Buried In Shadows

The envelope was thick, the kind used for something important-weddings, legal notices, or, in this case, a summons from a world Amelia Graves had long since abandoned. Her fingers hesitated before tearing it open, the paper smooth against her skin, the ink a sharp contrast in deep black strokes.

Amelia,

I know you swore you'd never step foot in the Sinclair estate again. But things have changed. Secrets are unburying themselves, and I suspect you'd want to be the first to uncover them. You were always good at finding the truth, weren't you?

Come to Blackwood Manor.

-Ethan Sinclair

She exhaled slowly, reading the words again. Ethan Sinclair. The name alone was enough to drag her back to a past she'd spent years trying to outrun. The man who once stood as a reluctant heir to a family that thrived on wealth, deception, and manipulation. The man she had never quite figured out.

She should have ignored the letter. She should have crumpled it up, tossed it into the bin, and let the ghosts of Blackwood Manor remain undisturbed. But Amelia had always been reckless when it came to two things-chasing a good mystery and Ethan Sinclair.

That night, she packed her bags.

---

The journey to Blackwood Manor was drenched in shadows. The long, winding roads leading to the estate were lined with towering trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the night sky. The further she drove, the more the city lights faded behind her, leaving only the dim glow of her headlights and the oppressive silence of the countryside.

The last time she had been here, she was eighteen. She still remembered the whispers at her back, the sharp glances from the Sinclair matriarch, and the way the grand halls of the estate seemed to swallow her whole.

Now, Blackwood Manor loomed before her like a relic from a gothic novel-tall spires, ivy-clad walls, and windows so dark they looked like gaping mouths. The iron gates groaned as they opened for her, and the moment she stepped out of the car, the air was thick with something unspoken.

"Miss Graves," a voice called, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She turned to see Ethan.

The years had changed him, but not by much. He still had that signature unshaken confidence, the way he stood like the world bent to him rather than the other way around. His dark hair was a little longer now, carelessly styled as if he couldn't be bothered to smooth it down. His sharp jawline was dusted with the shadow of a beard, and his piercing gray eyes studied her with an unreadable expression.

"You came," he said, the corner of his mouth curving slightly.

Amelia forced herself to hold his gaze. "I'm a journalist. I don't turn down a story."

His smirk deepened. "Is that all this is to you? A story?"

"What else would it be?" she challenged.

Ethan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence unmistakable even in the open air. "Come inside. You'll want to hear this."