What killed Cassandra?

The forbidden room.

I woke up feeling exhausted, as if I hadn't slept at all. When I looked to the other side of the bed, there he was—the man who held a special place in my heart.

"Good morning, sunshine," he greeted me.

"Good morning," I replied silently, thinking of him as 'my black alpha.'

He asked if I had slept well. "Yeah," I mumbled. "And you?"

"Sure, I did," he answered. A brief silence followed, and my mind raced with questions: When had he entered the room? How long had he been here? And had I been snoring?

He asked me, "Do you have any plans for today?" I replied, "No, I don't." But I need answers, I have burning questions.

His face tightened slightly, a hint of unease flickering across his features as I pressed for answers. I couldn't help it. I needed to know.

Was he the man my uncle had sold me to?
Why did he propose?
What was this tangled web of secrets and emotions?

I needed answers, and I needed them now.

He glanced at me and inquired if I still wanted my friends to visit. I nodded affirmatively. Without a word, he rose from the bed and departed. I felt a mix of speechlessness and sadness.

He hadn't even tried to answermy questions; he simply left. I sighed, my eyes falling on my diary. Thoughts raced through my mind.

Did he open it?
How much had he read?

I stood up, leaving the bed behind, and headed toward the restroom for my morning shower.

As I gazed into the oversized mirror, I couldn't help but appreciate how lovely I looked on that Friday morning. I had on biker shorts and a Balenciaga polo. My next task was to head downstairs and prepare breakfast for my soon-to-be husband.

As I descended the stairs, the maids bustled about the house, dressed in their customary uniforms. One caught my eye; she seemed close to my age. I approached her hesitantly.

"Excuse me," I began, "can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Austin," they all chorused in unison.

The title "Mrs." caught me off guard, and I wondered how they knew. Then it dawned on me: my strange soon-to-be husband must have instructed them to address me that way. It made me feel uncomfortable.

I forced a smile, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

"I need to talk to you," I repeated to the girl.

"Ummm, ma'am, I'm quite busy," she replied without meeting my gaze. But I could tell she was lying—there were more than enough maids around to handle whatever she claimed was keeping her occupied.

"It's okay," I sighed, feeling a mix of frustration and curiosity.

I looked at their faces and sensed something unusual. It wasn't merely the respect they showed me as their boss's wife; there was more to it. Their expressions revealed fear, hidden secrets, and more. But why were they afraid? I've only been in the house for less than a day, and none of them have mistreated me. Yet, their use of "ma'am" makes me uneasy, and I'm certain they've noticed.

I made up my mind to uncover the mysteries surrounding everyone—the odd behavior of my uncle and his wife, the enigmatic man I was about to marry, the secrets of this house, and the peculiar workers. There were things hidden beneath the surface, and I intended to reveal them.

Now, it was a choice: either my husband would confide in me, sharing all the secrets, or I would dig them up myself.

As he descended the stairs, with a faint smile on his face, I almost smiled back. But then I remembered his earlier reaction, and I decided to keep my emotions in check.