The Dead Woman's Letter
Morning turned to afternoon before I stopped shaking.
The Vale Corp building, with its glass walls and polished floors, had never felt safe—but today it felt alive. Every whisper of the air conditioner made me flinch, every shadow between cubicles looked too thick.
Kendra's heels clicked across the marble as she walked past my desk for the fifth time. Her perfume was sharp enough to taste, her eyes a slow crawl of suspicion. She knew something was different about me. She could smell secrets like blood.
I pretended to type. My ring hummed against the keyboard—just faint enough that no one else would notice, just strong enough that I couldn't forget it was there.
"Aria."
Damian's voice over the office intercom. Calm. Authoritative. Dangerous.
"Come to my office. Now."
Dozens of heads turned. My pulse doubled. I grabbed a notepad I didn't need and walked through the maze of cubicles under a dozen jealous, curious eyes.
Inside his office, the air changed again. Damian stood near his desk, tie loosened, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. There were dark circles beneath his eyes that hadn't been there this morning. He looked less like a CEO and more like a man fighting a war no one else could see.
"Close the door."
I did.
He slid a plain white envelope across the desk. It was old—edges yellowed, name written in elegant cursive. My name.
"Where did you get this?" I whispered.
"It was delivered an hour ago," he said. "No return address. My security couldn't trace who left it."
My fingers trembled as I picked it up. The paper was thick, expensive, and smelled faintly of something floral… something I recognized.
My mother's perfume.
Inside was a single sheet, folded twice. The handwriting made my breath catch—it was hers.
> Aria, sweetheart—If you're reading this, then I couldn't keep my promise. They've found you. Don't trust the man who saves you. The bond is never free. What's inside him will try to claim what's inside you. And if the silver burns, run.
My hands shook. The ring on my finger pulsed, and the silver mark beneath my skin flashed faintly under the office light.
"Damian," I whispered, voice cracking, "what does this mean?"
He didn't move. He looked at the letter, then at me, then at the ring—his expression unreadable. "It means she knew more than I realized."
"She said don't trust the man who saves you. That's you."
"I told you, Aria—there are truths that will hurt you."
"And lies that will kill me!"
The shout tore out of me before I could stop it. The air between us vibrated. My ring flared white-hot, and the glass panel behind me cracked down the center with a sound like a gunshot.
Every head in the outer office turned. I froze, staring at the splintered glass, the pulse still burning in my wrist.
Damian crossed the room in two strides. He didn't yell. He didn't scold. He just took my hand in his, fingers cool against my fevered skin. The burning stopped instantly.
"Stop fighting it," he murmured.
"Fighting what?"
"The connection."
"It's not a connection—it's a cage."
He studied my face, eyes flickering between fury and something else—something I didn't want to name. "A cage can still keep you alive."
"Maybe I don't want to be alive on your terms."
That landed harder than I meant. His jaw tightened, but he let go of my hand. "Fine," he said quietly. "Then die on theirs."
Before I could speak, the door opened. Kendra again, too perfect, too poised, her smile too sharp. "Sir, the board meeting in fifteen." Her eyes slid to me. "Should I—escort Ms. Blake out?"
Damian's voice dropped to ice. "No. She stays."
Kendra's mouth twitched. "Of course."
When the door shut, he spoke again, lower, dead serious. "You can't leave this building alone until I say so."
I laughed once, bitter. "So now I'm a prisoner?"
"No," he said. "Now you're bait."
That single word chilled me.
"Someone sent that letter," he continued. "Not your mother—she's been gone too long. This is bait. A warning meant to draw you out. And the mark on your skin just confirmed what I feared."
"What's that?"
He met my eyes. "You've been activated."
I stepped back. "Activated? Damian, what are you talking about?"
He hesitated—the kind of pause that tells you the truth is worse than the lie. "Your bloodline, Aria. It isn't human. The people—or things—that attacked you in the alley weren't after you because of me. They were after you because of what you are."
"What I am?" I repeated, the words breaking.
He nodded slowly. "Your mother tried to hide you. She ran from our world. But she couldn't erase it. You carry her mark. That's why I made you sign. To keep others from doing it first."
"You married me to own me," I said, the rage flooding back.
"I married you to save you," he countered. "If I hadn't, someone else would've taken you—and you'd already be dead."
The office lights dimmed for a moment. The air pressure changed—like the building was holding its breath. Damian's eyes flicked upward toward the ceiling.
"What now?" I asked.
He didn't answer right away. He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a small black keycard with a silver emblem etched into it. A crescent moon and a crown. He handed it to me.
"Top floor," he said. "If anything happens, run to the elevator, swipe this, and go up. Don't stop. Don't look back."
"What's up there?"
"Protection."
"What kind?"
He looked at me long and hard. "The kind you won't believe until you see it."
Before I could press, his intercom buzzed again. Kendra's voice came through, shaken. "Mr. Vale—security says someone's breached the lobby. They're asking for her."
Every muscle in Damian's body went rigid. "Get her out," he ordered, snapping the intercom off.
My heart climbed to my throat. "They're here? Who's 'they'?"
He didn't answer. He grabbed his jacket, moved faster than a human man should, and pressed the keycard into my palm. "Run, Aria."
"But—"
"Now."
I turned, but before I could reach the door, a thunderous crack echoed from the hallway. The lights flickered again, plunging us into momentary darkness.
When the emergency lights flicked on, the glass walls of the office were splintered—every one of them. And there, burned into the floor just inside the threshold, was a perfect circle of blackened ash, still smoking.
Inside it lay a single white feather.
Damian picked it up carefully, eyes narrowing. "It's too soon," he muttered. "They shouldn't know you exist yet."
My voice shook. "Who are they?"
He looked up at me, silver eyes glowing faintly. "The ones your mother tried to escape."
I didn't know whether to scream or run. The feather trembled in his hand—and then disintegrated into ash.
The ring on my finger burned again, searing heat up my arm. I gasped. Damian stepped toward me, but before he could reach me, the intercom crackled one last time.
A distorted voice came through—female, eerie, almost inhuman.
> "The heir is awake. The contract is broken."
The line went dead.
The lights went out.
And Damian whispered my name like a curse:
> "Aria… run."
The Dead Woman's Letter reveals that Aria's mother foresaw everything — the contract, the bond, and the supernatural war closing in.
Now Aria's bloodline is "activated," and every shadow in the city wants her alive… or dead.
Drop Your Vote and Comment........
She thought she'd buried her mother's secrets.
Then the letter arrived — written in a dead woman's hand.
Now the walls crack, the ring burns, and the man who swore to save her
is the one her mother told her to run from.
📜 If you received a letter from someone long gone — warning you not to trust the only person keeping you alive —
would you believe the dead… or the living?
Tell me below:
💀 Who do you trust more — Damian Vale, or Elena Blake's ghost?