Chapter 48 Pages of the Dead
Grayson:
The Knight estate had too many rooms, too many ghosts, too many memories carved into marble and woven into curtains we’d never changed.
But none of them felt as suffocating as Chloe’s room.
The door creaked softly when I pushed it open.
Dust motes drifted through the sunlight like slow-falling ash.
No one had stepped inside since the funeral.
Her scent had faded, all that cloying floral perfume she used to drown herself in, but the room still held an echo of her.
Her bed was neatly made.
Her vanity mirror clean.
Her shelves were lined with photos I hadn’t looked at in years.
I walked in slowly, each step heavier than the last.
I didn’t know why I came here.
Maybe guilt dragged me.
Maybe the bond with Evie, finally settling, had cracked something open.
Maybe the memory of last night, whispered apologies, trembling hands, the way Evie clung to me while I held her, made Chloe’s shadow finally feel wrong.
Or maybe I just wanted clarity.
I sat on the edge of Chloe’s bed, elbows on my knees, palms pressed against my eyes.
My wolf paced in restless circles.
Mate is true. Mate is good.
Why hurt mate? Why believe lies?
“Enough,” I muttered.
But the wolf wasn’t wrong.
I exhaled and forced myself to breathe through the tightness in my chest.
That was when I saw it.
A tiny sliver of wood was sticking out from the side of her vanity drawer.
Like someone had forgotten to push it in fully.
Barely noticeable.
But it didn’t fit the room.
Chloe was meticulous.
She never left anything out of place.
I stood slowly and walked to the dresser.
The piece of wood moved under my touch; it was a false panel.
A hidden compartment.
My stomach dropped. I hesitated.
Everything in me said: Don’t open it.
Don’t dig into a corpse’s secrets. Don’t disturb what should be left untouched. But my hand moved anyway.
I slid the panel back. Inside was a slim leather-bound journal. My heart stopped.
Not a diary we’d known about.
Not the one her mother turned in during the “investigation.”
This was something else. Something hidden. Something she didn’t want anyone to find.
My pulse hammered painfully as I lifted it. For a moment, I almost put it back.
Almost.
But then I thought of Evie.
Of the bruises I caused.
Of the lies I believed.
Of the hatred I fed.
So I opened it.
The first page was from years ago; sloppy handwriting, ink smudged, angry.
“He looked at her again. Her stupid thirteenth birthday.
Why does he always look at Evangeline?”
My breath caught. I turned the page.
“She thinks she’s special because her father trains her.
Because she’s clever.
I hate her.
I hate how he smiles at her.”
My fingers went numb.
Next page.
Next year.
“Grayson hugged her today.
Hugged.
He never hugs me first.
I cried afterward, but Mom said it’s fine, because she will fix it.
Evangeline Hart will not win.”
A coldness slid through my veins.
No.
No, this wasn’t....
I flipped to another entry.
“Today, Evangeline won best student at the Academy.
But I told Grayson I won.
He believed me.
Of course he did.”
My jaw locked. Blood roared in my ears.
Another entry:
“The pup that refused to do my assignment?
I taught him a lesson.
Mom says it’s not my fault if weak wolves get sick easily.”
Gods.
I felt sick. I turned pages with shaking hands.
“Told Grayson today that Evie bullied the younger wolves.
He said he would talk to her.
Good.
She deserves it.”
My stomach twisted sharply. I remembered that day.
I had confronted Evie, and she had cried.
I had told myself I was protecting the pack.
I had told myself Chloe wouldn’t lie.
But she had. She had lied about everything
I skimmed through the next pages until I reached the more recent years.
Her handwriting was more frantic now, slanted, uneven.
“Mother promised me Grayson will be mine.
She said she will make it happen.
She always gets me what I want.”
My hands trembled. I turned the page, the ink grew darker.
So did the truths. More obsessive. More unhinged.
“Grayson is mine. “Grayson is mine. Grayson is mine.
Grayson is mine. Grayson is mine. Grayson is mine. Grayson is mine
GRAYSON IS MINE.”
Page after page. Dozens of them. The same words were repeated until the ink bled.
My breath shortened. I wanted to throw the journal across the room.
I wanted to tear it apart.
I wanted to scream.
I didn’t.
I kept reading.
One entry shattered me:
“He told me today he still cares for Evie.
He doesn’t remember how much she hurt me.
It’s fine.
Mother will fix it.
She said Evangeline won’t be a problem for long.”
My blood turned to ice. They were planning something. Even back then.
Then
“Mother says I will be Luna.
Not Evie.
Never Evie.
We just have to make sure everyone sees her as dangerous first.”
My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
Memory after memory flooded me.
Every doubt I had of Evie.
Every accusation.
Every cold remark.
All fed by Chloe.
All orchestrated.
All lies.
I closed the journal, but my hand shook violently. Breathing was suddenly impossible.
My wolf whimpered, the first sound of grief I had heard from him.
Mate was innocent.
Mate was true.
We hurt mate.
We believed wrong.
We failed her.
“Yes,” I whispered hoarsely. “I know.”
I pressed my palms into my eyes until I saw stars. It wasn’t enough.
None of it was enough. Because Chloe was gone.
And I could never confront her. Never demand answers. Never ask why she did this to Evie.
To me.
To all of us.
I sat on the edge of her bed again, journal trembling in my hands, my chest heavy with a guilt so sharp it felt like claws.
My entire life,
my grief,
my anger,
my hatred,
my blind loyalty....
All built on lies.
And Evie…
Evie paid for all of it.
I pressed the journal shut slowly, reverently, like I was closing a coffin.
My head spun.
My lungs burned.
My heart cracked wide open.
I had done the unforgivable.
And I had no idea how to fix it.