled against his iron grip.
Alexander didn't flinch. He didn't even look angry; he simply looked amused. He set her down inside the room, his eyes dark with a sudden, sharp intensity.
"I don't mind fucking you," he countered, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "In time, you won't be fighting me; you'll be begging for me in every position imaginable."
Aira glared at him, her chest heaving. "In your dreams," she snapped, her voice trembling with defiance.
"We'll see," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling back on her. He leaned in one last time, his smirk returning as he prepared to leave her there. "Be a good girl, my little Camellia. I'll be back for you."