Updated Oct 1, 2025 • ~10 min read
Three weeks after the shooting, life almost felt normal.
Roman’s shoulder was healing. He could move without wincing, could shower without help, could hold Juliette without worrying he’d tear his stitches. The nightmares came less frequently. The press had moved on to other scandals. Even Nico Vitelli had gone quiet—the stalemate holding, neither side willing to push first.
Juliette went back to work. Her coworkers asked careful questions about her “new husband,” and she gave careful answers. Yes, they’d gotten married quickly. No, she didn’t want to talk about the media attention. Yes, she was happy.
And she was. God help her, she was happy.
Until the envelope arrived.
It came on a Tuesday, slipped under their apartment door while they were both out. Plain manila, no return address, her name written in block letters that felt deliberately anonymous.
Juliette opened it standing in the hallway, arms full of groceries.
Inside were photographs.
Her, leaving work. Her, at the coffee shop three blocks away. Her, walking to her car. Her parents’ house, windows lit from within. Danny’s apartment building. The nonprofit’s front door.
And written on the back of each photo, in that same block lettering:
We’re watching.
The groceries hit the floor. Eggs cracked, milk split, but Juliette barely noticed. She was staring at the photos, her hands shaking so badly the images blurred.
They’d been following her. For weeks. Documenting her life, her routine, everyone she loved.
The apartment door opened. Roman took one look at her face and crossed to her immediately.
“What happened? What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t speak. Just handed him the photos.
She watched the color drain from his face as he looked through them. Watched his jaw clench, his hands fist, that barely leashed violence she’d seen at Apex rising to the surface.
“Son of a bitch,” he breathed. “Son of a bitch.”
“Who sent them?” Her voice came out thin, childlike. “Nico?”
“Has to be. Warning us that the stalemate only goes so far.” He pulled out his phone with shaking hands. “I need to call—”
“No.” Juliette stepped back. “No more calls. No more meetings. No more of this, Roman. I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I can’t do this.”
He froze. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying this isn’t working. You promised me it would get better after the meeting. You promised we’d be safe.”
“We are safe. He’s just trying to scare us—”
“Well, it’s working!” She was shouting now, hysteria clawing up her throat. “I’m terrified! My parents are being watched. My brother. My coworkers. Everyone I love is in danger because of me. Because of us.”
“Juliette—”
“Maybe this was a mistake.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Maybe we moved too fast. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t.” Roman’s voice went hard. “Don’t you dare say you shouldn’t have married me.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it? Look at what it’s cost. My privacy. My safety. My family’s safety. Was it worth it, Roman? Was the money worth all of this?”
He flinched like she’d slapped him. “You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I?” She was crying now, tears streaming down her face. “I sold myself for money and convinced myself it was love. But maybe it was just Stockholm syndrome. Maybe I just—”
“Stop.” He crossed to her, gripping her shoulders. “Listen to me. You’re panicking. You’re scared. I get it. But you don’t mean what you’re saying.”
“How do you know what I mean?” She shoved him away. “How do you know anything about what I’m feeling? We barely know each other, Roman! We got married after one conversation. We said ‘I love you’ after a week. This whole thing is insane!”
“Then why did you come for me at Apex? Why did you risk your life if you don’t actually—”
“Because I’m an idiot!” She was screaming now. “Because I read too many romance novels and thought we could have a happy ending! But this isn’t a book, Roman! This is real life, and real life doesn’t end with the heroine married to a man who brings mobsters to her doorstep!”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Roman stared at her, and she saw the exact moment her words landed. Saw him close off, walls slamming into place, the vulnerable man who’d written her a hundred letters disappearing behind the convict who’d survived eight years in hell.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. If that’s how you feel.”
“Roman—”
“No, you’re right. This was a mistake.” He moved past her, started grabbing his things—the few possessions he’d accumulated in the weeks they’d lived together. “You want out? You’re out. I’ll file the divorce papers tomorrow. You keep the money. Consider it payment for services rendered.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t twist this into—”
“Into what? The truth?” He laughed, bitter and hollow. “You married me for money. I married you because I was desperate and selfish. We convinced ourselves it was love because that was easier than admitting we were both just using each other.”
“That’s not fair—”
“Fair?” He turned to face her, and his eyes were cold. “Nothing about this is fair, Juliette. I destroyed your life. Made you a target. Put everyone you love in danger. You want to leave? Leave. I won’t stop you.”
“Where will you go?”
“Does it matter?” He shoved clothes into a duffel bag. “Away from you. Away from Chicago. Somewhere Nico can’t use you against me.”
“So you’re just giving up? Running away?”
“I’m setting you free.” He zipped the bag with violent force. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Freedom from the ex-con who ruined everything?”
“I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” He shouldered the bag, headed for the door. “Goodbye, Juliette. I hope you get that happy ending you wanted. Just not with me.”
The door slammed behind him.
Juliette stood in the wreckage of their argument—groceries still spilled across the floor, photos scattered like accusations—and felt her world collapse.
What had she done?
She called her mother.
“Jules?” Margaret answered on the first ring. “Honey, what’s wrong? You sound—”
“Can I come over?” The words came out choked. “Please? I need—I need to come home.”
“Of course. Of course, sweetheart. Come now. I’ll make tea.”
The drive to her parents’ house passed in a blur of tears and self-recrimination. She’d panicked. She’d said terrible things. She’d pushed Roman away when he was trying to protect her.
And now he was gone.
Her mother met her at the door, pulled her into a hug that smelled like comfort and safety and everything Juliette had lost. She cried into Margaret’s shoulder like she was twelve again, heartbroken and confused and desperate for someone to fix it.
“Tell me what happened,” Margaret said, leading her to the couch.
Juliette told her everything. The photos. The argument. Roman leaving. The awful things she’d said that she couldn’t take back.
When she finished, her mother was quiet for a long moment.
“Do you love him?” she asked finally.
“Yes. God, yes. More than I knew I could love anyone.”
“Then why did you push him away?”
“Because I was scared!” Juliette’s voice cracked. “Because loving him means danger. Means living with threats. Means accepting that any day could be the day someone decides the stalemate isn’t worth it anymore.”
“That’s what love is, sweetheart.” Margaret took her hand. “Love is choosing someone knowing it could hurt. Knowing it probably will hurt, at some point. Knowing you might lose them.”
“But I could lose him to violence. To his past. To people who want him dead.”
“Or you could lose him to a car accident. Or cancer. Or a hundred other things we can’t predict or control.” Her mother squeezed her fingers. “Your father almost died last year. We didn’t know if the treatment would work. Every day I woke up not knowing if it would be his last. But you know what I didn’t do? I didn’t leave. I didn’t push him away to protect myself from the pain of losing him. I stayed. Because loving him—even knowing I might lose him—was better than not having him at all.”
Juliette closed her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”
“You’re scared. There’s a difference.” Margaret stood, pulling Juliette with her. “Now. You’re going to go back to that apartment. You’re going to find your husband. And you’re going to tell him you’re sorry and you love him and you’re not giving up on this marriage. Got it?”
“What if he won’t listen?”
“Then you make him listen. You’re my daughter. We don’t give up on the people we love without a fight.”
Juliette drove back to the apartment with her mother’s words ringing in her ears. She’d been so stupid. So scared. She’d let one envelope full of threats destroy what she and Roman had built.
But she could fix this. She could—
She stopped dead in the doorway.
The apartment was empty.
Not just Roman-gone-for-a-few-hours empty. Empty empty. His clothes were gone from the closet. His toiletries from the bathroom. The books he’d been reading from the nightstand. Every trace of him erased like he’d never been there at all.
Panic seized her chest. She grabbed her phone, dialed his number.
The number you have reached is no longer in service.
No. No no no.
She called Mr. Albright.
“Mrs. Carver,” he answered, his tone careful. “I was just about to call you.”
“Where is he? Where did Roman go?”
Silence. Then: “He came to my office an hour ago. Signed power of attorney over to me, gave me instructions for the divorce proceedings, and asked me to ensure you were taken care of financially.”
“Divorce proceedings? We haven’t even—”
“He wants it expedited. Insisted on it.” Mr. Albright paused. “Mrs. Carver, he also asked me to tell you something. He said, ‘Tell her she was right. Tell her this was a mistake. Tell her I’m sorry for everything.'”
The phone slipped from Juliette’s numb fingers.
He was really gone.
She sank to the floor of the empty apartment, surrounded by the ghost of him, and felt her heart shatter into pieces.
She’d tried to leave first. Tried to protect herself from the danger he brought.
But he’d left instead. Left to protect her. Left because he thought that’s what she wanted.
Left because she’d told him their love was a mistake.
Juliette pulled out her phone with shaking hands and sent a text to his old number, knowing it wouldn’t go through but needing to say it anyway:
I was wrong. I’m sorry. Please come back.
I love you.
I choose you.
The message bounced back: Not delivered.
She reached the elevator, suitcase packed—then a stranger’s warning froze her in place.
“Walk away, wife,” a man’s voice hissed from the shadows. “While you still can.”
And Juliette realized with bone-deep terror that leaving wasn’t an option after all.
Roman had left to protect her.
But the danger had never been about him leaving.
It was about what happened when he wasn’t there to stand between her and the monsters.
Reader Reactions