VOWS OF VENGEANCE

I was seventeen when my world fell apart. It started with the rain. It had been falling all evening, heavy and loud, hitting the windows like tiny stones. The house felt too quiet, like it was waiting for something bad to happen. I didn’t know it yet, but that night would change everything. Downstairs, voices were rising—men in suits talking fast, papers rustling, my mother crying. I sat on the stairs, trying to listen. Every word sounded strange. Fraud investigation. Bankruptcy. Arrest warrant. None of it made sense. My father wasn’t a criminal. He was the kind of man who never forgot my school events and still brought home flowers for my mom. His office door was closed. That wasn’t new. It had been closed for days. Then there was a loud noise—something crashing. My mother screamed. The next thing I knew, people were running, calling for help. I saw flashes of red and blue through the rain as the police and ambulance came. When they carried my father out, his hand slipped from under the white sheet. There was ink on his fingers. I knew right then that he had been writing something before it happened. The papers said it was suicide. They said he was guilty of fraud and lost everything overnight. They said his death was shameful. I stopped reading after that. Mom didn’t talk for days. She sat in her robe by the window, whispering his name. I tried to stay strong for her, but I didn’t even know what that meant. One morning, she looked at me and said, “He didn’t do it, Celeste. Someone forced him.” Then she went quiet again. I didn’t believe her at first—until I heard the name Adrian Voss. He was everywhere on the news. The man who took over my father’s company. Young, powerful, rich. He smiled in every photo like life couldn’t touch him. People called him brilliant. I called him a thief. I thought of him when the house was sold. When Mom cried over bills. When I packed my father’s things into boxes. I wanted someone to blame, and his name was easy to hate. While cleaning Dad’s office, I found a small envelope stuck behind a stack of books. My name was on it. For Celeste. Inside was only one line: “Don’t believe what they say. I was forced to do this. Voss isn’t who he seems.” That was all. I must have read that note fifty times. My hands shook every time. Forced to do this. What did that mean? Forced by who? I wanted answers. Dad’s phone was still on his desk, plugged in. There was one new voicemail. I almost ignored it, but curiosity won. The name on the screen made me freeze. Adrian Voss. My heart thumped as I pressed play. “Richard,” his voice said. Calm but nervous. “They know. Burn everything. Don’t call me again.” Then silence. I stared at the phone. They know. Who were they? Why was Adrian Voss—the man who supposedly ruined us—telling my father to hide something? For the first time, my hatred didn’t feel simple anymore. I stood there for a long time, staring at the dark window. The rain had stopped, but the air was still heavy. I told myself to go upstairs, to forget what I heard. But something felt wrong. That’s when I heard the sound. A soft click from behind me. The door to the office—Dad’s door—was slowly turning. I thought maybe it was my mom, but then I heard it. A man’s voice. Quiet. Calm. “Celeste?” I froze. Because whoever it was… knew my name. My heart jumped. The voice came again, quiet but clear. “Celeste, it’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.” I didn’t move. My father’s office was dim, lit only by the weak light from the hallway. I could barely make out a tall figure near the door. The sound of the rain outside made it worse—it felt like the whole world had gone silent except for that one voice. “Who are you?” I asked. He didn’t answer right away. He stepped forward, and that’s when I saw the outline of his face. Sharp jaw. Wet hair. Expensive suit. He looked like someone from the news. Someone important. Someone I had seen before. “Adrian Voss,” I whispered. He didn’t deny it. My chest tightened. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t even know where we live.” He looked around the room, scanning everything—my father’s desk, the files, the shelves. “I came to collect something,” he said. His tone was calm, too calm. “Something your father promised me.” “My father’s dead,” I snapped. Adrian’s jaw tightened. “I know.” The way he said it made my stomach twist. There was something in his voice that didn’t sound like guilt or sympathy. It sounded like fear. I stepped closer, clutching the small note I found earlier. “Did you kill him?” He looked at me, eyes unreadable. “No,” he said softly. “But I could’ve stopped it.” My throat went dry. “Then why didn’t you?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he walked to my father’s desk, opened a drawer, and began searching. His hands were quick, controlled—like he already knew what he was looking for. “Stop!” I grabbed his arm. “You can’t just—” “Celeste,” he said, his voice low, almost warning. “If you want to stay alive, you’ll let me find what he left behind.” Alive. The word sank into my chest like ice. “What are you talking about?” He looked up then, and for a moment, I saw something in his eyes—panic, exhaustion, maybe regret. “Your father wasn’t the only one they were after,” he said. “And now that he’s gone, they’ll come for you.” The room felt smaller, heavier. “Who’s they?” He didn’t get to answer. There was a loud bang from outside—like a car door slamming hard. Then footsteps. More than one pair. Adrian’s expression changed instantly. He grabbed a file from the drawer, tucked it inside his coat, and turned toward me. “You have to trust me.” “I don’t even know you!” “Then start now.” Before I could react, he reached for my wrist and pulled me toward the back door of the office. My mind screamed to fight back, to yell, but my body didn’t move. Everything happened too fast. We slipped into the dark hallway. I could hear the front door crash open, voices shouting. Someone was inside the house. Adrian pushed me against the wall, his hand covering my mouth. “Quiet,” he whispered. His breath was warm, but his tone was cold. “If they find us, they won’t ask questions.” I could hear the men moving closer. Heavy boots on the floorboards. One of them called out, “Check the study!” The study. That was my father’s office. Adrian’s eyes met mine. He mouthed one word. Run. We sprinted down the hall, through the kitchen, and out into the rain. The night swallowed us whole. My feet hit the wet ground hard, my heart pounding in my ears. I didn’t know where we were going, only that I had to keep up. Behind us, the sound of engines roared to life. “They’re following,” Adrian said. “Who are they?” I shouted. “The people your father was trying to protect you from.” Lightning flashed, and for a second, I saw his face clearly—soaked, tense, and haunted. He looked nothing like the confident billionaire from the news. We reached the edge of the street. A black car waited there. Adrian opened the door and told me to get in. I hesitated, staring at him. “If you want to live,” he said, “you’ll come with me.” Something in his voice made me believe him, even though every part of me screamed not to. I slid into the car. He jumped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and sped off. The city lights blurred as we drove through the storm. My hands trembled as I looked at him. “Tell me what’s going on. I deserve to know.” He kept his eyes on the road. “Your father didn’t kill himself,” he said. “He was silenced. And now you have something they want.” My heart pounded. “What is it?” He looked at me, his jaw tight. “That note you found—what did it say?” I hesitated. “It said you’re not who you seem.” For a moment, his face went pale. He didn’t speak. Then he reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the file he took from my father’s desk, and tossed it into my lap. “Then it’s time you find out who I really am.”