Chapter 4 - The Terrifying First Page
The winter wind seemed to die down completely, leaving an oppressive, heavy silence hanging over the snowy clearing. Elena’s eyes scanned the handwritten words on the water-damaged page of the journal. The ink had bled slightly at the edges, but the panic in the author’s handwriting was unmistakable.
“‘*If anyone is reading this... Julian has been following me. He knows I’m leaving. He took my phone. I’m hiding in the cabin, but I don't think he'll let me walk away*,’” Elena read aloud, her voice trembling violently with every single word.
She stopped, unable to breathe. She looked up slowly from the page, her tear-filled eyes locking onto Julian’s pale, sweat-beaded face. The temperature was freezing, yet sweat was visibly rolling down Julian's temples, soaking into the collar of his black suit.
“You lied,” Elena whispered, the betrayal cutting deeper than the mountain wind. “You told me you were never engaged before. You told me your last serious relationship ended amicably in the city five years ago. But this cabin... this is your family’s old hunting lodge just fifty yards up the trail.”
“El, please, you’re reading the ravings of someone who was unstable,” Julian pleaded, taking a desperate step toward her with his hands raised pleadingly. “Claire suffered from severe paranoia. She made things up! That’s why we broke up—her mental health issues were tearing me apart!”
“Liar!” Grandmother Beatrice shouted, staggering to her feet with Marcus’s help. The elderly woman pointed a shaking finger at her grandson. “Claire was the most grounded, brilliant young woman I ever met! She was studying psychology at the university. She wasn't paranoid, Julian—she was terrified of you.”
Julian’s eyes flashed with a sudden, dark menace that he quickly tried to mask behind a pained expression. “Grandma, your mind is playing tricks on you. The dementia is getting worse. You don't even remember what happened last week!”
“Don't you dare use my grandmother's health as a shield for your lies!” Elena screamed, her voice cracking with fury. She stepped back, holding the journal out of his reach. She flipped past a few more pages, her eyes scanning frantic dates and desperate pleas.
Then, her eyes locked onto an entry dated precisely five years ago—the exact week Julian claimed he had moved to this state.
“‘*He found the hiding spot under the floorboards*,’” Elena read, her voice dropping to a terrifying, hollow whisper. “‘*He says if I can’t be his wife, nobody else ever will. The snow is falling. He has the shovel. God help me.*’”
Elena dropped the journal into the snow as if it had suddenly burst into flames. She stared at Julian, horror dawning in her mind with mathematical precision. The date of that entry. The location of the altar. The exact spot where the husky had dug up the box.
“We aren't standing at a random scenic overlook for our wedding,” Elena said, her voice shaking so badly she could barely articulate the words. “This isn't just a scenic venue you booked online.”
Julian stopped moving. His arms dropped to his sides. The mask of charm and desperation completely vanished, replaced by a cold, dead stare that chilled Elena to her core.
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“You built our wedding altar directly on top of her grave.”
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