Chapter 21: Ghosts of the Past
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. The air was thick with the scent of melted wax and aged wood, the silence pressing against her ears like a held breath.
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. The scent of baking bread drifted from the kitchens, mingling with the distant hum of morning preparations. It was the perfect time to slip away unseen.
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. Dust motes swirled in the morning rays, as if the very air carried the weight of untold stories.
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. Some names were familiar, whispered in court gossip, others forgotten to time.
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. Her heart pounded in her chest, the weight of discovery pressing against her ribs.
Why was there no cause of death? No record of illness or accident?
Because it had not been an accident.
She flipped through the pages, searching for something—anything—that might explain why a woman of Evelyne's standing would simply be erased from history.
Near the bottom of the page, something caught her eye. A barely legible note, written in the margins in faded ink.
She was close.
Seraphina's breath stalled. Close to what?
The ink was smudged, but another word stood out.
Laurent.
Before she could process it, a shadow shifted across the room.
She froze.
The presence was unmistakable.
"Curiosity is a dangerous thing, ma chérie."
Seraphina turned slowly, pulse hammering in her throat.
Adrian stood just beyond the shelves, his silver eyes unreadable in the dim light. He leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, the flickering candlelight painting sharp angles across his face.
"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, unwilling to be cowed. "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. There was something raw in his voice, something she had never heard before.
For the first time, she saw beyond the coldness, beyond the guarded glances and clipped warnings.
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."
She exhaled slowly, searching his gaze for answers he would not give. "Then why not let me decide what I can and cannot bear?"
His expression tightened. "Because once you uncover the truth, there will be no undoing it. No erasing what you've seen."
Seraphina took a step closer, her breath shallow. "You think I don't already know that?"
Adrian hesitated, his silver eyes storm-dark. Then, softly, he reached forward—just the barest brush of his fingers over her wrist, a touch so fleeting it could have been imagined.
"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.