Untold Story

Chapter Eight : Behind Closed Doors

Evelyn's Pov

I set the glass down on the dining table, the faint clink of it against the wood louder than it should’ve been in the stillness of the room. The water I’d just swallowed felt cold and sharp in my chest, like it had lodged there instead of settling.

I turned to her—Arya.

“So you’re telling me we’re married because of this red thread?” I asked, my voice flat, edged with disbelief.

And then I saw it.

The thread.

It was thin—impossibly so—like a strand of silk dipped in blood. It glowed faintly between us, wrapped tight around my pinky finger and stretching across the room to hers, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.

I stared.

“Yes,” Arya said simply.

My breath caught. I rubbed at my finger like I could scrub it away—like maybe I was still dreaming.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “Is there no way to break this?”

“There is.”

The way she said it—quiet, detached—made my stomach clench.

I swallowed hard. “What is it?”

Arya stepped closer. One slow, deliberate step at a time until the red thread slackened slightly, no longer stretched taut. Her gaze held mine, calm and unreadable. Her lips parted just enough to speak.

“If you die,” she said, “the red thread will break.”

The air shifted.

Heavier. Tighter. Like the walls were leaning in. Like the thread had coiled around my ribs and pulled.

My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into skin. “Is that a threat?” I asked, voice low.

Her expression didn’t change. Not even a flicker.

“No. I’m just answering your question.”

I stared at her, heart thudding against my ribs, throat dry. Every instinct screamed at me to do something—move, yell, run—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I stood frozen, arms tight across my chest, fingers clutching the edge of my sleeve.

“Well,” I said, forcing a brittle smile, “too bad for you... I’m not planning to die.”

 “Good,” she said.

“Great—so, we’ll just have to find another way out of this,” I muttered, rubbing my temple.

Arya’s eyes flicked over my shoulder, sweeping the apartment like she was taking inventory. “You have two bedrooms,” she said briskly. “I’ll take the guest room.”

“Why are you staying here at all?” The question snapped out of me before I could temper it. Panic threaded through the confusion. “You could go back to Rosevale.”

She lifted her hand. The thread between us pulsed faintly. “Because of this,” she said. “If I’m here, we’ll solve it faster. And don’t worry—I’m not planning an extended stay. I have more important things to do.”