My Fiancée’s Secret Murder Diary / Chapter 4: Murder Diary
My Fiancée’s Secret Murder Diary

My Fiancée’s Secret Murder Diary

Author: Mary Armstrong


Chapter 4: Murder Diary

"Why would you think I hid her? It’s been a week—I’ve done nothing but look for her—"

My voice wavered, but he raised a hand to stop me, shaking the notebook in his hand. "Then why is there something like this?"

"What’s written in it? I’ve never seen this notebook before, I swear." I tried to take the notebook from him, but he pulled it away.

He eyed me, weighing my words. "You really don’t know?"

"If I’m lying, you can—" He caught himself, biting back the rest. "Look, I swear I’ve never seen it."

"Don’t make childish oaths." Caleb tossed the notebook into my arms.

The notebook landed heavier than I expected. The cover was soft with age, edges chewed by time. My fingers tingled as I cracked it open.

Lifting the cover, I saw just a few small words written in the lower right corner of the otherwise blank title page:

Murder Diary.

Those words stared back at me, as if someone was playing a cruel joke.

My hands shook. "Was this her idea, or a prank you both cooked up?"

I opened the first page. The diary’s tone was unmistakably Lillian’s.

[April 18, 2024, sunny.

Today, a strange thought suddenly crossed my mind: I want to kill someone.

But everyone around me is so good to me—I can’t bear for any of them to die.

It seems killing is such a troublesome thing.]

The handwriting was definitely hers.

The familiar loops and neat lines—no mistaking it. How could Lillian write something so chilling?

I flipped back to the title page and looked carefully at those four words.

I pressed my thumb along the paper. They didn’t seem to have been written at the same time.

The words "murder" were clearly smaller than "diary." The strokes were lighter, hesitant—almost as if they’d been added later.

But even the fact that Lillian kept a diary—I was only finding out now.

My pulse hammered in my ears. "Do you think Lillian could have gone into hiding because of this?" Caleb suddenly asked.

"You mean, she really killed someone?"

He looked at me, unreadable. "Maybe if we finish reading this diary, we’ll find the answer."

He pointed at the notebook in my hands, signaling me to keep reading.

A sense of dread curled in my gut as I flipped to the next page, Caleb watching me like a hawk. Whatever was written next might just ruin both our lives.

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