VOWS OF VENGEANCE

Chapter three-The storage unit

The rain had stopped by the time we reached the outskirts of the city.

The night was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like someone was listening.

Adrian parked the car behind a line of abandoned trucks. The air smelled like rust and damp earth.

I looked around. There was nothing but darkness and the low hum of crickets.

“This is it,” he said. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, alert. “Unit thirty-nine.”

We walked through the narrow corridor of storage units, the sound of our footsteps echoing on the wet pavement. My heart beat faster with every step. I didn’t know what we were about to find, but something deep inside told me it wouldn’t be good.

When we reached the metal door, Adrian stopped. “Do you still have the key?”

I nodded and pulled it out of my pocket. The silver was cold against my fingers. I hesitated for a second, my hand hovering over the lock.

“You should stay back,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. “No. Whatever’s inside, it’s part of my father’s story. I have to see it.”

Adrian didn’t argue. He just stood close, ready.

The lock clicked open with a heavy sound, and the door creaked as I pushed it up. The smell of dust hit me first—old paper, metal, and something faintly like oil.

A small light flickered on the ceiling, weak but enough to see. Inside were stacks of boxes, some marked with faded writing. My father’s handwriting.

I walked in slowly, brushing my fingers over the labels: Contracts, Invoices, Personal, Photos.

Everything felt frozen in time.

Adrian stayed near the door, watching me. “He kept records of everything,” he said softly. “Your father was meticulous.”

“He was careful,” I corrected. “He didn’t trust easily.”

I opened one of the boxes labeled Personal and found a pile of notebooks. The top one had his initials—R.H.—written in small, neat letters. I flipped through it, my eyes scanning the pages.

There were notes, phone numbers, fragments of thoughts. But on one page, there was a name circled in red ink: Isabella Voss.

My breath caught. “Adrian… look.”

He came closer, his face tensing as he read the name. “Why would he keep her name here?”

I turned the page. There were letters—some torn, others still folded neatly. I picked one and opened it carefully. The handwriting wasn’t my father’s. It was delicate, looping, almost romantic.

‘Richard, I can’t keep this secret much longer. Adrian deserves to know, but if I tell him, it’ll destroy everything. Please, help me figure out what to do.’

It was signed, Isabella.

I felt my stomach drop. I looked up at Adrian, his expression unreadable.

“She wrote to your father,” I whispered.

He took the letter from me, staring at it like it was a ghost. “She was afraid,” he said quietly. “And she trusted him.”

The silence between us was thick. I could almost hear both our hearts beating.

“She said she couldn’t keep a secret,” I murmured. “What secret?”

Adrian didn’t answer. He moved to another box, opening it roughly. Inside were old photographs, newspaper cuttings, and one small flash drive taped to the lid.

He peeled it off, holding it up to the light. “Whatever they were hiding… it might be here.”

There was no computer, no way to check. But even without opening it, I could feel that the truth inside that drive would change everything.

Suddenly, the sound of a car engine broke the silence.

Adrian froze.

We looked at each other. The noise grew louder—closer. Tires against gravel. Doors slamming shut.

“They found us,” he said under his breath.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the back of the unit. “There’s a side door,” he whispered. “Go through it. Don’t stop, no matter what you hear.”

“What about you?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes softened, just for a second. “I’ll buy you time.”

“Adrian, no—”

“Go, Celeste.”

His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated only for a heartbeat, then ran toward the side door. The metal handle was cold. I pushed it open and slipped into the night air, the rain starting again, light but steady.

I didn’t get far before I heard voices—low, sharp, male.

Then a gunshot.

I froze, my heart lurching.

“Adrian!” I whispered, turning back toward the unit.

But before I could move, someone grabbed me from behind. A rough hand clamped over my mouth, another around my waist.

I kicked, struggled, but the man’s grip was strong. His breath was hot against my ear.

“Should’ve stayed out of this, sweetheart,” he hissed.

The world tilted. My vision blurred.

And the last thing I saw before everything went black was the silver key falling from my hand, landing in a puddle with a quiet splash.