Chapter 167

Vivian's face lit up with excitement. "Where is it? Bring it to me now!"

The maid trembled, her voice shaky. "M-Madam, your suitcase... it's in the basement. You... you should see for yourself."

"The basement?" Vivian repeated, torn between laughter and disbelief.

They had turned the entire villa upside down, only to miss the most obvious place.

How ridiculous.

But the maid's terrified expression told her this wasn't just about location.

Without another word, Vivian headed downstairs.

Nathaniel followed silently, his brow furrowed.

The Blackwood Villa basement stretched two floors underground, accessible only by a narrow spiral staircase. Originally built as a wartime shelter, it was poorly ventilated and pitch-black—a place no one ever visited.

When they reached the door, it stood slightly ajar. A sinister crimson glow seeped through the gap, casting eerie shadows.

"It's... inside," the maid stammered, refusing to step closer.

Vivian hesitated. She'd lived here for years—nothing should frighten her.

She pushed the door open.

And screamed.

Her legs gave out, but Nathaniel caught her, his strong arms locking around her waist. His solid presence steadied her.

She whipped her head around, meeting his cold gaze.

When had he gotten so close?

Swallowing hard, she pointed at the grotesque display. "Who did this? Tell me this isn't terrifying!"

Nathaniel scanned the room. "It is."

The basement pulsed with that unnatural red light. Dozens of mutilated rag dolls littered the floor—each one dressed like Vivian. Some missing limbs, others impaled with silver needles.

At the center lay a human skull wrapped in blood-red fabric scrawled with dark curses.

Her missing quilt.

"Am I... cursed?" Vivian shuddered. She didn't believe in magic, but the sight of those violated effigies turned her stomach.

"Cassandra went too far," she hissed, fists clenched. "That venomous snake!"

No wonder the police had refused to disclose the suitcase's location. If this twisted shrine were discovered, Cassandra's true nature would be exposed.

Nathaniel turned to the maid. "Did Miss Delacroix do this?"

The maid bowed her head. "She... forbade us from coming down here. Said she'd cut off our legs if we disobeyed."

The answer was obvious.

Vivian wrenched free from Nathaniel's grip. "Your precious Cassandra has quite the imagination," she sneered. "Maybe she's cast a spell on you too—explains why you're so obsessed with her."

Steeling herself, she marched forward, kicking dolls aside. She snatched the quilt from the skull, sending it rolling across the floor.

The maid shrieked at the sight of the uncovered bone.

Ignoring her, Vivian examined the quilt's pattern—just as a sharp pain lanced through her stomach.