The mansion seemed to know the end was near.

Every hallway twisted back on itself, leading them in circles. Every portrait bled shadow from its eyes. Even the floorboards groaned louder, as though the house was impatient.

Clara clung to Ethan’s hand. “She’s building to something. I can feel it.”

Marcus muttered, “Yeah, it’s called a season finale, and I hate it.”

They finally emerged into the grand chapel of the mansion. It was cavernous, lined with shattered pews. A crumbling altar stood at the far end, draped in black roses. Candles flickered in the aisles, though no one had lit them.

And waiting at the altar was Annalise.

Her gown was whole now, pristine, flowing like silk. Her hollow eyes glowed faintly gold instead of white. She raised her arms as they entered.

“At last,” she whispered. “The final vow.”

Clara’s breath caught. “Final… what?”

Annalise gestured to the altar. “To end this, you must wed. Bind yourselves as I was denied. One will pledge, the other will pay. Only then may you leave.”

Marcus squinted. “Wait. Time out. You’re saying… they have to get ghost married? Right now?”

Annalise tilted her head. “Yes.”

Ethan pulled Clara close. “No. I’m not making her do this.”

Clara looked at him, heart pounding. “But if we don’t—”

“Then we’ll find another way,” he said fiercely. “I’m not letting her dictate our lives.”

The candles flickered violently.

“Defy me,” Annalise hissed, “and you will be trapped here forever.”

The chapel doors slammed shut.

The black roses on the altar writhed like snakes. The pews cracked, splinters flying.

And then—Ethan dropped to one knee.

Clara gasped. “Ethan, what are you—”

He looked up at her, tears in his eyes. “I don’t care if this is part of her game. I don’t care if it’s fake. If it keeps you safe, then I’ll do it. I’ll marry you right here, right now, even if it damns me.”

Clara’s throat closed. She wanted to say yes, to throw her arms around him and end this nightmare. But something about his words—about the whole setup—made her hesitate.

Marcus stepped forward, holding up his hands. “Okay, hold it. Call me crazy, but… doesn’t this all feel a little scripted?”

Ethan blinked. “What?”

Marcus gestured wildly. “Think about it! Ghost bride. Roses. Dramatic ultimatums. And every test is like… conveniently themed around your relationship? You don’t find that suspicious?”

Clara frowned. “Marcus…”

“No, listen!” Marcus insisted. “She keeps repeating the same question: Would you die for each other? Would you sacrifice? It’s not random—it’s like she’s… testing you. But why? Why us? Why now?”

The candles flared, Annalise’s form trembling.

“Silence,” she hissed.

Marcus pointed at her. “Or what? You’ll monologue us to death? No offense, lady, but you sound less like a vengeful spirit and more like a director running a reality show.”

Ethan blinked. “Marcus, this isn’t the time—”

But Clara’s heart skipped. Because for the first time since they’d entered the house… Annalise faltered.

Her glow flickered. Her veil sagged. Her voice cracked.

“Love… demands…” she whispered, weaker now. “Love demands…”

Marcus smirked. “Yeah, demands a better script.”

And just like that—Annalise vanished.

The candles blew out.

The chapel went dark.

Silence.

Ethan clutched Clara. “What just happened?”

Marcus slowly lowered his flashlight. “I think… I think I hit a nerve.”

The chapel was empty now. No ghost, no roses, no curse. Just three friends standing in the wreckage.

But before relief could settle in, a new sound filled the air.

Laughter.

Not ghostly. Not echoing.

Human.

It came from above, from the choir loft.

All three turned slowly as a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Not Annalise.

Marcus’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God…”

Clara’s stomach twisted. “It’s—”

The figure grinned, holding up a camera.

“Gotcha.”