The Honeymoon Was Over Before It Began: Freya had just stepped into the life she’d always dreamed of—newly married to George, a man who seemed to embody charm and devotion. His family estate was a vision of elegance: vaulted ceilings, manicured gardens, and the kind of grandeur that whispered permanence. But beneath the beauty, something felt off.
From the moment she arrived, Valerie—the maid—watched her with a cold, unreadable gaze. Freya tried to dismiss it as territorial tension. After all, she was the new woman in a house steeped in old routines. But Valerie’s presence lingered like a warning.
On the second morning, Freya prepared breakfast for George’s siblings, hoping to make a good impression. Valerie hovered nearby, wiping counters and offering clipped remarks. When Freya reached for her phone to check a recipe, it was gone. Minutes later, she found it—abandoned on Valerie’s chair. But it wasn’t the phone’s location that chilled her. It was the message glowing on the screen:
Check your husband’s drawer. The top left one. Then RUN :Her pulse thundered. She climbed the stairs to the bedroom, the message echoing in her mind. Valerie had tidied the room, folded clothes, made the bed. Everything looked normal. But Freya’s fingers trembled as she opened the drawer.
Inside lay a bundle of letters tied with a faded ribbon—and an old brass key.
Each letter was written by George. But they weren’t meant for her. They were addressed to someone named Elena. The words were intimate, aching, full of promises and dreams. George had loved Elena deeply. He had planned a life with her. And the final letter? A goodbye—dated just three days before he proposed to Freya.
The key, she would later learn, unlocked a box in the attic. Inside were photographs, keepsakes, and a ring—meant for Elena.
Freya sat in stunned silence, the illusion of her marriage unraveling with every word she read. George hadn’t just kept a secret. He had buried a life. And Freya had unknowingly stepped into its grave.
