Page 60 of Wedded Witch

The feeling of being watched returns, heavier this time, as if the air itself is holding its breath. I turn sharply, half-expecting to see someone standing in the doorway, but it’s empty.

My heart races in my chest, but I push the feeling down. It’s just the house—its memories, its magic. I’m alone.

But am I?

I leave the study and make my way further down the hall. One last door remains at the very end, and as I approach it, I intuitively know exactly where it leads.

The attic.

The final step in this strange journey through my family’s past. My hand rests on the doorknob for a moment, feeling the cold metal beneath my fingers.

Something about this door feels different—more important, as if whatever is waiting for me beyond it holds the answers I’ve been searching for.

The staircase leading to the attic is narrow, steeper than the others. It creaks with each step, but this time, the sound echoes in the silence, almost like a warning.

The air grows colder the higher I climb, and when I reach the top, I’m met with another door—this one smaller, older, and locked.

I try the handle, but it doesn’t budge. The lock is old, rusted, and I can’t help but wonder what’s on the other side. My pulse quickens as I press my ear to the door, but there’s nothing.

No sound, no magic. Just an overwhelming sense of anticipation. I take a deep breath, stepping back from the door.

I’ll need to find a way to unlock it. I know there’s a key somewhere. There has to be. My family wouldn’t leave this place without a way to access everything.

I scan the hallway once more, my gaze falling back toward the study. If there’s any place a key would be kept, it’s there.

Back in the study, I start opening drawers, pulling out old, brittle papers and ledgers that crumble at the edges. There’s a strange sense of calm as I search, like the house itself is guiding me.

After a few moments, I find a small, brass key tucked into the back of one of the drawers, half-buried beneath loose parchment. It’s heavier than it looks, the metal cool against my skin.

This has to be it.

Heart pounding, I hurry back along the corridor, aiming for the narrow staircase, the key clutched tightly in my hand.

Just as I reach the base of the stairs, a shadow shifts at the edge of my vision. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The air around me thickens, and a chill runs down my spine as the dark figure steps out of the shadows.

It’s him.

Ri.

Before I can react—before I can tell him off for scaring me—he moves swiftly, closing the distance between us. His hand grabs my wrist, and in one smooth motion, he pulls me against him.

His eyes, stormy and unreadable, bore into mine for the briefest moment before his lips crash down on mine.

The kiss is hard, urgent and demanding, sending a shockwave through my body. I’m too stunned to pull away, my heart racing in time with his erratic pulse.

There’s no hesitation in him, no doubt. His mouth moves against mine with a possessive hunger, as if this moment has been brewing for far longer than I realised.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it’s over. He pulls back, his breath warm against my lips as he mutters, “Didn’t want an audience for our first kiss.”

He releases me, stepping back with a smirk before turning and walking away, disappearing into the shadows as silently as he came.

I stand there, rooted to the spot, my body trembling, my mind spinning. My lips still tingle from the kiss, and a mix of confusion, anger, and something far more dangerous swirls inside me.

I clutch the brass key in my hand, my fingers shaking, my breath uneven. Everything feels off-kilter, as if the ground beneath me has shifted in ways I wasn’t prepared for.

Shaken, I stare after him, heart pounding harder than ever.

When I reachthe door again, I slide the key into the lock, and with a soft click, the door swings open. A gust of stale, cool air brushes past me, carrying with it the scent of old wood and something faintly herbal, like sage and lavender.