Becoming Mrs DeLuca novel Chapter 82

**TITLE: Through Shadows We Painted Our Forever by Erynn Vel Coren**
**Chapter 82**

**VALENTINA**

It was two days later when I found myself standing at the foot of the staircase, my gaze fixed upward as if the very structure might consume me.

What was merely a staircase, a mundane feature of the house, now appeared transformed, imbued with a sense of foreboding. The polished steps glistened under the soft glow of the overhead lights, while the long corridor above seemed to stretch upward, wide and inviting, like an open throat ready to swallow me whole. I knew, somewhere up there, behind those locked doors and shuttered windows, lay the truth I had been desperately trying to evade.

My hands quivered slightly, betraying the turmoil within me.

Adrian’s voice reverberated in my mind from our phone call that very morning.

“Valentina,” he had said, his tone warm, steady, and unnervingly careful. He had inquired about the children, asked if I had managed to sleep well. I had lied through my teeth, assuring him that everything was perfectly fine.

In the background, I could hear the faint hum of activity, and I envisioned him surrounded by people, his world a stark contrast to the chaotic reality I had been thrust into just nights before.

He had no idea what I had witnessed.

And he must never know.

With a shaky breath, I pressed my palm against the cool railing and began my ascent.

Each creak of the wooden steps beneath my slippers sent a jolt through my heart, a reminder of the weight of my guilt. Despite knowing that Adrian had deceived me, I felt an overwhelming sense of shame. It felt wrong, like I was intruding upon a sacred space, violating an unspoken rule that had always lingered in the air. The third floor had always been off-limits, a forbidden territory. Yet, the haunting memory of Serena’s eyes from the night before, the desperate plea in her voice—”please don’t tell him”—echoed in my mind, refusing to let me rest. I had spent the last two days attempting to return to normalcy, to slip back into my routine and convince myself of my perfect marriage, my perfect husband, my perfect life. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t simply pretend that night hadn’t occurred and carry on as if everything was unchanged.

By the time I reached the landing, my throat felt parched, as if the air had been sucked from the room.

Before me stretched the corridor, lined with closed doors, each cloaked in a fine layer of dust. The air held a faint scent of antiseptic mingled with something metallic, an unsettling combination that made my skin crawl. I hesitated at the top, my fingers twisting nervously around the delicate chain hanging from my neck.

What if she wasn’t real?

What if I opened a door only to find emptiness, just air and my own reflection staring back at me through the window?

I would have shattered the fragile trust between Adrian and me for nothing.

With a hard swallow, I steeled myself and pressed forward.

The hallway felt interminably long, each step echoing softly in the silence. I passed a door that stood slightly ajar and couldn’t resist peeking inside. It was a mundane sight—storage boxes stacked haphazardly, a broken lamp leaning against the wall, and dust motes swirling in a shaft of light. It was normal. Completely, utterly normal.

The next door was locked, as was the one that followed.

But then, at the very end of the corridor, I spotted it—a door that shouldn’t have been there. It stood out, newer than the others, the paint too fresh, the handle gleaming under the light.

I reached out, my fingers brushing against the cold metal.

I knocked. Once. Twice.

Silence enveloped me.

I felt the urge to turn back, to convince myself that this was a mistake, that I was spiraling into madness. But then, from within, I heard the faint sounds of movement—a chair scraping against the floor, a soft clink of metal.

And then, a key dropped, clattering to the ground. I heard hurried shuffling, some muttered curse words, and then, an eerie stillness.

The lock clicked, and the door creaked open just a few inches.

There she was.

Serena.

Alive.

For a brief moment, my body felt paralyzed, my mind struggling to process the reality before me. In the daylight, she appeared smaller than I remembered, her pallor accentuating her fragility. Her hair fell in unkempt waves down her back, yet her eyes remained sharp and alert, almost haunted by some unseen terror.

She blinked at me, once, twice, as if grappling with her own uncertainty. Then, slowly, she opened the door wider, inviting me in.

“Valentina,” she uttered softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Hearing my name from her lips felt strange, almost foreign.

I stood rooted to the spot, my fingers digging into my palm, my nails biting into my skin.

“You—” My voice faltered. “You’re really—”

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