Page 159 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

This is creepy.

A lot creepier than I remember.

Was it always like this?

I’m guessing the eerie feeling is amplified at night. The sun was out and blinding the last time I was here. Not to mention I wasn’t alone then. I had my brother with me.

Before me is a long and narrow corridor. Wallpaper with floral designs covers the walls, the flickering chandelier hanging above my head barely illuminating the space. Three doors sit at the end of the hall, a faint light peeking through the gap underneath the middle one.

I seriously consider turning around and telling the employee I changed my mind, but my pride stops me.

If you could do this when you were a kid, you can do it now.

I come to a slow stop in front of the closed doors and grip a knob at random.

The first thing I see when I walk in is the lit marble fireplace against the far wall. It’s covered in cobwebs, and the fire is artificial in spite of looking oddly realistic.

A large rug spreads across the floor, the red velvet couch and armchair on top of it facing each other, while a wooden desk and a chair are pushed into a corner.

There are two full floor-to-ceiling bookcases on each side of the fireplace, and I figure one of them has to lead to a secret passage.

I’ve only taken a few steps when I hear the front door closing in the distance.

Someone just walked in.

I stiffen up, listening in for another noise.

Footsteps rumble down the hall.

My mind is immediately swamped with worst-case scenarios.

My friends weren’t interested in joining. What if one of the employees saw me going in alone and—

The door creaks open behind me, and my throat tightens until oxygen can’t travel to my lungs anymore.

I spin, scared out of my mind, and then…

I see Kane.

I’m relieved, at first.

Until I notice the expression on his face.

Oh, he is not happy.

“What are you doing here?” I say dryly.

Kane cocks an eyebrow at my less-than-welcoming greeting. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

I open my mouth to answer, but I can’t produce a sound.

It’s the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are packed with anger and satisfaction, a combination I’m in no way ready for.

It’s as though he was waiting to get me alone, and now that he has me, he’s not letting me get away.

“What else am I supposed to say?”

He closes the door behind him with a bang. “I’m sorry I ghosted you would be a good place to start.”

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