Julia's POV
Ever since I became a mom, every gift Adrian gave me was for the baby, every single one. Bit by bit, he was boxing me into one identity: Lila’s mom, and nothing more.
My phone buzzed with two simultaneous alerts. One was from the law firm I’d reached out to earlier:
[We heard you took maternity leave—didn’t expect to hear from you.]
[We believe your return will make us stronger.]
[Looking forward to working together.]
I replied with a professional thank-you, closed the chat, and barely had time to set my phone down before another notification popped up.
It was a friend request, with just five words:
[It’s me, Camille Quinn.]
I accepted, and instantly her message appeared, not text, just a photo. A towel dotted with blood, sheets soaked through with moisture. No explanation needed.
A fresh college graduate, with nothing to her name, and she’d already given Adrian everything she could.
Young women like her, so fearless and headstrong, always think they can survive the flame, moths drawn to fire.
In a daze, I seemed to catch a glimpse of my younger self.
When I was sixteen, Adrian and I were the only two from our small town accepted into a prestigious high school. His parents, both middle school teachers, were so excited that they hosted a celebratory party for three consecutive days.
Me?
I didn’t even have the nerve to tell my father.
He was already half-drunk, parked on the front steps with a few empty bottles, sipping beer and toasting with the town matchmaker.
“Damn it,” I remember him saying, “that dead woman Rachel only left me this useless money-drainer. Good thing she takes after her mother. Maybe I’ll still get something decent for her.”
That’s what love looked like in my house.
So when Adrian showed up at the gate, beaming and asking when I’d be heading off to school, I couldn’t even speak. I just stood there, frozen, as the door creaked open behind me.
My father’s voice, suddenly sweet and servile, floated out like honey on rotted bread. “My girl here’s got no issues at all. Once you’re ready, I’ll send her over myself.”
They all looked at me as if I were up for auction.
I dropped my head, too ashamed to meet anyone’s gaze. I could feel the tears coming fast and hot, and they wouldn’t stop.
“I’m not going to school,” I mumbled. “I have to get married.”
Adrian’s voice came from somewhere low, like he was choking on it. “You… want to get married?”
I didn’t answer. I just cried even harder.
That night, Adrian climbed seven flights of stairs with his bare hands just to reach me.
It was dark. Nearly midnight. But his eyes were burning like stars.
“I brought money,” Adrian said, panting. “Come on, let’s go to school.”
Since I was a kid, I’d always been told to obey adults without question. But that night, all I wanted was to hold Adrian’s hand and never let go.
High school wasn’t easy. I got teased for my country accent and my hand-me-down clothes. I felt out of place, like I didn’t belong. Meanwhile, Adrian fit in effortlessly. He was relaxed, charming, and always quick with a laugh.
The city kids took to him like he’d always been one of them.
I started keeping to myself, slipping into silence, trying not to be noticed.
But Adrian noticed anyway.
One afternoon, he pulled me aside, his expression unusually serious. “Julia, if you don’t like me hanging out with them, I won’t. I’ll just hang out with you. Just don’t hate me, okay?”
That’s when something in me cracked wide open.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like I was fading into the background. Everything I’d kept buried—the fear, the shame, the crushing loneliness—came rushing to the surface.
I cried uncontrollably while he quietly stood by, patiently waiting for me to release my emotions.
From that moment on, it became a routine. Adrian consistently sought me out at the back of the cafeteria, where I sat alone with my tray.
Every day, Adrian sat next to me, eating five bowls of plain chicken soup like it was fine dining.
He never cared about the whispers or the looks.
“I’m from a small town, too. If you’ve got a problem with Julia, you’ve got a problem with me,” he’d say, casually.
When our college entrance exam results came out, they were exactly the same.
Tied. Dead even.
Maybe it was fate. Or maybe the universe was just being a little too poetic, trying to tell us we were meant to end up together.
One afternoon, my nerves all jumbled, I finally worked up the courage to ask him where he planned to apply.
He didn’t even blink. “Wherever you go, I’ll go.”
That was Adrian back then—his love didn’t hesitate. It was bold, steady, and all-in, like he honestly believed I hung the stars. When he loved me, it felt like armor, like nothing in the world could touch me.
“Do you… like me—”
I barely got the words out when a dark shape moved over the sidewalk next to us.
I looked up, and there he was.
My father.
His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes stained and reeking of beer and sweat.
His expression twisted, seething. “Found you, you little brat!”
