Elena's POV
Sleep won't come.
I toss and turn for hours. Every time I close my eyes, I see Adrian's face in the moonlight. Hear his whisper: "I'm glad you're here."
My grandmother's letter sits on the nightstand. The words burn in my mind.
You and Adrian are not what everyone thinks you are.
At 11:45 PM, I give up. I need those journals. I need answers.
I pull on my jacket over my pajamas and slip into the dark hallway. The house is silent. Everyone sleeps.
I remember which floorboards creak from when I was a kid sneaking out to paint. Some skills you never lose.
The art studio is in the north wing. Far from the bedrooms. Grandmother wanted privacy.
As I approach, my heart pounds. What if the truth is worse than I imagined?
But I keep walking.
Then I freeze.
The studio door stands open. Light glows from inside.
Someone's in there.
Fear shoots through me. I should turn back. Run to my room. Wait until morning.
But my feet move forward.
I push the door open slowly.
Adrian stands in the center of the room, staring at a painting on the wall. His back is to me.
"Adrian?" I whisper.
He spins around. His eyes widen. "Elena. I didn't think anyone would be awake."
"What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep. I keep thinking about what your grandmother said." He runs his hand through his hair. "About me. About secrets."
I step inside and close the door. "So you came here?"
"This was her special place. I thought maybe..." He trails off. "I don't know. I just needed to be somewhere that felt like her."
I understand completely.
I walk closer and see which painting he's examining. My breath catches.
It's mine. The one from when I was sixteen. A bird inside a golden cage with the door wide open. But the bird just stares at freedom, too scared to fly.
"I remember watching you paint this," Adrian says softly. "You worked on it for weeks. I asked what it meant and you said it was about choosing between safety and freedom."
"You remember that?"
"I remember everything about you." His voice is intense. "You wore paint-stained jeans. Your hair was in a messy bun. You had a blue streak on your cheek from wiping paint."
I stare at him. That much detail?
"Why?" I ask. "Why remember so clearly?"
Adrian faces me fully. "Because you were the first person who made me feel like wanting something different was okay. Like dreams mattered."
"You were eight years old."
"Old enough to know I was trapped." He steps closer. "That bird in your painting? That's me. Still is."
"The door's open," I point out.
"But I'm too scared to fly through." Adrian's eyes lock on mine. "Until you came back."
The air between us crackles with electricity.
"Adrian, you're engaged."
"To someone I don't love."
"You made promises—"
"Promises forced on me." Another step closer. We're only feet apart now. "Elena, I've spent my whole life being the good son. The perfect heir. Doing what everyone expects. And I'm miserable."
"Then change it. Break your engagement. Start over."
"It's not that simple—"
"Stop saying that!" My voice rises. "Stop making excuses! You want freedom? Take it! But don't drag me into your crisis if you won't actually do anything."
Adrian flinches.
Silence stretches between us.
"You're right," he says quietly. "I'm a coward. I want to break free but I'm too scared."
"Then figure it out," I say more gently. "But don't look at me like that. Don't make me feel things I shouldn't feel if you're not going to follow through."
"What if I want to follow through?" Adrian closes the gap. Now we're inches apart. "What if I'm ready to be brave?"
My heart races. "What are you saying?"
"That letter your grandmother left you? She left me one too. It said sometimes the thing everyone tells you is wrong is actually the only right thing in your life."
"Adrian—"
"She told me to be braver than she was. To not live with regret like she did." His gray eyes search mine. "Elena, I think she brought us together on purpose."
"We're cousins," I whisper.
"Are we?" His voice drops. "Really? Because that letter made it sound like maybe we're not. Like maybe everyone's been wrong."
My breath catches. "You think so too?"
"All I know is that when I'm near you, everything else disappears. The engagement. The family. The expectations. None of it matters."
"This is wrong," I whisper even as I sway toward him.
"I know," Adrian says. But he steps closer anyway.
We're so close now I feel his body heat. See the flecks in his eyes. Hear his heartbeat.
"We can't do this," I say without moving away.
"I know." His hand lifts slowly toward my face.
My skin tingles. My heart pounds so loud.
This is the moment. Where everything changes. Where we cross the line.
Adrian's hand is almost touching my cheek. His eyes are locked on mine.
Then footsteps sound in the hallway.
We jump apart.
Adrian's hand drops. I stumble backward. We stare at the door.
The footsteps grow louder. Closer. Coming right toward us.
"Hide," Adrian whispers urgently.
"What? No—"
"Elena, if someone catches us alone at midnight..." He looks around frantically. "Please. Hide."
I dive behind a large canvas. My heart pounds wildly.
The footsteps reach the door.
Stop.
I hold my breath.
The door creaks open.
"Adrian?" Isabella's voice. Sharp. Suspicious. "What are you doing here?"
I peek through a gap. Isabella stands in the doorway wearing a silk robe. Her arms cross. Her eyes scan everything.
"I couldn't sleep," Adrian says steadily. "I came to look at Margaret's paintings."
"At midnight?" Isabella steps inside. Her eyes hunt like a hawk. "Odd time for art."
"I have trouble sleeping lately."
"Do you?" Isabella moves deeper into the room. She examines every corner. Every shadow. "Or trouble sleeping alone?"
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm not stupid, Adrian." Isabella's voice turns icy. "You've been strange since that girl showed up. Defensive. Distracted. Sneaking around at midnight?"
"I wasn't sneaking—"
"Where is she?" Isabella spins, scanning the room. "Where's Elena?"
My blood freezes. She knows. Somehow she knows.
"Elena's in her room," Adrian says firmly. "Sleeping."
"Really? Because I checked her room first." Isabella's smile turns cruel. "Her bed is empty."
Oh God. She was hunting me.
"Maybe she went to the bathroom," Adrian suggests.
"For twenty minutes?" Isabella circles the studio slowly. She's heading toward me. "I watched her door for twenty minutes, Adrian. She never returned."
She's been watching my door? For twenty minutes?
Isabella gets closer. Five steps away. Four. Three.
"Isabella, you're being paranoid—"
"Am I?" She whirls on him. "You almost broke up with me tonight. In the garden. Because of her."
"That's not—"
"Don't lie!" Isabella shrieks. "I heard you! You said maybe we're making a mistake! Maybe you're not supposed to marry me!"
Adrian goes pale. "You were listening?"
"Of course! You think I'll let some nobody ruin everything I've worked for?" Her hands ball into fists. "I've spent two years planning our perfect wedding. Two years building our perfect life. Then she shows up with her sad story and suddenly you have doubts?"
"This isn't about Elena—"
"EVERYTHING is about Elena!" Isabella screams. "Since she walked through that door, you can't stop looking at her! Defending her! Making excuses to be near her!"
She's completely unhinged. I've never heard such rage.
"You need to calm down," Adrian says carefully.
"I need to find her." Isabella turns back toward the canvases. Toward me. "Once I prove she's here with you, alone at midnight..." She smiles viciously. "Your family will throw her out. Scandal. Inappropriate behavior. She loses everything and you remember why you're marrying me."
Three feet away now.
Two feet.
She reaches for my canvas.
My heart stops.
I'm caught. Everything's over.
Then the door bursts open.
"What's happening in here?" Uncle Philip's voice booms.
Isabella freezes. Her hand drops.
I sink back, shaking violently.
"Philip!" Isabella tries to smile. "I was just—"
"I heard shouting." Philip looks between them sharply. "It's after midnight. Why are you in Margaret's studio?"
"I couldn't sleep," Adrian says quickly. "Isabella followed me."
"To argue? At midnight?" Philip crosses his arms. "In my late sister-in-law's private studio?"
Isabella flushes. "We were having a private conversation—"
"Then have it in your rooms." Philip's voice is steel. "Both of you. Out. Now."
Adrian moves immediately. Isabella hesitates, looking around once more. Her eyes linger on my canvas.
She knows. I see it in her face.
"Isabella," Philip says firmly. "Now."
She finally leaves. Adrian follows. Their footsteps fade.
I start to emerge but Philip holds up his hand. Stop.
He walks to the door. Peers out. Waits. Listens.
Then closes and locks it.
He looks directly at my hiding spot.
"You can come out now, Elena."
I step out on trembling legs. "How did you—"
"I saw you leave your room. I've been watching." Philip looks tired and sad. "I knew you'd come here. Just like your grandmother when she needed to hide."
"Isabella almost found me—"
"Isabella's been hunting you since you arrived." Philip puts a steady hand on my shoulder. "Now she's convinced you and Adrian are having an affair."
"We're not! We were just talking—"
"It doesn't matter what you were doing." Philip's voice is gentle but serious. "It matters what it looks like. And Elena, it looks bad."
Tears burn my eyes. "I didn't mean for this—"
"I know. But it's happening." Philip sighs. "Tomorrow at breakfast, Evelyn and Isabella will attack. They'll accuse you. Demand boundaries. Try to make you look guilty."
"But I am guilty," I whisper. "Not of anything physical. But of feeling things I shouldn't."
"Feelings aren't crimes." Philip squeezes my shoulder. "But in this family, they might as well be."
He unlocks the door. "Go back to your room. Use the servants' staircase. And Elena?" He looks at me with pity. "Read those journals. Tonight. All of them if you can. Tomorrow, you'll need all the ammunition possible."
He leaves.
I stand alone, shaking.
Adrian was going to touch my face. We were seconds from... from what? A kiss? A confession? No return?
Isabella nearly caught us. She's hunting me. Watching. Planning my destruction.
Tomorrow at breakfast, she attacks. With Evelyn. They'll accuse me of seducing Adrian. Of being trash.
I grab the first journal. 1965. The year Grandmother fell in forbidden love.
I need to read. To understand. To know what truth she died trying to tell.
Because tomorrow, war begins.
And before this ends, someone's heart will break.
Maybe mine.
Maybe Adrian's.
Maybe everyone's