Chapter 4She Stole My Groom And The Curse

Sienna was sitting on a velvet sofa that cost more than my car, draped in a white fur coat. She looked impeccable, but there was a manic energy in her eyes.

"So bored tonight," she told the camera, swirling a glass of wine. "Just wanted to chat with my fans."

She showed off a few Birkin bags, preening for the compliments rolling in. Then, inevitably, she brought me up.

"Her? Oh, please. Some people just don't have the destiny for wealth. The universe literally handed her a meal and she couldn't swallow it." She giggled. "Best friend? I mean... did she ever really act like one? She hid Preston from me for months. Insecurity is so ugly, isn't it?"

She took a sip of wine. "Where is she now? Probably hiding in some motel with her weird parents. They ran off like fugitives the day of the wedding. Maybe they’re scared I’ll sue them for emotional distress."

I watched, feeling a mix of pity and disgust. How had I ever let this person into my life?

But then, the comments shifted.

Sienna, the closet door behind you just moved.

Is someone in there? I saw a shadow.

Hey, stop joking, check the wardrobe.

Sienna didn’t see them at first. But the comments flooded in, a wall of warnings.

I squinted at the screen. The massive walk-in closet behind her was slightly ajar. And in the darkness near the floor... there was something. It looked like an eye. But it was too low. It was at ankle level.

Sienna finally noticed the chat. She clicked her tongue. "You guys are trying to scare me. Preston is out, and the staff is in the guest house. Don't be weird."

But the comments didn't stop. To prove them wrong, she stood up, her heels clicking on the hardwood. "Fine. Look."

She marched over and yanked the closet door open.

CRASH.

A man tumbled out. He was dressed in black, wearing a ski mask, clutching a pillowcase full of jewelry. A burglar.

But instead of running, or attacking her, the man scrambled backward on the floor, hyperventilating. He ripped his mask off, revealing a face drained of blood, eyes wide with pure madness.

"Ghost... ghost... there's a ghost..." he gibbered, pointing into the depths of the closet.

He looked at Sienna, saw her pale neck, and let out a shriek. He threw himself into a kowtow, slamming his forehead against the floorboards.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Don't kill me! I didn't mean to look! Spare me!"

He slammed his head down again and again, blood smearing on the expensive wood.

Sienna froze for a second, then screamed. "Help! Help! Thief!"

The phone was knocked over in the chaos. The screen went black, but the audio kept running—Sienna’s screams and the burglar’s sobbing pleas for mercy from something we couldn't see.

I stared at my phone, my heart hammering against my ribs.

What had that thief seen in the closet that terrified him more than getting caught?

I thought of Hollow Creek. The hanging village.

It was starting.