Chapter 1
Olivia Hawthorne had always known the world was full of things she couldn't control. From the first time she watched her parents' strained smiles in photographs, to the way their eyes never quite met, she learned early that life wasn't always a story with clear chapters. Her mother had passed away when Olivia was only ten, and her father—grieving, distant, and unreachable—followed not long after. He'd left her with no real family, no friends who hadn't quietly faded when the years passed, and no answers about her own life's direction. The empty house had become her only company, the old mansion on the outskirts of town standing still, its walls quietly absorbing the grief that echoed through them.
Her world had been small—confined to rooms that smelled of dust and disuse, and her mind kept company only by the half-remembered laughter of days long past. Then, one morning, she awoke to a letter lying neatly at the center of her breakfast table.
The address was familiar, but it held a chill she couldn't shake. It was from the law firm of Gresham & Marlowe, a name she'd never heard before, yet one that seemed oddly important the more she stared at it. With hands trembling, Olivia opened the envelope, her breath held tightly in her chest. The letter inside was official, precise—too official, too neat for anything that should have been left for her to read alone.
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"Dear Miss Hawthorne,
It is with a sense of duty and respect that we inform you of the recent passing of your late aunt, Arabella Hawthorne, your only remaining relative. While we regret that this news comes as a shock, it is necessary that we inform you of the contents of her will.
Your aunt has left you the Hawthorne Estate, including the mansion, its grounds, and all associated property. This inheritance comes with specific conditions regarding the preservation of the estate, as outlined in the will. We trust you will contact us at your earliest convenience to discuss further details.
Yours sincerely,
Gresham & Marlowe, Solicitors"
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Her aunt. Arabella Hawthorne. Olivia could hardly remember her—just fleeting images of a woman who never smiled, whose eyes seemed too sharp for any comfort. She had been a distant figure in Olivia's childhood, sending occasional postcards that were always signed with an unfamiliar formality, always from a place Olivia couldn't picture. The woman had been known for her eccentricities, the odd rumors that followed her, and the silence she kept around the Hawthorne family's history. Yet now, here she was, a key to Olivia's future, left to her like an inheritance she hadn't asked for.
Olivia sat at the table, the weight of the letter pulling at her chest. Why had her aunt left her this house? The mansion was vast, decaying, and remote, a relic of another time—a house full of secrets.
She'd never intended to leave the city, let alone return to the mansion that had always felt more like a cage than a home. The thought of being tied to this place, even as an heir, felt like a cruel joke. Yet, the letter had made its choice for her.
Sighing, Olivia ran her fingers through her dark, tangled hair and glanced toward the window. Outside, the overcast sky mirrored the heaviness in her heart, as if the world itself mourned what was to come. She had nowhere else to go. No family, no friends—no connection to the life she had once known. If this inheritance was her only chance to escape the past, then perhaps it was time to face whatever had been waiting for her.
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The decision was made by default, more than choice. Within days, she had packed what little she could—her clothes, her childhood memories scattered in boxes, and the uncertainty that wrapped itself around her like a suffocating blanket. The drive to the mansion felt endless. Olivia had never been particularly fond of the winding roads and the eerie silence of the countryside, but she could not remember a time when her family hadn't been estranged from the world around them.
The mansion came into view as dusk began to fall, and she saw it just as it had always appeared in her nightmares: towering, ancient, and unnervingly still. The ivy crept up its sides like living veins, twisting around the stone as though the house itself were slowly suffocating.
She parked the car at the foot of the long driveway and just sat there for a moment, staring up at the looming structure. It was more imposing than she remembered, more intimidating in the dusk light. The gates were rusted, their edges sharp against the creeping fog that had begun to settle in.
Olivia's heart raced in her chest, and she felt a chill spread over her skin. Was it the house itself? Or was it her own fear creeping in?
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As she stepped out of the car, the familiar scent of damp earth and aged wood flooded her senses, reminding her of the years spent inside the walls of this house. She had not come here since she was a child, but she could still feel the whispers of memories she had buried long ago.
The heavy front door creaked as she pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty halls like a cry for help. The air inside smelled musty, the faint scent of decaying wood mingling with something sharper, colder. The mansion had always had an oppressive aura, but now, it felt more suffocating than before.
Her footsteps echoed through the empty halls, a rhythmic sound that seemed to mock her. She was here, in the place she had been running from for so long, and there was no turning back.
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The rooms were exactly as she remembered them: dark, somber, and far too quiet. The furniture was covered in dust, the velvet drapes heavy with the passage of time. In the parlor, a grand piano sat abandoned, its ivory keys yellowed and cracked. The portraits on the walls stared down at her with empty eyes, frozen in time.
Yet something felt different—something lingered in the silence that wasn't quite right. The floorboards creaked under her weight as she walked, and she could hear the soft rustling of fabric from the shadows. She paused, her heart thundering in her chest. She wasn't alone.
A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye drew her attention. Olivia turned, but the room was still. Nothing moved.
Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was watching her.
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The following days were spent exploring the mansion and uncovering the remnants of her family's past. She found letters, journals, and old photographs scattered throughout the house, each piece of the puzzle adding to the unsettling atmosphere. Among the dusty shelves, she found an old diary belonging to her aunt, Arabella, its pages yellowed and fragile with age.
Flipping through the pages, Olivia found mention of a curse. A ritual. The mansion itself seemed to be more than just a home—it was a prison, a place where something dark had taken root long ago. She could feel it now, the weight of it pressing down on her, the pull of a past she couldn't escape.
But it wasn't until she found a portrait of a woman—her aunt, she realized—that the truth began to settle in. The woman's eyes were familiar, hauntingly so. They were the same eyes she had seen in her own reflection every time she stood before a mirror.
The last line in the diary stood out, almost as if it had been written specifically for Olivia.
"You cannot run from what lies here. It is in your blood."
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The house felt like it was closing in on her. And yet, Olivia could not leave. Something in the mansion—something in the very air—held her there, trapped.
In the darkness, as night fell once again, she felt the familiar sting of loss and grief. But this time, it wasn't just the past she was grieving.
It was her very future, held hostage by the echoes of what had come before.