Page 11 of Savage Vows

She nods, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I’ve done worse for less. And I’ll never have to see that creep again, right?”

“Not if I can help it.”

She gives a thin smile, then reaches for the door. Before she goes, she glances back at me, her face softer now. “You remindme of someone,” she says quietly. “My older sister. She always tried to fix everything, even if it meant she got hurt instead.”

I swallow hard. “What’s her name?”

“Julianne. Kind of funny, right?”

It isn’t funny. It’s a punch to the ribs. I haven’t heard my sister’s name out loud in almost a year. Julie doesn’t know how much she’s hit the mark.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s funny.”

She slips out and shuts the door, waving once before disappearing into the building’s dim lobby.

I sit in the driver’s seat for a while, staring at the empty street, my hands clenched tight on the wheel. The silence is heavy. I can’t stop thinking about how easy it is to send someone else into danger, how familiar it feels to watch a girl walk away and wonder if you did enough to keep her safe.

The money’s gone. Rent’s a problem for tomorrow.

Sleep doesn’t come.

I try. I shower. I change into clean clothes. I even crawl into bed, shut my eyes, breathe the way the internet tells you will trick your body into resting. But it’s useless. My brain is louder than my heartbeat, and that’s saying something tonight.

I give up around three in the morning.

The glow of my laptop is harsh in the dark, but at least it gives me something to focus on. I open the draft I’ve been avoidingand start typing. The words don’t come easily. They never do when the story matters.

I lay out what Julie got from Serrano. What I heard. What I saw.

The report comes out in a rush—every detail from the club, Serrano’s careless talk, the pictures I took at the club.

When I finish, it’s past three. I attach the file and send it to Miriam, even though I know she’ll probably skim the first paragraph and file it away with the others she thinks are too much trouble. Still, it feels better to send it than to let it rot in drafts.

My phone is face down on the table, screen dark. I pick it up anyway, scroll through old messages, stop at Julianne’s name.

It’s been four days since she texted me. Four days of silence, and I can’t shake the worry that’s grown from a background hum to something that demands attention.

I try again, thumbs tapping out something light:You alive over there? I miss you. Call me, please.

I stare at the screen, willing it to light up with her reply. Nothing.

Frustration wells up. I open another chat, this one with Bella. My best friend since childhood, the one who answers at any hour, no matter how late or how weird the request.

The reply comes less than a minute later.

Bella:It’s 4am. Of course I’m up. What’s wrong?

I press the phone to my chest for a second. Just breathing.

Then I start typing. Not everything. Not yet. But enough.

Me:I think I pushed someone too far tonight. And I can’t stop thinking about Jules.

Bella:You want me to come visit you?

She’s been asking forever, but it would be dangerous for her and me both.

Adriana:No. Just talk to me for a bit?