When Zach proposed, I expected magic. Instead, he gave me a strange, antique ring — no diamond, just a smoky black stone with eerie engravings. It felt wrong.
A week later, I found an old photo of Zach with another woman — his ex-fiancée, Camille. She was wearing my ring.
I confronted him. He confessed: Camille had vanished before their wedding. No goodbye. Just gone. The ring was returned anonymously. He kept it… and gave it to me.
Days later, I woke to a knock. On the door was a photo of me wearing the ring. Three words scrawled across it:
“You’re next. Return it.”
The police found no leads. We learned Camille had ties to an occult society, and the ring was part of a dark, binding ritual.
We postponed the wedding. I returned the ring.
To this day, I don’t know what happened to Camille. But I do know this: trust your instincts. Some heirlooms carry more than history.
They carry warnings.
