LOGINAdam's POV
The rain came down in silvery sheets, painting the city in a dull haze as it drummed against the window. It had a kind of rhythm to it—constant, relentless—like the pulse of longing that gripped me. Beyond the glass, autumn leaves pirouetted in the wind, caught in their own dance of slow decay. Their vivid colors, all reds and golds, only pulled me deeper into my thoughts, reminding me of Jules. Jules with her wild, sunlit hair. Jules with her laugh that used to make everything feel alive. We had been married for a month, but it felt like a lifetime stretched between us now. Two days apart and already, I was unraveling, craving her like an addict needing his fix.
You're in everything I see, Jules.
Henry's voice cut through the quiet, his smirk barely veiling the disdain he wore like armor. "Impatient, aren't we?"
I didn't look at him. My fingers curled tightly into fists, the urge to strike coiled just beneath the surface. Henry Shepherd was no friend—he was a mistake the world hadn't erased yet. A farmhand running from the law, thinking he could slip into our lives like a snake in the grass. He had tried to steal her, to twist Jules away from me. But she saw through him, thank God, and I had won. Or had I?
I twisted the gold band on my finger, its weight grounding me. But the anger simmered just below the skin. "Get to the point, Henry," I growled, my voice low, dangerous. "Or should I remind the authorities about your side jobs?" I let the threat dangle between us, watching his false bravado falter.
Henry tried to laugh it off. "What side jobs?"
"Don't be stupid," I said, my tone sharp. "We both know Pastor Joshua's wife didn't just die in her sleep." I watched the flicker of fear flash in his eyes, and it was a small victory—a bitter taste of satisfaction.
I took a long, slow sip of my coffee, savoring his discomfort like I might a well-aged whiskey. The satisfaction was fleeting, though. I didn't want his fear. I wanted his silence.
"Listen closely, Henry," I said, leaning forward just enough to make him squirm. "I don't care what shady business you're up to—just stay away from Jules. There are secrets far darker than yours, and compared to them, you're nothing. Now talk."
The tension between us crackled in the air, a silence thick with unspoken threats. Henry, finally breaking, reached for his backpack. He fumbled with it before sliding a brown envelope across the table. My brow arched, but I didn't move. I made him wait.
"Just open it," he muttered, his hands shaking ever so slightly.
Reluctantly, I unfolded the envelope, pulling out a series of photos. The world slowed as I flipped through them. Each image felt like a punch to the gut. Jules, her smile as radiant as ever—but not with me. No, she was tangled in Henry's arms. A sharp pain radiated from my chest, spreading through me like wildfire, burning, scalding. My grip tightened around the photos until the edges creased beneath my fingers.
Henry's voice slithered into the moment, dripping with smugness. "Just wanted to show you what you missed. Your wife, Adam. She wasn't as faithful as you thought."
The words barely registered, but the sneer in his voice... it was too much. "She doesn't know," I whispered, more to myself than to him. My voice cracked under the weight of the lie I'd told myself for so long.
Henry leaned back, the arrogance oozing off him. "Oh, she knows. They always do. You thought she loved you? She only wanted the life you could give her. Just like they all do."
I wanted to shout, to tear him apart, but the anger knotted in my throat, choking me. My world tilted, the foundation I had built with Jules—every memory, every tender word—suddenly fragile and hollow.
"You're a fool, Adam," Henry continued, the venom in his voice unmistakable. "I actually pity you. A rich man, hiding out, thinking you could escape your past. But here we are—me with the truth, and you with nothing but your broken heart."
The words were a death knell. He left, his footsteps fading as he disappeared into the rain. I stood there, unmoving, staring at the door, as if Jules might walk through it at any moment and undo the devastation in my chest.
Later, when I found myself back in my apartment, the walls seemed to close in around me. The air was thick with the scent of betrayal. I sat in the dim light, my head throbbing. I wanted to scream, to destroy everything around me. But I couldn't. The anger was too deep, too corrosive, eating away at whatever part of me was still whole.
"Hello, handsome," a voice purred. I turned, not surprised to see Elena leaning against the doorway, her eyes scanning me like a predator. She had always been there, lingering in the corners of my life. A constant shadow.
"What are you doing here?" My voice sounded raw, like gravel scraping against stone.
"You can't hide from me, Adam," she said, a smile playing on her lips. She glanced around the apartment, her gaze lingering on the expensive furniture, the paintings on the walls. "Still pretending to be someone you're not, I see."
The apartment had been meant for Jules and me, a sanctuary I had never fully revealed to her. I had tested her, kept parts of my life hidden, wanting to see if her love was real, if it was me she wanted—not the money. And now that lie had come back to suffocate me.
"Adam?" Elena snapped her fingers in front of my face, pulling me out of my thoughts. She was there, so close, so tangible, unlike the fragile dream Jules had become.
Without thinking, I reached for her, pulling her to me in a desperate kiss. Her lips were warm, but they weren't the sun. They didn't taste like wildflowers. There was no fire, no passion—just a hollow imitation of what I had lost.
I kissed her harder, trying to erase the emptiness. My hands moved with urgency, stripping away the distance between us. But even as I sank into her, the void inside me only grew.
And then, a voice—a whisper—cut through the madness.
"Adam?"
I froze. The voice was unmistakable. Jules stood in the doorway, her eyes wide, filled with a hurt I had never seen before. The world collapsed, and I was left standing in the ruins, lost and broken beyond repair.
Jules' POVThe morning of my wedding came in clear and warm, the late-May light moving across the lake in the particular gold-green way it had been doing more and more often as the season properly arrived, and I woke before my alarm with a calm I had not expected, given the nervous, scattered energy of the night before.Madeline appeared at seven with coffee and a clipboard, transformed overnight from grieving best friend into a logistics commander of terrifying efficiency, and the next several hours moved in the particular blurred, golden way that important days tend to move — hair, the dress, Eli appearing in a small suit that he found deeply uncomfortable and complained about at intervals with the specific, repetitive insistence of a child being asked to tolerate something unreasonable, Madeline fixing my hair for the third time with the patience of someone who understood that today required patience.The garden had been transformed. Not elaborately — we had insisted on that, both
Jules' POVMadeline had insisted on tradition, which meant that the night before the wedding I was not allowed to see Adam, a rule I found simultaneously absurd, given that we had been living in the same house for the better part of a year, and oddly moving, given how seriously Madeline enforced it — relocating Adam to the guest cottage by the lake for the night with a firmness that brooked no negotiation, despite his clear and visible reluctance to be parted from us even for twelve hours."It's one night," Madeline had told him, physically herding him toward the door with his overnight bag. "You've waited four years. You can wait twelve more hours.""That's not actually a fair comparison," Adam had said, but he'd gone, pausing at the door to find me across the kitchen and mouth I love you with an expression so genuinely wounded by the separation that I'd nearly broken the rule myself just to spare him the night.I didn't. Madeline's resolve on the matter of tradition was, I had learn
~ ~ ~Jules' POVThe garden had been Madeline's idea originally — a small plot behind the kitchen, nothing ambitious, just a few raised beds where Eli could plant things and watch them grow, the kind of project meant to give a restless four-year-old something productive to focus his enormous energy on during the long stretch of spring afternoons. It had become, over the months, something larger than any of us had intended.I found myself out there most mornings now, kneeling in dirt that had become genuinely familiar to my hands in a way that surprised me — the particular satisfaction of working soil, of watching something respond to careful attention, that I hadn't experienced since Nana's garden, since the farm, since a version of my life I had believed was permanently behind me.Eli's section was chaos, by design. He had insisted on planting things in patterns that made sense only to him — a row of carrots interrupted by a single sunflower seed he'd insisted needed to be "in charge
~ ~ ~Adam's POVCooper Hale had been Adam's lawyer, fixer, and occasional moral compass for the better part of a decade, but it was not until the engagement that Adam fully understood the man also functioned, in some unspoken capacity, as something closer to a friend — possibly the closest thing to a friend Adam had managed to maintain through the years of building a company and losing a mother and very nearly losing everything else that mattered.He came to the house two days after the proposal, ostensibly to discuss the legal logistics of the engagement — a prenuptial conversation Adam had insisted on having early and gently, not from any lack of trust but because he wanted the entire arrangement to be unambiguous, generous, and entirely in Jules's favor regardless of what came later, a position Cooper had received with the particular dry approval of a man who had seen too many wealthy clients handle these conversations badly.But the legal discussion took twenty minutes, and then
Jules' POVMadeline's reaction to the engagement was loud enough that Victor fled the kitchen entirely and did not reappear for the rest of the afternoon, which I considered a fully reasonable response on the cat's part.She had been at the kitchen table grading a stack of student art portfolios when I came down, still in my pajamas, cold-addled hair a wreck, and held out my hand without saying anything because I genuinely did not trust my voice. She looked up, looked at my face, looked at my hand, and made a sound I had never heard a grown woman make before — somewhere between a shriek and a sob, entirely without dignity, completely without restraint."HE DID IT," she said. "HE FINALLY DID IT.""You knew?""Jules. Jules. He asked me three weeks ago what your ring size was. I told him I'd find out without you noticing. I have been waiting three weeks to lose my mind about this and you have no idea what that has cost me.""You knew for three weeks and didn't say anything?""I'm an exce
Jules' POVI was recovering from a cold — nothing serious, just the particular sluggish misery of a head full of pressure and a body that wanted only to stay horizontal — when Adam brought me coffee in bed on a Saturday morning in early April, which was not in itself unusual, except that he sat down on the edge of the mattress instead of handing me the mug and leaving, and something in the careful way he settled there told me this was not going to be an ordinary morning.Eli was downstairs with Madeline, watching cartoons with the particular devotion he reserved for Saturday mornings. The house was quiet in the way houses are quiet when everyone in them has somewhere specific to be except the two people in the room you're in.Adam held the coffee but didn't hand it over yet."How are you feeling?" he asked."Better. Still a little fuzzy." I pushed myself up against the pillows, hair a disaster, nose pink from a week of tissues, in absolutely no condition for whatever was clearly about
Julie's POVIt should have been the moment that defined everything—when he stepped onto the farm. Part of me wanted him from the start, even if I refused to admit it. He was life itself, like the sun—a warmth that could burn, yes, but one you crave even when you know it might hurt. The first two wee
Jules' POV The room was draped in the gentle glow of late afternoon, the kind of light that makes the dust motes linger in the air, suspended like tiny worlds of their own. I hadn’t realized how still I’d been standing, how long I had been watching him, until his voice cut through the silence like
ONE YEAR AGOJules’ POVThe afternoon sunlight lingered lazily, cascading in golden threads through the small, old-fashioned windows, catching the dust particles in its path and making them glimmer, suspended in their quiet, aimless dance. I watched them float, as I often did. Outside, the vastness
Jules' POV The dashboard clock pulsed crimson in the dark, its digits stubbornly flicking towards midnight. The road stretched before me, a black ribbon winding through the emptiness, just a few miles short of Nana's farm. I pulled over, my hands trembling on the steering wheel, the engine's hum fa







