Chapter 21: Ghosts of the Past

Seraphina had never been one to fear ghosts.

But tonight, as she lay awake in the grand yet suffocating chambers of Valemont Manor, she wondered if some ghosts did not haunt corridors and moonlit halls—but hearts.

Adrian's words still echoed in her mind. Some truths destroy everything they touch.

He had not denied that Evelyne was murdered.

And that silence was answer enough.

The eastern wing had been locked away for a reason. The whispers in the court, the way Adrian carried his grief like a wound still raw—it all pointed to a story buried beneath dust and time.

A story someone wanted forgotten.

The candle on her bedside table flickered, the golden glow casting shadows along the carved walls. She turned onto her side, willing her mind to rest.

But sleep never came.

By the time the first hints of dawn crept through the heavy drapes, Seraphina had made her decision.

She would find out the truth about Evelyne Valemont.

No matter what it cost.

---

The halls of Valemont Manor were quieter at dawn. Servants moved like ghosts themselves, tending to their duties without notice. It was the perfect time to slip away unnoticed.

Seraphina pulled a cloak over her shoulders, the fabric blending into the dimly lit corridors as she made her way toward the manor's vast library. If there were records, letters—anything that could tell her what had happened to Adrian's mother—they would be there.

She reached the heavy oak doors, pushing them open with careful hands.

The library was massive, lined with towering shelves filled with histories, family records, and forgotten knowledge. A chandelier hung unlit from the ceiling, the only light seeping in through the high-arched windows.

She moved swiftly, scanning the shelves, fingers trailing over the spines of books until she reached a section labeled Valemont Lineage.

Her breath hitched.

She pulled a leather-bound volume free, setting it on the nearest desk. The pages were old, delicate beneath her touch, listing generations of Valemonts—births, deaths, marriages.

Evelyne Valemont.

Her name was there, written in elegant script.

Seraphina traced the line of ink until she found the entry that made her blood run cold.

Died under tragic circumstances. No further details recorded.

A deliberate omission.

Seraphina's fingers tightened around the parchment.

Why was there no cause of death? No record of illness or accident?

Because it had not been an accident.

A shadow shifted across the room.

She froze.

The presence was unmistakable.

"Curiosity is a dangerous thing, ma chérie."

Seraphina turned slowly.

Adrian stood just beyond the shelves, his silver eyes unreadable in the dim light.

"You've been following me," she accused, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

"Only because I knew you wouldn't stop."

She lifted her chin. "You locked away the eastern wing. You buried the truth in half-written records. You refuse to speak her name unless forced. And yet, you expect me to ignore all of it?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "I expect you to survive."

"Is that a threat?"

"No," he murmured, stepping closer. "It's a plea."

Seraphina stared at him, the weight of his words settling deep into her bones.

For the first time, she saw something beyond anger in his expression. Beyond cold warnings and unreadable glances.

A man who had spent his life burying the past—not for himself, but for her.

"You think this will destroy me," she said softly.

"I know it will."

He reached forward then, hesitating only for a moment before brushing his fingers over her wrist—a barely-there touch, and yet it burned.

"Some ghosts should stay buried, Seraphina."

But she knew—she knew—he wasn't talking about his mother anymore.

He was talking about himself.

And that terrified her more than any secret hidden in the shadows of Valemont Manor.