My Family Sold Me To A Wealthy Estate To Cover A Debt — Then I Met The First Bride In The Basement
Part 1
My family sold me to the Preston estate to cover a debt we could never repay.
I stood at the massive wrought-iron gates of the estate, shivering in my thin coat.
The metal groaned as the gates swung open to reveal a sprawling stone mansion.
Shadows clung to the dark windows like watchful eyes.
My sister had kissed my cheek before shoving me out of the car.
She told me money fixed everything and that I just needed to behave.
I wanted to scream at her as the taillights vanished into the fog.
But the debt was real and it was heavy enough to crush us all.
I walked up the sweeping driveway with a knot of pure dread in my stomach.
Brenda Preston waited on the massive stone porch with a posture so rigid it looked painful.
She wore a dark dress that seemed to absorb the dim evening light.
Her eyes locked onto me with a cold, calculating intensity.
She did not offer a smile or a warm greeting.
Instead, she simply held out a heavy silver ring.
The metal bit into my skin as she forced it onto my finger.
It felt like a shackle snapping shut around my wrist.
I glanced down and saw worn initials engraved on the inside band.
They were not Brian’s initials and they were certainly not mine.
I swallowed hard and asked who had worn the ring before me.
Brenda stepped close enough for me to smell the stale lavender on her clothes.
She whispered that a bride in this house listens before she speaks.
The heavy oak doors opened behind her to reveal a cavernous hallway.
I stepped over the threshold and felt the temperature plummet.
The house smelled of old wood, damp stone, and something cloyingly sweet.
Brian stood at the bottom of the grand staircase with his hands in his pockets.
He looked at me with an expression completely devoid of emotion.
There was no warmth, no affection, and absolutely no love.
He told me to follow him and turned away without waiting for a response.
I trailed behind him through corridors lined with ancient, faded portraits.
The eyes in the paintings seemed to track my every move.
We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of a long hall.
Brian opened it and gestured for me to step inside the massive, gloomy bedroom.
He told me the rules were simple but absolute.
I was never to wander the grounds after dark.
I was never to ask about the locked doors in the basement.
And I was absolutely never to enter the west corridor under any circumstances.
He turned on his heel and left me alone in the freezing room.
The silence in the house was thick enough to choke on.
I sat on the edge of the massive four-poster bed and rubbed my shivering arms.
Sleep was completely impossible in a place that felt this much like a tomb.
Hours dragged by in the suffocating darkness of the bedroom.
I listened to the wind howling against the thick windowpanes.
But then I heard something else beneath the sound of the storm.
It was a soft, rhythmic scratching coming from somewhere deep in the house.
I told myself to ignore it and obey Brian’s strict warning.
But the scratching turned into a faint, desperate whimpering.
My feet moved toward the bedroom door before my brain could stop them.
I slipped out into the pitch-black hallway and held my breath.
The house was asleep but it did not feel entirely empty.
I followed the faint sounds through the winding corridors.
My bare feet made no noise against the thick antique rugs.
I realized with a jolt of panic that I was standing at the entrance to the west corridor.
The air here was noticeably colder and smelled faintly of copper.
The whimpering grew louder and more frantic with every step I took.
I stopped in front of a solid iron door at the very end of the hallway.
A heavy padlock hung from a thick chain wrapped around the handle.
I pressed my ear against the freezing metal and listened closely.
Someone was breathing in short, ragged gasps on the other side.
I whispered into the darkness and asked if anyone was in there.
The breathing stopped instantly and a heavy silence fell over the corridor.
Then a voice answered me in a harsh, dry rasp.
The woman on the other side told me I was supposed to be the substitute.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I asked her what she meant and who she was.
She told me to unlock the door before they came back to separate us.
I fumbled with the heavy padlock in the dark.
It was stiff with rust but it finally clicked open in my trembling hands.
The chain rattled loudly as it hit the stone floor.
I pulled the heavy iron door open and peered into the gloom.
The woman stepped forward into the pale slice of moonlight filtering through a high window.
My breath caught in my throat and the world seemed to spin out from under me.
She looked exactly like me.
