Tempted by My Best Friend’s Father

The glass never blinked.

It watched her with a stillness that made her skin crawl—like it knew something she didn't, like it remembered things she'd tried to forget.

Serena stood in the middle of the bedroom, wrapped in Damon's robe, her eyes locked on the antique mirror. It had once been a beautiful thing—gilded in age-worn gold, the frame carved in intricate floral curls. But now… it felt like a mouth. A quiet one. Waiting to open.

A soft knock came.

Damon stepped in, phone still in his hand, jaw tight.

She didn't turn to him. "Did you reach him?"

He nodded. "He'll see me. But he made it clear—he's not talking over the phone."

Serena finally looked away from the mirror. "Why not?"

"Because mirrors listen," Damon said grimly. "And Uncle Edwin… doesn't trust anything with a reflection."

She blinked. "Wait… this happened before?"

His silence answered her.

"I need the truth," she said quietly.

So Damon told her.

About the summer he'd turned seventeen. About the first time he visited Edwin's estate—Severing Hollow—tucked in the forest outside Raventon. His uncle, once a celebrated restorer of rare antiques, had spiraled after acquiring a mirror from a French estate. It was said to be older than it looked. Rumors said it belonged to a woman accused of witchcraft during the 1600s.

She was burned at the stake, but her final words were this:

> "I will not die where you place me. I will die where I choose—and I will return where I am seen."

Days after the mirror arrived in Edwin's home, his wife vanished.

No blood. No forced entry. Just a single white ribbon left on the bathroom sink.

The same ribbon she'd tied to her wrist.

Serena stared at Damon. Her throat tightened. "You knew… this whole time?"

"I didn't know this was the same mirror," he said. "It was supposed to be destroyed after Edwin's breakdown. I only realized it last night when I saw the ribbon was gone and… and you didn't wake when I touched you."

She lowered herself to the bed slowly.

"I sleep," she whispered. "But she moves."

Damon crouched in front of her, gently taking her hands. "Then I'll find out how to stop her."

Serena leaned her forehead against his.

"I'm afraid I'll be too far gone by the time you do."

"No," he said, holding her tighter. "I'll get to Edwin. I'll get the truth. You just have to hold on."

---

Later that night

Damon drove through rain-slicked backroads, the kind that weren't listed on any map apps. The trees grew thick around him, clawing at the car windows, fog curling over the hood like a curse crawling out of the ground.

Severing Hollow appeared like a ruin.

A decaying manor with shuttered windows and ivy that strangled the front porch. The wrought-iron gate creaked open without a touch. He parked and stepped out into the cold, boots sinking slightly into the wet earth.

"Damon Cross," a voice called from the shadows. "I told you never to come here again."

His uncle stood beneath the archway of the ruined foyer—older now, wiry gray hair and eyes that darted like mice. But behind the madness was a clarity Damon hadn't expected.

"You still have the mirror, don't you?" Damon asked.

Edwin smiled—a fractured, broken thing.

"I don't have it," he said. "She does."

---

Meanwhile… back in the penthouse

Serena walked through the halls.

Not awake.

Not dreaming.

The mirror pulsed faintly in the dark. Its surface shimmered, not with reflection—but with memory. And it was hers. Or hers, depending on who you asked.

She paused in front of the mirror and whispered:

"I don't want to disappear."

And her reflection answered.

But not with words.

It lifted a hand when she hadn't.

And smiled.