The third floor is closed off.
Julian claims it's under renovation, but I hear sounds coming from up there at night — dragging, thumping, murmuring voices behind closed doors.
So I go.
I wait until after midnight. Julian takes sleeping pills — I saw him down one earlier with whiskey. Once I'm sure he's out, I creep to the forbidden staircase.
It creaks beneath my weight.
The door at the top is locked. But the key is hidden under a flower vase nearby — too obvious. Almost like he wanted me to find it.
Inside, the air is stale. The wallpaper is peeling. But the room itself…
…it's untouched.
There's a vanity with scattered makeup. A robe on the floor. A journal on the bed, open to the last entry:
"I know he's replacing me. He thinks I don't see it. But she has my face. He wants her now. He wants to bury me."
The handwriting is mine.
But I never wrote it.