The morning after the maid's death, the entire estate felt like it had been smothered in a thick layer of silence. Not the peaceful kind—but the kind that came before a storm broke.
No staff moved through the halls.
No breakfast was served.
And Adrien was gone.
Eliana sat at the foot of her bed, fingers clutching the embroidered quilt. Her breath left shallow fog on the mirror opposite her, the chill in the room so sharp it cut through her skin.
Esther hadn't come back. No one had.
It was like the house had swallowed them whole.
Then—footsteps.
Heavy. Confident. Coming down the hall.
Eliana stood quickly and grabbed the letter opener from her vanity. She knew better now than to trust that every shadow belonged to Adrien. After what Esther had said, after the death in the corridor—nothing could be left to chance.
The footsteps stopped at her door.
A soft knock followed. "Eliana, it's me."
His voice.
She opened it slowly but didn't lower her hand.
Adrien looked worse than she'd ever seen him—hair tousled, shirt wrinkled, his eyes sunken and red.
"Where were you?" she demanded.
"Trying to keep you alive."
"That didn't work out well for the maid, did it?" she snapped.
He flinched, then stepped in and closed the door behind him. "They're here. The Council. You weren't supposed to see the portrait. That's what triggered them."
"Then why was it there?" she shouted.
"Because I put it back."
Her blood ran cold.
"What?"
"It's always been hidden. Every time we're reincarnated, they erase it. Burn it, bury it, repaint over it. But this time, I kept it. I remembered more than I was supposed to, sooner than they anticipated. And I had to be sure you would, too."
"I'm not some spellbound bride!" she snapped. "You and your family—this curse—you keep dragging me into this same death loop like I'm just some pawn."
His face darkened. "You think I want to lose you over and over? You think it doesn't tear me apart to watch you die, every single time, knowing I could have stopped it?"
His voice broke at the end.
Eliana hesitated. There was pain in him—real pain.
But she wasn't ready to forgive him.
Not yet.
"So what now?" she asked bitterly. "We wait around for the next ghost to scream and drop dead?"
"No." He stepped closer. "We fight."
"Fight what?"
"The curse. The blood oath. My family. All of it."
She let out a dry laugh. "That's poetic, Adrien. But what does that even mean?"
"It means I break the chain. I break the vow."
He turned around and unbuttoned his shirt. Slowly.
Across his back, carved in thick, raised scars, were words in a language she didn't recognize. Symbols. Deep and violent. Etched into flesh.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"The vow. Every Maddox heir is branded with it on their twenty-first birthday. It binds us to repeat the cycle. If we fall in love with her, she dies. If we marry her, she dies. If we run… we die."
Eliana's lips trembled. "And you're willing to risk that?"
He turned to face her again. "I'm willing to risk everything."
Something inside her cracked. She couldn't help it—her heart, foolish and aching, reached for him despite the horrors they stood inside.
He cupped her face, and his touch was like warmth after a long, bitter frost. "I lost you in 1854. Again in 1902. In 1935, you fell down the stairs—though I know now they pushed you. In 1968, it was fire. In 1991, you drowned on our honeymoon."
Her breath hitched.
He leaned closer, resting his forehead against hers.
"I won't let them take you again."
⸻
That night, Adrien disappeared again—but this time, Eliana knew where he went.
To the west wing. To the sealed room that the staff never cleaned, the one with the faded Maddox crest and the rusted iron door.
She followed him.
Inside, the room was barely lit—only a single lantern sat on the floor. Adrien was standing before a stone altar that hadn't seen daylight in decades.
She crept closer.
He hadn't noticed her.
"—and by blood, I break this bond," he whispered, drawing a blade across his palm and pressing it to the stone.
Eliana stepped out of the shadows. "You didn't tell me you'd bleed for it."
Adrien turned, startled. "I didn't want you to see this."
"I've seen worse." Her gaze flicked to the altar. "What is that?"
"The original vow. The one my great-grandfather made to the Council, when he traded our family's fortune for power."
She took a step closer. "Then let me help."
He blinked. "You'd… do that?"
"I don't trust you yet, Adrien. But I trust what I felt when you said my name like you'd known it for a century. That kind of love… I don't think even curses can fake that."
He handed her the blade.
Together, they cut their palms and pressed them to the stone.
A tremor shook the room.
Candles flared to life across the walls.
Somewhere above them, a scream tore through the mansion.
But this time—it wasn't of pain.
It was rage.
They had been seen.
⸻
Back in her room, Esther was waiting, pale and furious.
"What did you do?" she hissed.
"We broke the vow," Eliana said.
Esther grabbed her arms. "You angered the Council. There's no stopping them now. Do you know what they do to the brides who live?"
Eliana swallowed hard. "No. But I'm guessing it's not a second honeymoon."
"They erase you. Not just your life. Your existence. Birth records. Photos. Diaries. Family. Friends. You become a ghost with no name."
"Then they're going to have to try really hard," Adrien said, appearing in the doorway behind them, "because I'm not letting them touch her."
Eliana looked at him—and for the first time since her wedding night, she wasn't afraid of what loving him meant.
She was afraid of losing him.
Again.