When I said yes, I expected a dream. What I got was a curse.

Everything about Zach’s proposal felt off. Not because he wasn’t sincere — he was — but because of the ring. No diamond, no shimmer. Just a dark, ancient-looking band with a stone that seemed to pulse under light, like it was breathing. I smiled for him, but inside, something twisted.

A week later, I found a photo buried in one of his old albums. Zach was there — younger, arm wrapped around a woman. But what chilled me to my core wasn’t the intimacy. It was her ring. My ring.

That’s when Zach told me about Camille. His former fiancée. The one who vanished without a trace. No goodbye, no leads, just… gone. The ring had come back to him anonymously. And instead of burying that past, he gave it to me.

Then came the photo. Taped to our door. A picture of me wearing the ring. And the words:
“You’re next. Return it.”

That moment changed everything.

We uncovered that Camille had been involved with an occult society obsessed with antique relics. The ring wasn’t just symbolic — it was a binding object. It was never meant to be passed on. It was meant to claim.

We called off the wedding. I gave the ring to the police. But deep down, I knew — some stories don’t stay buried. Some objects remember.

So if you’re ever gifted something that doesn’t feel right — even if it comes from someone you love — listen to your gut.

Because sometimes, it’s not just a ring.

It’s a warning.