Page 14 of Where the Dark Things Bloom

They say when you return to the place where you were broken, the cracks inside you open like old wounds.

I walked through the hallway, fingers brushing along the green wallpaper. The texture was rough beneath my touch, brittle in places, like the walls themselves had been holding their breath. I kept moving, footsteps soft on the black-and-white tile, until I reached the staircase.

That’s when I heard it, footsteps behind me.

I gasped, turning quickly.

At the front door stood a man in his thirties, wearing a blue suit. He was handsome in that polished, clean-shaven kind of way. But the wedding ring on his finger told me he wasn’t here to flirt. He held an envelope in one hand, walking toward me.

“Miss Thorn?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, it tightened his jaw instead.

“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “That’s me.”

“My name is Cameron. We spoke on the phone earlier,” he said, holding out the envelope.

“Here are the documents to finalize the transfer of ownership for Gloomsbury Manor,” he explained, pulling a paper and pen from the envelope. “Sign here.”

“Okay,” I replied, taking the sheet from him and beginning to read.

I’m not dumb. I’d walk straight into a toxic relationship, sure—but when it came to paperwork? I readeverything.

My eyes skimmed the document. The words blurred slightly, but I kept reading. Line after line of legalese, dry and suffocating: inheritance clauses, estate transfer, property taxes.

And then—Clause 7B:

“The inheritor agrees to remain on the premises for a minimum of thirty consecutive days following the transfer of ownership.”

I tapped the paragraph with my nail. “What’s this?”

Cameron shifted slightly, his smile frozen like a mask. “Oh, that. Just an old stipulation from your father’s original will. Sentimental, really. Think of it as… honoring the estate before it officially changes hands.”

“So I’m locked in here for a month?”

“Not locked in,” he said, too quickly. “Just… contractually encouraged to stay.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Encouraged sounds like a very polite word forcoerced.”

He chuckled. “You can leave, Miss Thorn. Of course. But the ownership won’t be finalized, and if you’re planning to sell, you can’t legally proceed until the condition is met.”

Convenient. Too convenient.

“I mean, it’s not that I have nowhere else to go?!” I waved the paper between us, “So after a month house is mine?”

“House, money, everything with it,” he stretched a wide smile on his lips.

“Money?” I asked, looking at him, “I thought I just got the house?”

“Your father also left behind sixty-five million dollars,” he said, “It’s on the other side...” he came closer turning around the paper, “paper,” he said, clearing his throat.

I exhaled, looking down.

As a person who reads these documents before rushing into something, I suck.

“Okay,” I said, “I guess I have to stay.”

He nodded, handing me a pen. “Sign here,” he said, and just like that, I took the pen and leaned it on the small table in the hallway, and I signed the document.

Just like that, I will be trapped here for a month.

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