CHAPTER 175: THE BEGINNING OF THE STORM IV: WHEN LOVE TURNED POISON

I write the Chapter listining to Saiyara full song, Ahaan Pandey, Aneet Padda | Tanishk Bagchi, Faheem A Arslan N | Irshad Kamil

Ava was quick to move her feet, the soft click of her heels echoing against the marble floor as she darted to Julie’s side.

Her hands found Julie’s arms instinctively, steadying her before she could collapse.

Julie’s body felt strangely weightless—like all strength had drained from her bones—her gaze fixed blankly on the door ahead.

Ava could feel the faint tremor in her friend’s shoulders, the shallow rhythm of her breath, as if each inhale burned through a heart that had already begun to ache.

"Julie... hey, breathe," Ava whispered, her voice trembling with worry. But Julie didn’t respond. She stood motionless, her eyes glassy, unblinking.

Every thought in Julie’s mind was a whirlwind—racing, colliding, scattering into fragments that refused to stay still.

What will I see inside? The question looped endlessly, echoing in the hollow silence of her chest.

Her heart pounded hard enough that she could feel it in her throat, in her fingertips, in her skull.

She swallowed tightly, her lips parting to whisper a prayer that barely made a sound.

Then—suddenly—her eyes widened, a flicker of clarity slicing through her daze. She straightened, her back tightening like a bow drawn to its limit.

A voice—her own, yet not her own—rose in her mind, calm but commanding:’ Roman is the one who said you should open the door, right?’

Her heart gave a sharp jolt. She nodded faintly, as though someone invisible stood behind her, urging her forward.

’ Then you should open it.’

Her trembling hand, which had fallen away moments ago, now reached out again, her fingers brushing the cool metal of the doorknob.

It was cold—almost unnaturally cold—sending a chill up her arm. The soft brass gleamed faintly beneath the dim hallway light, reflecting the tension on her face: pale lips, eyes shadowed by fear and resolve.

Julie turned the knob sharply—but it didn’t budge.

Ava blinked and stepped closer. "It’s locked?" she asked, her tone caught between frustration and dread.

Julie nodded, once, twice, slow and deliberate.

Ava exhaled, glancing back down the corridor. "Then we should call someone," she said firmly, her voice low but practical.

"The guards or maybe the staff—they’ll have the master keys. They can open it safely."

She turned, already taking a step away.

But Julie’s voice stopped her. It was quiet, but filled with conviction—a strange, desperate strength that didn’t match her trembling frame.

"Roman won’t wait till you find them," she said, her tone steadying as she spoke. "And by the way he said it... I know he wouldn’t betray me."

Ava froze mid-step and turned slowly, frowning. "Julie, what are you—"

But Julie wasn’t listening anymore. Her hand had risen to her head, fingers brushing through the loose strands of her hair.

She could feel the delicate pins tucked into her bun—the same silver pins she had used that morning, unaware that one of them would become her only key to the truth.

Her fingertips found one, then another, and she pulled them free.

The faint metallic tink as the pins brushed together echoed softly in the quiet hallway.

Ava’s heart skipped. "Julie, what are you doing?"

Julie’s eyes, once fogged by fear, now burned with quiet determination. "I’m opening the door," she said simply.

Julie’s fingers trembled as they brushed against her hair, searching through the smooth waves until she felt the sharp edge of something metallic tucked within.

Her touch lingered there for a moment—hesitant, trembling—before she plucked the pins free, one by one.

The tiny glint of silver caught the faint corridor light, flashing briefly like the edge of a blade.

Her heart was pounding so violently she could almost hear it echo against the walls.

"I’ll open the door," she murmured under her breath, her voice low but steady—more to herself than to Ava.

Her tone wasn’t one of fear anymore, but of decision.

Ava’s breath caught. "Julie, wait—"

But Julie had already crouched in front of the door.

The hem of her dress brushed against the cold marble floor, gathering faint dust as she leaned closer to the lock.

Her shadow stretched long across the polished wood, trembling slightly in the dim light of the corridor chandelier.

With slow precision, she held up one of the hairpins.

Her delicate fingers—shaking yet resolute—gripped it tightly as she bent the tip against the floor, the faint ting of metal bending echoing sharply.

She split the two ends apart until it formed a slender, straight wire—a fragile tool in desperate hands.

Her breathing slowed. Every movement became careful, deliberate. Her thumb brushed the lock’s edge, feeling its chill seep into her skin.

The brass surface was cold, biting even.

She swallowed and pushed the pin into the keyhole, the faint metallic scrape whispering through the silence.

Ava stood behind her, unmoving, her eyes wide and anxious.

The silence between them was deafening—thick, heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath.

Julie twisted the pin gently. Left, right. Nothing.

She tried again—up, down, pushing and coaxing the inner mechanisms to obey.

Her brow furrowed, beads of sweat glistening faintly along her hairline.

She could feel every tiny vibration through the pin, every slight resistance inside the lock.

"Come on..." she muttered softly under her breath. Her pulse thundered in her ears, a chaotic rhythm that threatened to drown out everything else.

Then—click.

It was faint, almost inaudible. But to Julie, it sounded like a shot.

The noise sliced through the silence, and her breath hitched sharply in her throat.

Her head snapped toward Ava, eyes wide, heart racing.

Ava’s lips parted in disbelief, the shock plain in her expression.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke—only the realization hung in the air between them.

The door was open.

Julie rose slowly to her feet, her body stiff with anticipation. Her hand still clutched the pin, now slightly bent from the pressure.

She placed it aside and reached for the doorknob. The cool metal met her palm again, grounding her, yet sending another shiver through her nerves.

Ava took a half-step forward, her voice trembling. "Julie—wait. What if—"

But Julie didn’t hear her. Her thoughts were already racing ahead, filled with only one desperate need: Roman.

Her husband. The man she loved. The man who had called her love only moments ago.

With a sharp inhale, she turned the knob and pushed.

The door creaked open slowly, its hinges groaning softly as a sliver of darkness spilled into the hall.

The faint scent that drifted out made her chest tighten—a strange, heavy perfume mixed with the faint trace of something bitter, chemical, wrong.

She stepped inside, one foot after another.

And in that instant, it felt as though cold water had been poured over her entire body.

Her blood ran cold. Her lungs seized. Her vision blurred for a second as her mind struggled to understand what her eyes were seeing.

Her hand slipped from the door handle, her fingers suddenly numb.

She stood frozen—rooted to the floor—as her world began to crack before her eyes.

Her heart, which had been filled with so much faith only moments ago, twisted violently inside her chest.

The light around her seemed to fade, replaced by a dull ringing in her ears.

Her entire body froze.

Color drained from her face, her blood turned to ice, and the faint trembling in her hands grew violent.

Her eyes widened—too wide—as if her mind refused to understand what her heart already knew.

There, on the bed, Roman lay half-conscious, his body slack, his lips tangled with another’s.

Abigail.

Her hands were on him—on her husband. Her fingers curled in his shirt, her body pressed close as if she belonged there.

Julie couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The sound of the world faded around her—the music from the hall, the murmurs of distant laughter, even Ava’s faint gasp from the doorway.

Everything fell into silence, broken only by the dull pounding of her heart.

A sharp ache spread through her chest, deep and unbearable.

Slowly, tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, spilling one after another down her pale cheeks.

She stood there, motionless, her lips parted but no words came.

The man who had called her love—the man who had sworn she was the only one—was kissing someone else.

Her knees weakened. She grabbed the edge of the doorframe, clutching it to keep herself upright as her vision blurred.

The betrayal sliced deeper than any blade, shattering her from within.

Every memory—his warmth, his promises, his laughter—flashed cruelly before her eyes.

And there he was, holding another woman’s head in his hands as if she were something precious.

Her breath broke into small, uneven gasps. Then something inside her snapped.

Her tears stopped. Her expression hardened.

The trembling vanished, replaced by a deep, burning rage that crawled up from the pit of her stomach.

Her eyes, once filled with sorrow, now burned red with fury.

Without realizing it, she moved. One step. Then another. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet.

Each sound was deliberate—measured—like the drumbeat of wrath.

Ava whispered her name, but Julie didn’t hear her. The only sound was the ragged rhythm of her own breathing.

Her hand clenched tightly at her side until her knuckles whitened.

Then, with one swift motion, she reached forward, her fingers tangling violently in Abigail’s hair.

Abigail let out a startled cry as Julie yanked her backward, pulling her off Roman with brutal force.

The movement was so sudden that Abigail stumbled, falling to the ground.

The soft thud of her body hitting the carpeted floor echoed through the room like a crack of thunder.

Julie stood above her, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

Abigail looked up from the floor, her eyes wide in disbelief.

For a second, fear flashed across her face, but it quickly twisted into defiance.

" How dare Y-yo—" she began, her voice shaking.

But before another word could escape her lips, Julie’s palm connected sharply across her face.

The slap rang through the room like a gunshot.

The sound was crisp, echoing against the walls and slicing through the heavy silence.

Abigail’s head snapped to the side, her hair scattering across her face as a red mark bloomed on her cheek.

Julie didn’t flinch. Her expression didn’t soften.

Her hand hovered in the air for a second longer, trembling not from fear—but from fury barely contained.

Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, her eyes locked on Abigail like a predator on its prey.

The sound of Roman’s shallow breathing filled the tense air, the faint rustle of fabric the only movement between them.

For a long, terrible heartbeat, no one spoke. The silence pressed down like a storm ready to break.