VOWS MADE IN BLOOD

JULIET I found the photograph before I even realized it was there. It was on top of one of Adrian’s folders in his study, sitting like it had been waiting for me to notice it. At first, I wanted to ignore it. Maybe it was nothing. But then I saw the silhouette, and my stomach twisted. It looked like Adrian. My Adrian. And he was with a woman. I picked it up slowly, my hands trembling. My heart froze the second I saw her. She had dark hair falling over her shoulders, one hand pressed to his chest, and he was holding her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. His face was half-hidden, but whoever took the picture had caught him clearly. My chest tightened, and the tears came fast, hot, unstoppable. Lord, what had I done to deserve this? I bolted out of the study, clutching the photograph to my chest. My legs moved on autopilot as I ran to my room, my heart hammering. I slammed the door behind me and started shoving clothes into my bag as fast as I could. I needed to get out. I couldn’t stay here anymore. I was still packing when my phone buzzed. I dropped the dress I was holding and grabbed it. It was Elise, my best friend. “Juliet?” she said urgently. “Yeah, I am here,” I said, my voice shaky. “Have you checked the gossip blog?” I shook my head even though she could not see me. “No. I am not in the mood, Elise.” She sighed sharply. “Look, a girl died, Juliet. They’re saying Adrian murdered her.” “What? Someone died?” I whispered, my hands freezing mid-pack. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to tell you.” I told Elise to send me the picture, and when it came through, my stomach dropped so fast I felt like I might collapse. It was her. The same girl. The one in the photograph I had found in Adrian’s study. My hands shook, my chest tightened, and the world tilted sideways. I couldn’t breathe properly. “Oh Lord. My God,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. My fingers gripped the photo until it crumpled slightly, and I stared at both images, trying to make sense of it all. My heart hammered like it wanted to escape my chest. The late afternoon sun filtered through my bedroom window, but it felt cold and harsh. The walls seemed to close in, the silence in the room pressing down on me. Then I heard it. The front door slammed downstairs, hard enough to make me jump. My head shot up, adrenaline flooding me. The blood in my veins basically turned to ice. My mind raced, heart pounding in my ears. I dropped the phone and raced toward the stairs. “You killed your mistress! You’re a f*****g murderer!” I shouted before I even thought about what I was doing. The words tore out of me, raw and uncontrolled, carrying every ounce of anger, fear, and betrayal I felt. Adrian looked up from the papers he had been reading. Confusion painted his perfect face, the same face I had loved, trusted, and believed in. “Juliet, what are you talking about?” His voice was calm, almost too calm, but I heard the tension beneath it. “You know exactly what I am talking about!” I yelled, holding the photograph to his face. “The pictures! The rumours! The girl who’s dead! You killed her!” He moved toward me cautiously, one step, then another, like he didn’t want to frighten me. But I stepped back instinctively, the photograph pressed against my chest. “Stay away from me!” I shouted, my voice shaking, tears spilling freely down my cheeks. “I am not the man you think I am,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, calm, but there was something in his eyes I couldn’t read. Anger, frustration, fear—I didn’t know. “Not the man I think you are?” I repeated bitterly, my voice raw, trembling with pain. “Adrian, I am done. I cannot stay here. I’m getting a divorce.” His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face. “Divorce? Why? What are you saying?” “I’ve made up my mind,” I said firmly, trying to steady my voice, though my chest heaved and my hands shook. “I cannot be part of this. I am leaving… I am getting a divorce.” He took a careful step closer, hand reaching toward me as if to touch me, but I instinctively stepped back. “Juliet, wait. Please. Listen.” “No!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I cannot listen anymore. I cannot stay here. I cannot be part of this life that has turned into a nightmare. I am leaving.” He frowned, frustration and confusion mixing on his face. “Divorce? After everything? You are just going to throw us away over a photo?” I shook my head, tears streaming, my voice breaking. “It’s not just the photo, Adrian. It’s everything. The late nights, the secrets, the whispers, the rumours. I cannot do this anymore. I cannot breathe in this house. I cannot live like this. I can’t even see you without feeling like the ground might fall away beneath me.” “You are making a mistake,” he said quietly. “I didn’t touch her. She was never…” “Never what?” I snapped, cutting him off, my hands shaking so badly I could barely hold the photograph. “Never your mistress? Don’t lie to me, Adrian. I saw the photograph. I know what I saw. And now she’s dead, and people are saying you killed her. I can’t be part of this anymore. I cannot trust you. I cannot forgive you. I cannot look at you and feel safe ever again.” He opened his mouth to protest, but I raised the photograph higher, pressing it to my chest like a shield between us. “I’m done. I am leaving. I am getting a divorce.” The room was quiet except for the sound of my ragged breathing. He stared at me, eyes searching mine, the silence stretching and pressing down on me like a physical weight. Finally, he muttered, “You are serious.” I nodded, my throat tight, tears blurring my vision. “I have never been more serious in my life. I’ve made up my mind.” My voice was low, trembling, but there was steel in it now. I turned and ran back upstairs, my chest tight and heart hammering so hard it felt like it would burst. I didn’t look back. I barely noticed my own tears sliding down my cheeks. My legs carried me to my room, and I threw myself onto the bed, pressing my face into the pillow. I tried to catch my breath, to calm the storm inside me, but it was impossible. My hands shook, my chest heaved, and the photograph felt heavier than it ever had before. The door creaked open almost immediately, and I looked up to see Adrian’s mother standing there. Calm. Silent. Her eyes were sharp, but not unkind. “Juliet,” she said gently. I glared at her, my anger raw and exhausted. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice quivering. She stepped inside slowly, hands raised slightly in a gesture that promised she meant no harm. “I am not here to fight,” she said softly. “I just wanted to warn you. Run away from my son before he breaks you completely.” Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I blinked, feeling the full weight of them. Her voice was calm, but every word carried a truth I could not ignore. She wasn’t cruel, she wasn’t angry, but her eyes held something I could not deny. Tears filled my eyes again, blurring my vision. My chest felt tight, my heart aching in a way that hurt deeper than any photograph ever could. I nodded slowly, unable to speak at first. My throat was raw, my voice a whisper when it finally came. “Thank you. I… I will end things.” She gave me a small, sad smile, almost imperceptible, and left, closing the door softly behind her. I sat there on the edge of my bed, clutching the photograph to my chest. My body trembled, my heart still racing, and I felt like I had aged ten years in those few minutes. My life had changed forever.