chapter2
1054 Words
Flashback – Four Years Ago
The Langston Estate Library, Autumn Rain Outside
Juliette was lounging on her childhood reading couch, barefoot, humming softly to herself as she sorted through a stack of handwritten letters tied with navy blue ribbon.
She blushed.
"Dear J," the first line reads, in Adrian's familiar handwriting.
"When I look at you, I forget that the world is broken."
Each letter bled love, not ink. With words too wild for ordinary love.
"I think of you every morning. I wonder if you have any idea how much I believe in you, even when you don't believe in yourself."
"One day, I'll make you a home—one with windows that reach the sky. Where nobody can harm you. Where we'll be safe."
She clasped the letters to her bosom that night, not knowing that in a few years, the man who wrote them would become her nightmare.
Present Day – Blackmore Tower, Penthouse Level
London was grey. So was the sky above her.
Juliette entered the penthouse as a stranger, not a bride. Not welcome. No warm glow of home.
Just shadows, steel, and silence.
Adrian's home was chilly perfection. Minimalist chic. Marble floors, glass balustrades, and abstract art that screamed control and power.
He walked ahead of her, not even bothering to take her luggage.
"This is your room." He opened the door to a guest bedroom that was devoid of personality.
Not their room. Her room.
"And the rules?" she queried quietly, still holding onto the handle of her single battered suitcase like it was an anchor.
He turned slowly, tempestuous eyes behind glass. "There will be no love, no touching, no public errors. You will smile when you have to, talk when you are spoken to, and disappear when I say so."
Juliette flinched.
"No one needs to know the truth. They only have to think about the illusion. You are my wife in name only."
She wanted to fight back. She wanted to scream that she didn't deserve this—but she remembered the handcuffs. The cold cell. The lawyer murmuring you don't have a chance unless…
So she agreed.
"And Juliette?" Adrian added, already turning to go.
"Yes?"
"I don't care what you think of me"… but don't bother trying to play innocent. "This house doesn't have space for liars."
The door shut behind him.
Hours passed. The shadows grew long. She unpacked slowly, folding each dress with ritual slowness to distract herself from the ache in her chest.
She opened a drawer—and stopped.
A tiny red light blinked in the corner.
Was that… a camera?
She blinked once more. No mistake.
Another one in the hall mirror. And one near the kitchen door.
Her stomach dropped.
He's watching me.
She shut the drawer slowly. Not in a scary way—but in a thoughtful way. She was many things, but not dumb.
She walked over to the study, in the hopes of finding a pen, and opened a mahogany cabinet—
And there, between dusty files and folders of business proposals… she found something else.
Torn. Creased. Half-burnt along the edge.
One of his old letters.
"You made me believe in good things, Juliette". Perhaps that was my first mistake.
The page was streaked with dry whiskey.
She dropped to the floor, tears burning the back of her eyes. Not because he hated her now.
But because he had loved her that much before.
And he had destroyed even that.
Flashback – One Year Ago
Langston Hall, Courtroom in Session
The courtroom echoed with the bang of the gavel, but Juliette remembered the silence more.
Her father, Earl Reginald Langston, stood in his worn suit. Not in regalia. Not like nobility. But as a disgraced man who had lost the respect of London's elite.
The judge's voice was icy. "For financial misconduct, abuse of estate funds, and violation of public trust, you are hereby stripped of all noble titles and rights, effective immediately."
Gasps. Shutter click. Reporters leaning forward like vultures.
Juliette gripped his hand with hers. His father's expression was unreadable.
But the day they removed the Langston crest from the gates of their estate, Juliette felt as if part of her skin had been torn off.
And she remembered who wasn't there.
Adrian.
Present Day – The Blackmore Foundation Gala
The Palais de Blackmore ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and polished mahogany. Everyone who was anyone was there.
And so was Juliette Langston—now Blackmore. But nobody welcomed her.
Whispers trailed behind her like a mourner's veil.
"Isn't that the Langston girl? The one who stole millions?"
"Why would Adrian marry her? Must be a legal maneuver."
"Maybe she blackmailed him. Women like that always do."
She smiled through it. Held her head high in her black satin gown. Danced with nobody.
Adrian?
He was across the room, shaking hands, smiling like the perfect billionaire host.
When she finally approached him, lips trembling with unshed anger, he turned slightly. Barely looked her in the eye.
“You’re not here to make friends,” he muttered. “Smile and endure.”
He walked off before she could reply.
The humiliation stung. And it didn’t stop.
Minutes later, one of the socialites "accidentally" spilled champagne down Juliette's front. Laughter spread. A photographer snapped before she could wipe it off.
Still, Adrian didn't defend her. Didn't even look.
She located a quiet corner close to the service hallway, swallowing the burn in her throat.
That was when she noticed soft footsteps.
A slender hand reached for her shoulder. Celeste Blackmore.
The billionaire's little sister. The sweet one. The one who everyone assumed was fragile and lovely and above it all.
Celeste embraced her warmly, the sort of hug one gives when the world is crushing down.
Juliette stiffened. But then she heard her whisper.
"You shouldn't have taken the fall for me."
The world stopped.
Juliette stepped back. "What… did you say?"
But Celeste simply smiled faintly, her eyes welling up with guilt—and turned away before Juliette could say anything else.
As Juliette turns to leave the gala, a man stops her with a glass of wine. He murmurs:
“You don’t remember me… but I saw what Adrian did three years ago.”
Then he disappears into the crowd.
- Writer
