Lila did not sleep that night.
Even after Adrian escorted her inside the estate. Even after the storm passed as abruptly as it had arrived. Even after she convinced herself lightning and imagination could explain what she saw on the cliff.
Because something inside her knew it wasn't imagination.
The Ashford Estate was colder than it should have been.
Not physically — the temperature was controlled, the air subtly perfumed with cedar and sea salt — but emotionally. The walls felt watchful. The marble floors echoed too sharply beneath her steps.
Adrian led her through a wide corridor lined with portraits of past Ashford heirs. Every single painting held the same detail: a faint sliver of ocean in the background.
And in each ocean, if one looked long enough, there was a shadow.
"This way," Adrian said, voice low.
They stopped before a heavy steel door at the end of the hall. He pressed his thumb to a biometric pad. The vault opened with a mechanical hiss.
Inside, the air smelled like old varnish and history.
And there she was.
The painting.
The Mamaide.
The original was even more unsettling in person. The brush strokes were deliberate, almost desperate. The sea behind her churned violently, but she stood perfectly still, as if the chaos obeyed her.
Lila stepped closer.
Her pulse began to sync with something she couldn't hear.
"She's deteriorating," Adrian said. "The canvas has begun to split near the lower edge. We need it preserved."
Lila barely registered his words.
The woman's eyes in the painting were not simply pale.
They were silver.
And they were looking directly at her.
"You've seen her before," Adrian said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
Lila tore her gaze away. "No."
His stare lingered on her longer than was comfortable.
"You hesitated at the gate," he added. "Like you expected something."
Her throat tightened. "Your estate is intimidating."
That earned the faintest flicker of a smile.
"You should meet my fiancée," he said dryly. "She's far more intimidating than architecture."
The word fiancée hit harder than she expected.
Of course he had one.
Men like Adrian Ashford were never unattached.
Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Sharp.
Confident.
Purposeful.
A woman appeared at the vault entrance.
Evelyn Cross was everything magazines described her to be — poised, elegant, sculpted like a living work of art. Her white silk blouse was immaculate, her dark hair pinned flawlessly in place.
But her eyes—
Her eyes went immediately to the painting.
Then to Lila.
And something flickered there.
Recognition.
Not of Lila.
Of the Mamaide.
"So," Evelyn said smoothly, stepping into the vault. "This is the restorer."
Lila extended a polite hand. "Lila Moreno."
Evelyn didn't take it.
Instead, she stepped closer to the painting.
"She's been restless lately," Evelyn murmured.
The word landed heavily.
"Restless?" Lila asked before she could stop herself.
Evelyn turned slowly. "You haven't felt it?"
Adrian's jaw tightened slightly. "Evelyn."
But she ignored him.
"Since we announced our engagement," Evelyn continued, "things have shifted in the house. Doors open. Clocks stop. The ocean is louder at night."
Lila's blood ran cold.
3:17 AM.
"She's not just folklore," Evelyn added, voice soft but edged. "She's bound to this family."
Bound.
Lila's gaze snapped back to the painting.
The crack near the bottom of the canvas looked deeper than before.
Almost like a tear.
"Enough," Adrian said firmly. "You're unsettling our guest."
Our guest.
Not my restorer.
Something protective flickered beneath his tone.
Evelyn noticed it too.
Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
"I'm only telling her what she deserves to know," she replied. "If she's going to handle it."
Silence stretched thin between them.
Then—
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The air pressure in the vault shifted.
And every clock in the corridor outside began chiming simultaneously.
Three times.
Then once.
Then seven.
3:17.
The exact moment from Lila's dreams.
The painting frame cracked loudly.
Lila gasped as a sharp pain exploded across her collarbone.
She staggered back, clutching her chest.
Adrian caught her before she hit the floor.
"Lila!"
Her skin burned.
Right beneath her collarbone, heat spread like liquid fire.
And in her mind—
The woman in black stepped closer.
"You carry what was stolen."
The voice wasn't distant this time.
It was inside her.
"You were never meant to enter this house uninvited."
Lila's eyes flew open.
Adrian's face hovered inches from hers, filled with genuine alarm.
"What's wrong?"
She couldn't answer.
Because Evelyn was smiling.
Not kindly.
Not warmly.
But knowingly.
And in the reflection of the glass vault door behind her—
The Mamaide was no longer standing in the painting.
The sea was empty.
Later, after the chaos settled and the clocks mysteriously reset themselves, Adrian insisted she stay until she felt steady enough to leave.
They stood alone in a smaller sitting room overlooking the cliffs.
"You're not telling me everything," he said quietly.
Neither are you, she wanted to say.
Instead, she asked, "How long has this been happening?"
He didn't pretend not to understand.
"A month," he admitted. "Since I proposed."
"To Evelyn."
"Yes."
"And before that?"
He hesitated.
"Nothing."
The ocean below crashed violently against the rocks.
Too violently for a calm night.
"Why does she call it bound?" Lila asked.
Adrian looked toward the dark water.
"Because," he said slowly, "every Ashford man who marries for love dies within five years."
The words settled like ice.
"And those who don't?"
"Live."
Her heart skipped.
"Do you love her?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer.
But silence, sometimes, is the loudest truth.
Behind them, somewhere deep in the estate, a door slammed shut on its own.
And in the reflection of the window beside them—
A woman in black stood between them.
Uninvited.
Watching.