VOWS MADE IN BLOOD

004

JULIET

I stared at him, my chest heaving, my hands shaking from adrenaline and fury. “Who are you?”

I demanded again, my voice sharp, almost cutting through the silence that had stretched between us since he saved me.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. His dark eyes locked onto mine like he could see everything inside me, all my fear, my anger, my defiance.

Finally, after a long, tense beat, he spoke.

“I was sent to bring you back to the house,” he said, voice low but firm. “And I’m not leaving until you get in the car.”

I froze. My stomach dropped. “Back to the house?” I echoed, my voice rising. “You’re insane! I am not going back there! I am done, do you hear me? Done!”

He didn’t answer, just stepped closer, his movements smooth, quiet, like a shadow. My heart raced, and my mind scrambled for options.

I could run, yes. I could hide. I had survived threats before. I had survived danger. But the way he moved, the way he seemed to anticipate every step I took, made my hope of escape vanish.

I turned and bolted. My shoes slapped against the pavement as I ran as fast as I could, glancing over my shoulder. My chest burned from the effort, but I didn’t stop.

Not for a second. I had to keep moving. I would not go back.

And yet, no matter how fast I ran, he was always there, a shadow at my side, silent, unrelenting. Every corner I turned, every alley I darted through, he was there.

It was as if he had melted into the air and simply materialized wherever I was.

I cursed under my breath, frustration and fear tangling together.

“Stop!” I screamed, my voice raw with anger and panic. “I said stop! I don’t belong there!”

He didn’t slow down. He reached for me just as I was about to round the next corner, and with one smooth movement, he grabbed my arm.

I struggled, twisting, kicking, trying to break free, but his grip was iron. Stronger than I had imagined.

“Ma'am,” he said, calm down, but there was fire behind the words. “You’re not going anywhere. Not until you get in the car.”

I wrenched at him, my hands clawing at his chest, my nails scratching, desperate. “I told you I am done! Do you hear me? Done!”

His gaze softened for a fraction of a second, and I thought maybe I could reach him, maybe convince him to let me go. But then he shook his head, a shadow passing over his face.

“I’m doing this for you, for your safety. You don’t understand.”

I froze at that, the words slicing through my anger like a blade. I wanted to hate him, I really did. But the truth of his words, the conviction in his voice, planted a seed of doubt.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I was in danger. But I refused to go willingly. I would never willingly step back into that house, back into that world.

He didn’t argue. He didn’t yell. He simply moved, smooth and unyielding, and guided me toward the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

I tried one last desperate lunge, but he caught me mid-step, his grip unrelenting.

My feet kicked, my hands pushed, my voice rose in panic and frustration.

“Stop! Stop touching me! Let me go!” I yelled, tears stinging my eyes. “I am not going with you!”

“You are,” he said, finally letting a shadow of a smirk touch his lips. “And that’s the end of it.”

I froze as he opened the back door of the car, his presence looming over me, unyielding. I hesitated, chest heaving, mind spinning, but then something inside me snapped.

I pushed off him with everything I had, stumbled forward, and sprinted. My shoes squeaked against the asphalt as I ran, ignoring the burning in my lungs, the fear clawing at my chest.

And then he was there again, a shadow moving faster than I thought possible. In a blink, he was in front of me, blocking my path. My heart hammered, and I knew I couldn’t outrun him.

My body shook with fury, with fear, with the knowledge that I had no control anymore.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath, and with a swift motion, he pulled me into the car.

I hit the seat hard, gasping, trying to catch my breath, my hands trembling. He closed the door and locked it, the sound final, echoing in the confined space.

I could feel the tension in him, the power, the control, and the anger that lingered beneath the surface.

I sat, fuming, my jaw tight, hands clenching into fists. I refused to look at him. I refused to speak. I refused to give him the satisfaction.

But the car moved smoothly, the engine humming, taking us toward the house I had tried so hard to forget.

When the house came into view, my stomach dropped. And then I saw him, standing at the entrance like a dark silhouette against the fading light.

Adrian.

My blood boiled. Everything came rushing back: the betrayal, the heartbreak, the fury, the humiliation. I wanted to scream at him, to make him feel even a fraction of the anger and fear that had built up inside me over the past year.

The car stopped. I jumped out before the door could even fully open, my hands flying to his chest as I shoved him hard. “What do you want from me, Adrian? I told you I’m done! Do you hear me? Done!”

He didn’t flinch. He let me shove him, his jaw tight, eyes dark with something I couldn’t read. “I’m doing this for you,” he said quietly, voice low but steady. “For your safety. You may not understand now, but you will.”

My fists still pressed against his chest, my breath coming in harsh bursts, I glared at him, fury and disbelief flashing in my eyes. “Safety? This isn’t safety! This is control! I am not yours to control!”

He sighed, a long, slow exhale that somehow carried both patience and frustration. “I’m not controlling you, Juliet. I’m keeping you alive.”

I stepped back, my hands dropping to my sides, my chest heaving, my mind spinning. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream and run and shove him away and never look back.

And yet, deep down, a part of me knew he was right. I couldn’t ignore the truth of the danger that had been following me, the threats I had brushed off, the feeling that someone had never really let me go.

Before I could respond, Adrian’s maid appeared, her eyes wide but calm, silently waiting. “Madam, please,” she said softly. “If you will follow me inside.”

I glanced at Adrian, anger flashing in my eyes. “I am not following anyone,” I snapped. “I do not belong there. I am done!”

He gave me a look that stopped me in my tracks. Not soft. Not pleading. But firm. “You are going,” he said. “And that’s final.”

I wanted to fight him, to argue, to resist. But my body, exhausted from running, shaking from adrenaline, and still trembling with fury, finally obeyed.

I followed the maid, my steps quick, my hands clenching and unclenching as I tried to keep my composure.

When I reached the front doors, I saw her. Adrian’s mother, standing tall, elegant, and as infuriatingly composed as ever. Her sharp eyes swept over me, her expression one of thinly veiled disdain.

“What are you doing in this house?” she asked, her voice smooth and cold.

I froze, my chest tightening, my hands curling into fists. All the fury I had felt toward Adrian now transferred to her.

How dare she? How dare she act as if I had no right, as if I had never left, as if I had no life outside of this place?

I wanted to scream at her, to shout and kick and throw every ounce of my anger at her perfectly controlled face.

But I kept my voice even, holding back the fire that was burning through me.

“I live my life,” I spat, fury and exhaustion mixing. “And it seems you’ve forgotten that.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. She simply smiled, just a fraction, like she had all the time in the world, like she was untouchable.

And in that moment, I knew that nothing was going to be simple, nothing was going to be easy, and that I was truly trapped in the world I had tried to leave behind.

Adrian stood behind me, silent, watching, his presence a dark shield between me and her, and yet I could feel the tension, the fire, and the storm that was waiting to break.

And in that moment, I realized that the house, the family, and the danger I had thought I had escaped were not done with me.

Not even close.