Aliana lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, but her mind wouldn't rest. The same thought kept circling in her head. It was like a whisper that refused to stop.
Finally, she sat up, grabbed the diary from the bedside table, and opened it again.
And her blood ran cold.
The once-blank pages were no longer blank. Every single page — filled. From today… backward. She flipped through them frantically, her fingers shaking, her breath turning shallow. She kept flipping and flipping until she reached the last written date.
23rd December.
Her hands froze.
The writing on that page looked nothing like her usual handwriting. It was jagged, uneven, like someone whose mind had snapped.
She forced herself to read it.
I won't let Beatrice marry Arman. He's mine. I will kill her if I have to.
Aliana's heart stopped mid-beat.
