The storm outside had eased, but inside the mansion the air felt heavier—like walking underwater. Every breath burned Clara’s chest.

They moved slowly down another endless hallway, their footsteps echoing against cracked tiles. The house had gone quiet, too quiet, as if it was holding its breath.

Ethan squeezed Clara’s hand. “You okay?”

She nodded, though her lips trembled. “I thought she was really going to make me jump.”

Marcus rubbed his temples. “You almost did. And if that happened, I was going to have to live with Ethan crying for the rest of eternity, which sounds worse than death.”

Ethan shot him a glare. “Marcus—”

“What? I’m serious. Every ghost in this place would’ve moved out.”

Clara managed a weak laugh. But it died quickly when a door creaked open at the end of the hall.

Inside, they found a bedroom.

It was different from the other ruined chambers—this one was almost untouched. The bed was neatly made, lace covers perfectly in place. A vanity stood against the wall, its mirror clear and unbroken. A wedding dress hung from the wardrobe, untouched by dust.

And on the vanity… a diary.

The three of them froze.

Clara whispered, “It’s hers.”

Ethan stepped forward, lifting the book. Its leather cover was cracked with age, but when he opened it, the handwriting was sharp, elegant.

He read aloud:

October 12th, 1887. He swore to love me forever. He swore his heart was mine alone. Yet I have seen him with her. My heart is shattered, but I will marry him still. For to lose him would be to lose my soul.

The pages turned on their own.

October 19th. The night before our vows. I fear his promises are false. I fear his love is a mask. Yet tomorrow I will wear white. Tomorrow I will be his. Even if eternity damns me.

The pages flipped faster, stopping at the last entry.

October 20th. I waited at the altar. He never came.

Clara’s throat tightened. “Oh my God…”

Ethan closed the diary slowly. “She was abandoned.”

Marcus frowned. “Hold up. So this whole haunting isn’t because she died tragically or was murdered in the house. It’s… because her fiancé ghosted her?”

Clara shot him a look. “Marcus—”

“What? I’m not minimizing heartbreak, but this chick has been haunting for over a hundred years because she got stood up?!”

Ethan rubbed his forehead. “If that’s true, then… she’s not just lashing out because she’s angry. She’s trying to prove someone can love the way she wanted to be loved.”

The diary slammed shut.

The mirror on the vanity fogged over.

And in the misty surface, Annalise’s face appeared.

“You see now,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I was left to rot. My vows unspoken. My soul… unfulfilled. He promised forever, and he broke it.”

Her gaze shifted to Ethan, sharp as knives. “And you… you remind me of him.”

Ethan’s jaw clenched. “I’m not him.”

“Prove it,” she hissed.

The mirror cracked, spiderwebbing. The room darkened as the dress hanging on the wardrobe lifted into the air, its lace twisting like writhing vines.

The dress lunged toward Clara, wrapping around her arms like living fabric. She screamed as it dragged her toward the mirror.

“Clara!” Ethan lunged, grabbing her waist. The fabric tightened, pulling harder.

Marcus swung his flashlight like a bat, smacking the dress. “Not today, Vera Wang!”

The lace hissed and recoiled—but not enough. Clara’s body inched closer to the mirror’s cracked surface.

Annalise’s voice filled the room. “If your love is true, save her. If not… she will join me.”

Ethan’s grip slipped. Clara’s reflection was already changing in the mirror—her face morphing into Annalise’s pale visage.

“Ethan!” Clara screamed.

With a roar, Ethan yanked her free. The lace ripped apart in his hands, disintegrating into ash. Clara collapsed against him, gasping.

The mirror shattered, raining shards across the floor.

And Annalise was gone again.

They sat on the bed, panting. Marcus broke the silence first.

“Okay. I’m calling it. This ghost chick doesn’t just want closure. She wants a full-on toxic relationship simulation.”

Clara glared at him, but her hands still shook. “She wanted me to… become her.”

Ethan kissed her forehead gently. “I won’t let her. Ever.”

Marcus frowned, pacing the room. “Something’s bothering me. If she was abandoned at the altar… where’s the fiancé’s ghost? Shouldn’t he be here too, doomed for eternity? Why is it just her?”

Neither Ethan nor Clara answered.

But deep down, Clara knew Marcus was right. Something about Annalise’s story didn’t add up.

And if they didn’t figure it out soon… the next test might destroy them.