Chapter 6 · Don't Open That Door

The study door is locked.

Vivian's fingers shake on the handle. She twists it again. Nothing. The brass is cold enough to burn, and the hallway behind her stretches dark and empty like a throat.

She shouldn't be here. Lucas made that clear three hours ago when he dragged her back to the ballroom and told her to smile, to nod, to play the perfect bride while Cyrus watched from across the room with that new glass in his hand. Clean. Spotless. Like the other one never existed.

But she can't sit in that bedroom one more minute. Can't stare at the ceiling and pretend she doesn't know what Lucas is. What he's been from the start.

She pulls a hairpin from her braid. Her hands won't stop shaking, but she gets the pin into the lock and feels for the pins inside. One. Two. The third one sticks.

"Come on," she whispers. "Come on."

The lock clicks.

The door swings open, and the smell hits her first. Old paper. Leather. Something underneath that makes her skin crawl, metallic and faint.