Till Death, A Bloody Vow

My husband Adam and I built our empire on a vow made in blood: "Till death do us part." For fifteen years, that promise was our foundation. Then I found the photos of his mistress.

He refused a divorce, trapping me with our vow while she called to announce her pregnancy. He chose her, even hitting me to protect her.

At their wedding, I played a recording of him calling me "damaged goods" and "barren."

"What use is a wife who can't give you an heir?" he'd asked her.

But his mistress had sent me a little wedding gift: a file detailing the kidnapping I'd suffered years ago.

It wasn't a random attack. Adam had planned it. He orchestrated it to break me, and in the process, he caused the miscarriage of our only child.

The final report in the file was his own medical records.

I wasn't the one who was barren. He was. And her baby wasn't his.

Chapter 1

Cassie Taylor POV:

The first time Adam Carson killed for me, he was seventeen.

The memory isn't hazy or dreamlike; it' s sharp, etched into my mind with the chilling clarity of a diamond cutting glass. I remember the splintering sound of the cheap wooden baseball bat as it connected with my stepfather's skull. I remember the spray of warmth that hit my cheek, a grotesque baptism in blood.

But most of all, I remember Adam's eyes when the police led him away. They weren't the eyes of a terrified boy. They were calm, almost serene. The cuffs clicked around his wrists, and he looked over his shoulder at me, standing frozen in the doorway of that trailer park hell.

A slow, genuine smile spread across his lips.

"You' re free now, Cassie," he' d whispered, the words carrying across the sirens' wail. "You' re finally free."

He served two years in juvenile detention. Two years where I visited him every week, our hands pressed against the thick glass partition, our futures planned in hushed tones over a monitored phone line. The day he got out, he looked older, harder, but that smile was the same. He had no family left, and neither did I. We only had each other.

We took a bus to New York with less than five hundred dollars between us and a single, shared dream. We worked from nothing. He was the charismatic face, the ruthless shark who could smell opportunity from a mile away. I was the strategist behind him, the one who saw every angle, every weakness, every move our opponents would make before they even considered it.

Together, we built Carson Taylor Industries from the ground up, a corporate empire forged in the ashes of that violent night. Our bond wasn't just love; it was a pact sealed in blood and trauma. On our wedding day, standing in a sterile courthouse because we couldn't afford anything else, we didn't exchange traditional vows.

He took my hands, his gaze as intense as it was the day he saved me. "Till death do us part," he said, his voice a low growl of possession. "No divorce, Cassie. Only a widow."

I had repeated it back without hesitation. "Only a widower."

For fifteen years, that vow was our foundation. It was the bedrock of our empire, the unspoken threat that hung in the air of every boardroom and every whispered late-night conversation. He was mine, and I was his. It was that simple.

Until it wasn't.

I found the pictures on a hidden drive in his office safe. Not just a few illicit photos. Hundreds. A meticulously curated collection spanning years. All of the same girl. A girl with wide, innocent eyes and a smile that seemed too bright, too naive for the world Adam and I inhabited. Avery Adkins.

When I confronted him, he didn' t even have the decency to look guilty. He leaned back in his leather chair, the skyline of the city we conquered glittering behind him, and gave me a tired sigh.

"She' s just a kid, Cassie. A diversion. It means nothing."

"A diversion you' ve been documenting for three years?" My voice was dangerously low, a coiled snake ready to strike. The stack of printed photos sat between us on his mahogany desk, a monument to his betrayal.

"Don' t be dramatic," he said, waving a dismissive hand.

A coldness seeped into my bones, a familiar chill that I hadn' t felt since I was a teenager cowering in a trailer. I pushed a single sheet of paper across the desk. A divorce agreement. My lawyers had been thorough. I would get half of everything.

He didn't even look at it. He just looked at me, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "No."

"Adam, this isn' t a negotiation."

"I said no," he repeated, his voice dropping to that possessive growl I knew so well. "You seem to be forgetting our arrangement, sweetheart."

"That was a promise made by children who didn't know any better."

"It was a promise made by a boy who went to jail for you," he corrected, his jaw tight. "A promise you made to him in return." He stood up, towering over me, and repeated the words that had once been our comfort, now a cage. "Till death do us part. Widowed, Cassie. Not divorced. That was the deal."

He shredded the agreement with his bare hands, the sound of tearing paper filling the silent office. Then he walked out, leaving me with the confetti of our broken life.

My phone buzzed an hour later. An unknown number. I answered, a sick feeling already churning in my stomach.

A young, breathy voice on the other end. "Is this Mrs. Carson?"

"Who is this?" I asked, my tone flat.

"Oh, you can call me Avery," she chirped, as if we were old friends. "I just wanted to call and... well, to thank you. Adam talks about you all the time. He says you' re strong, brilliant... but so, so cold."

I remained silent, my knuckles white as I gripped the phone.

"He told me you found the pictures," she continued, a fake sympathy lacing her tone. "He felt so bad. See, he' s been watching me since I was in college. Isn' t that romantic? He said he was just waiting for me to be old enough."

My breath hitched.

"He' s with me right now, you know," she whispered conspiratorially. "He' s so sad you' re upset. He really does care about you, in his own way. But he loves me."

A string of images flooded my phone. Avery and Adam. On a yacht, her head thrown back in laughter. In a Parisian apartment, him kissing her neck as she smiled at the camera. At a gala I was supposed to attend with him, him whispering in her ear in a secluded corner. In some photos, his wedding ring was on. In others, it was gone. He was careless. Or maybe he just didn't care.

The last photo made the air leave my lungs. It was a close-up of Avery' s hand resting on her flat stomach. On her finger was a diamond ring that dwarfed the simple band Adam had given me.

The text that followed was a gut punch.

"He' s giving me everything he could never give you. A real wedding. A family."

Another message.

"He' s coming home to you tonight, Cassie. But soon, he' ll be coming home to me. In our house."

I dropped the phone. A single, guttural scream tore from my throat, raw and animalistic. I swept my arm across Adam' s desk, sending photos, awards, and years of shared history crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering glass was the only thing that could match the brokenness inside me.

I sank to my knees amidst the wreckage, the vow echoing in my head.

Till death do us part.

He had just signed his own death warrant.

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