The sounds woke me near midnight—not the mechanical hum I'd heard before, but something else. Footsteps, perhaps. Or the sound of something being moved.

  I sat up in bed, heart racing. After my disastrous solo investigation that had nearly gotten me killed, I'd promised Alexander I wouldn't investigate strange occurrences alone. But these sounds were different from before. Quieter. More... deliberate.

  I grabbed my robe and, after a moment's hesitation, knocked softly on Alexander's door. If there was something happening in the west wing, he should know.

  The door opened almost immediately, and Alexander stood there fully dressed, a lamp in his hand. "You heard it too."

  "Footsteps?" I ventured.

  "Or something like them." His expression was grim. "I was about to investigate. Since you're already up, would you like to accompany me? Properly this time, with appropriate precautions?"

  Despite the situation, I smiled. "Always better than sneaking around alone."

  ---

  We made our way to the west wing together, Alexander's magic lighting our path. The sounds had stopped, but there was a sense of... presence. As if something had recently disturbed the stillness.

  "Here," Alexander said, pausing before a door I didn't recognize. "This is one of Lucia's private rooms. I haven't been in here since... since before she died."

  "You don't have to go in if it's too painful."

  "No. I should have done this months ago." He pushed the door open, and stale air wafted out. "Besides, you're with me. That makes it bearable."

  The room beyond was clearly a personal space rather than a laboratory. A desk sat by the window, papers neatly stacked. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with volumes on magic theory and consciousness studies. And in one corner, a small trunk sat slightly ajar.

  "That trunk." Alexander moved toward it. "It wasn't open before. I'm certain of it."

  We approached carefully, and Alexander lifted the lid fully. Inside lay personal effects—jewelry, a hair brush, some folded clothes. Everything was surprisingly neat, as if someone had taken pains to preserve each item: there was no layer of dust on the lacquered trinkets, the silk wrappings were folded with practised hands, and a faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. The careful storage made the discovery feel deliberate and intimate. And beneath them, wrapped in silk, a leather-bound journal.

  "Her diary," Alexander breathed. "I didn't even know she kept one."

  "Should we read it?" I asked softly. "If it's private—"

  "She's gone. And if there's information here that might help us understand her research, understand the curse..." He lifted the journal carefully. "I think she'd forgive the intrusion."

  We carried the journal back to Alexander's study—neutral ground, away from Lucia's preserved space. Alexander set it on his desk and opened to a random page.

  His face went carefully blank as he read, then tight with suppressed emotion.

  "What is it?" I asked.

  "Listen." His voice was rough. "'The curse is necessary. Without it, the power drain would kill him immediately. This way, he's frozen—suspended between life and death. It's not ideal, but it's all I can manage. I have to finish the research. I have to save him. He won't accept this willingly, so I'll do what I must without his knowledge. Forgive me, Alexander. Everything I do is to protect you.'"

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The words hung in the air like lead. "She cursed you deliberately," I said slowly. "Not as a side effect of her death. It was intentional."

  "To save me from the power drain killing me outright." Alexander's hands were shaking. "She knew. She knew what was happening and instead of stopping, instead of asking my permission, she just... bound me."

  "Out of love," I said quietly, though the words tasted bitter. "Misguided, obsessive love, but love nonetheless."

  "Love that's left me trapped for two years." He set the journal down carefully, as if it might shatter. "Love that's made every day since her death a countdown to my own dissolution. Some gift."

  I moved to stand beside him, resting my hand on his arm. "She made the wrong choice. But she made it believing it would save you."

  "And instead she's made it impossible for me to truly live." He looked at me, and the pain in his eyes made my chest ache. "Until you arrived. You're the first thing in two years that's made me want to fight, to survive, to believe there might be something beyond this curse."

  The confession hung between us, weighted with everything we hadn't said. "Alexander—"

  "We should read more." He turned back to the journal, clearly using it as a shield. "If she documented the curse's creation, there might be information about how to break it."

  We spent the next hour reading through Lucia's entries, and a picture gradually emerged. A brilliant woman consumed by her research. A passionate love for Alexander twisted into something obsessive. And increasingly desperate attempts to save him from the magical drain her work required, culminating in the curse that had bound him.

  "She was going to attempt consciousness transfer on herself as the final test," Alexander read. "Once she succeeded, the curse would automatically release me. She'd have her immortality, I'd be free, and we could... she actually writes 'and we could finally be together properly.'"

  "She saw it as a love story," I said. "Sacrifice and eventual reunion."

  "She saw it as a transaction. Her immortality in exchange for my temporary suffering." He closed the journal with more force than necessary. "I loved her once. But reading this? I don't think I ever really knew her."

  "People are complicated." I touched the journal's cover. "She did terrible things for what she thought were good reasons. That doesn't excuse them, but maybe it explains them."

  "And doesn't change that I'm still cursed." He stood, moving to the window. "Though at least now I know the full truth. No more mysteries about how it happened."

  I joined him at the window, looking out over the darkened grounds. "Does knowing make it better or worse?"

  "I'm not sure yet." He was quiet for a moment. "Thank you. For being here. For helping me face this."

  "Where else would I be?"

  His hand found mine in the darkness. "Somewhere safer. Somewhere without cursed marquises and impossible research and dead women's obsessive plans."

  "Sounds boring." I squeezed his fingers. "I prefer it here. Impossible problems and all."

  That surprised a laugh out of him—small and sad but genuine. "You're extraordinary. You know that?"

  "You might have mentioned it once or twice."

  We stood together in the quiet, hands linked, and despite everything we'd learned tonight, I felt oddly at peace. Yes, the curse was worse than we'd thought. Yes, Lucia's actions had been unforgivable.

  But we knew the truth now. And truth, however painful, was better than uncertainty.

  "Tomorrow," Alexander said, "we'll tell Phillip what we found. See if he can use this information to refine his theories about breaking the curse."

  "Tomorrow," I agreed. "But for now, maybe we both need rest. It's been a heavy night."

  "Heavy," he repeated. "That's one word for it." He turned to face me, still holding my hand. "Eliana, after reading all that—after seeing how twisted Lucia's love became—I need you to know. What I feel for you isn't like that. It's not obsessive or possessive or demanding. It's just... care. Pure care."

  "I know." I reached up to touch his face briefly. "I trust you, Alexander. Completely."

  "Good." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Sleep well. Tomorrow we begin again."

  But lying in bed later, I couldn't stop thinking about Lucia's words: *Everything I do is to protect you.*

  Protection could be a cage as easily as a shield. Love could be a burden as easily as a gift.

  I promised myself I'd never do that to Alexander. Whatever happened between us, it would be his choice as much as mine.

  Because real love meant letting someone choose you, not trapping them into it.

  Even if it meant risking that they might choose differently.