THE WEDDING VEIL OF ASHES: HOW A FROZEN BRIDE DISCOVERED HER GROOM'S DEADLY BLOODLINE

Marisa stared at the crimson wax seal resting in the center of the heavy parchment. The emblem pressed into the red wax was unmistakable—a coiled serpent eating its own tail, the ancient crest of the Vanguard family. Every muscle in her body locked tight as she remembered the horrific night seven years ago when the Vanguard estate burned to the ground, taking Julian’s first fiancée and every resident inside with it. Or so the official police reports had claimed.

"That's... that's impossible," Marisa whispered, her hand trembling as she reached out to lift the letter from the silver tray. The paper felt unnaturally cold, as if it had been stored in a deep cellar for days.

Arthur didn't pull the tray away. Instead, he watched her with a heavy, sorrowful expression that suggested he knew far more than he was ever permitted to say. "Nothing in the Blackwood history stays buried for long, Marisa. The ground here is too rich in secrets. Master Julian thinks he has won because he married an ambitious socialite tonight, but the past has a habit of collecting its debts on the wedding night."

Valentina tugged nervously at the black-and-white fabric of Marisa's apron. "Is it from my mommy, Marisa? Does it have pictures inside?"

"No, sweetheart, go on inside the room," Marisa urged gently, opening the heavy nursery door and practically pushing the child inside before closing it firmly. She turned back to Arthur, her eyes flashing with defensive fury. "If this is some kind of sick cruel joke orchestrated by Eleanor to terrorize a child, I swear to God I will—"

"It is no joke," Arthur interrupted flatly, turning on his heel and walking away down the dark hallway without looking back. "Open it. Read what your master has been hiding behind closed doors while he played the grieving widower."

Left alone in the chilling draft of the corridor, Marisa looked down at the envelope. With shaking fingers, she broke the crimson seal, unfolding the thick, textured paper inside. The handwriting was erratic, jagged, and unmistakably frantic.

“Julian thinks he can lock her away and pretend she never existed. But the bloodline cannot be severed by a marriage license. Tell him the wedding veil is made of ash, and I am coming to collect my daughter before the clock strikes midnight.”

Marisa gasped, dropping the letter as if it had burst into flames. It fluttered down onto the dark wooden floorboards, the chilling message staring up at her like an open grave.