Archive of Our Own ^beta

The rain had been falling for hours, tapping against the skylight like impatient fingers. Belle sat curled on the edge of her futon, a mug of cold tea forgotten in her hands. Her studio apartment was small—barely enough room for her books, her desk, and the dreams she kept trying to write down. But the skylight was her favorite part. It framed the night sky like a painting, and through it, she could see the old clock tower across the street. Tonight, the sky felt heavier. The clouds pressed low, and the tower loomed like a sentinel. Little did she know that perched at the top, a shadowy figure with beastly features watched her every move, its blue eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

Belle’s fingers danced across the typewriter keys, the rhythmic clack filling the room—but the words refused to flow. A sharp buzz from her bag dragged her back to reality. She reached in and pulled out the brick-like cell phone, its antenna half-bent from being jammed into her purse too many times. The screen blinked with a familiar number—Tiana’s. She answered with a sigh, pressing the plastic to her ear. “Hey.” 

“Hey, girl,” Tiana said, her voice was warm, but something in it tugged at the edges. “You free tonight? There’s a bar a few blocks from you—The Snuggly Duckling. Can we meet?” Belle hesitated. “Is this about the manuscript?” Tiana didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. I think we should talk.”

The Snuggly Duckling was dimly lit and smelled like old wood and spilled whiskey. Belle arrived soaked, her coat clinging to her skin like regret. Tiana waved her over from a booth in the back, already nursing a drink.

Belle slid in across from her. “So?”

Tiana sighed, folding her hands. “I’ve pitched it to six editors. No bites.”

Belle’s stomach sank. “None?”

“They say it’s too romantic. Too much fantasy and adventure. Not marketable.” She gave a wry smile. “It’s the ’90s, Belle. All anyone wants these days are serial killers, girls who scream in the woods, and blood thirsty monsters.”

Belle stared at her drink. “I don’t know how to write anything else.”

“I know,” Tiana said softly. “But you don’t have to throw it all away. Horror and romance? Fantasy and fear? You’d be surprised how well they go together. You’ve got the bones—let’s just dress them in darker clothes.”

Belle looked up, uncertain. “You think people would read that?”

“I think people already do,” Tiana said. “They just don’t know it’s what they’re craving.”

Belle frowned, swirling her drink. “Dark? I don’t know… that’s just not me.”

Tiana leaned in, her voice gentle but firm. “Maybe not. But maybe it’s a part of you you haven’t met yet.”

Belle’s heart sank. She had poured her soul into her writing, and now it was being dismissed as unpopular. She ordered another drink, something stronger to numb the pain. The night blurred into a haze of alcohol and self-pity.

Hours passed. The bar emptied. Belle’s head was heavy, her thoughts a blur. Her mind was a whirl of confusion and despair. She didn’t notice her father, Maurice, until he sat beside her.

“Papa?” she blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Maurice gave her a warm smile. “Tiana called me. Said you might need someone.” His face etched with concern. “Are you alright?”

Belle’s throat tightened as she managed a weak smile. “I'm fine, Papa. Just a rough night.”

“No, you’re not,” he said gently. “Come on. Let me walk you home.”

They began the walk home, the streets were slick and quiet. Belle’s heels clicked against the pavement, her stocking torn from a stumble earlier. She stopped in a narrow alley to adjust it, cursing under her breath. As she bent down, she felt a sudden chill, a sense of dread washing over her.

Maurice stood nearby, watching the shadows. The alley went still. Even the rain seemed to pause, suspended midair like held breath. A cold wind slithered through the bricks.

Then he froze.

“Belle,” he whispered. “Get behind me.”

She looked up. A shape moved at the mouth of the alley—massive, hunched, furred. Horns curled from its head. Its eyes glowed blue. The air thickened. Belle’s breath caught. Her feet refused to move.

Maurice grabbed a rusted pipe from the ground. “Stay back!”

The creature lunged.

Maurice swung the pipe, but it was too fast. A claw slashed through the air, severing his hand. He screamed, blood spraying the wall. With another swift, brutal motion, it slashed his face, leaving him crying out in agony.

“Belle, run!” Maurice’s voice rang out—a desperate, trembling plea. But it was cut short. The beast lunged, and with a single, vicious swipe, severed his head. Belle screamed as his body collapsed, blood pooling beneath him, his head rolling into the gutter like something discarded. The beast turned toward her, breath steaming in the cold.

With an overwhelming urge to flee and nothing left to do, Belle ran. Every shadow felt alive. Every footstep echoed like a threat. Her lungs burned, her vision tunneled, and still she ran. She stumbled toward The Snuggly Duckling, pounding on the locked door. “Help! Help me, please!”

Behind her, heavy footsteps. She turned, trembling.

The beast loomed over her, its massive form blotting out the streetlight, breath curling like smoke in the icy air. Belle stumbled backward until her spine hit the locked bar door, her breath hitching in ragged, panicked gasps. Slowly, she looked up—and froze.

Its horns curved like twisted branches, its jaw set in a cruel, unyielding line. But it was the eyes that held her. Piercing blue, impossibly bright against the darkness—eyes that burned with hunger and possession. They weren’t just looking at her… they were consuming her. Stripping her bare. Etching her soul into memory.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Those eyes would haunt her forever.

“Please,” Belle whimpered, her voice shaking. “Please don’t hurt me.”

It spoke, its voice deep and gravelly. “Your life in exchange for a promise.”

Belle stared, her lips wobbling around words that refused to budge from her throat until she gasped out. “W-What?”

“If I let you go,” it said, “you must swear you’ll never say you saw me. Never say you heard me speak. Never tell anyone how I look. Never repeat what I’ve said. A promise forever.”

Belle’s mind reeled. “I… I don’t know if I can,” she stammered, her head shaking in disbelief.

The beast held up a claw, its sharp tip inches from her face.

Tears streamed down Belle’s cheeks. “I promise!” she cried, her voice breaking.

The beast's eyes narrowed. “Cross your heart?”

Before Belle could answer, the beast’s claw slashed across her chest, just above her heart. A searing pain shot through her, and she gasped, clutching the wound.

Then it vanished… 

Leaving her alone in the night, her father’s lifeless body at her feet, and a promise seared into her very soul.

…

The city was surprisingly dark and still—eerily quiet, as if the world had emptied itself out. Belle saw no one. No cars. No lights in windows. Just wet pavement and shadows that stretched too far. All she wanted was to get far away from there—somewhere with light. 

She ran.

Her breath tore through her lungs, sharp and ragged. Her heels slipped on wet pavement, her coat flapping behind her like a broken wing. The wound on her chest burned—hot, raw, and pulsing with every heartbeat. Blood soaked through her blouse, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

She turned down another alley, narrower this time, boxed in by brick and shadow. Her vision blurred. Her legs buckled.

And then—she collided with someone.

“Whoa!” the man gasped. His eyes widened, and before Belle could pull away, his hands were already on her arms—steadying her, not restraining, but close enough to make her flinch.

Belle screamed and shoved him hard, adrenaline surging. He stumbled backward, crashing into a stack of crates. “Hey—hey! I’m not going to hurt you!” Belle hesitated, her mind racing. She needed to get away from the street, away from the shadows where that thing might still lurk.

She grabbed his coat and dragged him deeper into the alley, behind a dumpster, her eyes wide and wild. “You have to hide. You have to hide!”

The man blinked at her, stunned. “Okay. Okay. I’m hiding. I’m hidden. What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Belle’s chest heaved. She looked him over—tall, broad-shouldered, messy reddish-brown hair, a soft jawline shadowed with stubble. He wore a brown leather jacket over a thin white tee, paired with faded blue jeans. His eyes were a deep, stormy blue. Something in her gut twisted. Those eyes were so familiar… so haunting.

“I—I thought you were…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

He raised his hands slowly. “I’m Adam. I swear I’m not here to hurt you. I got lost trying to meet some friends and I was looking for a taxi.”

Belle stared at him, her body shaking like a leaf caught against a strong wind. “You’re alone?” 

The man nodded slowly. “Yes.”

She hesitated, her mind racing. She had to get off the street—away from the shadows, away from the memory of claws and the smell of blood. Her heart screamed don’t trust him , but her body was failing, trembling beneath the weight of fear and exhaustion. And yet… there was something in his eyes. A quiet steadiness. A calm that soothed her. She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Not after what she’d just been through… and what she’d seen.

She needed help. She needed safety. She needed someone who felt human .

“My apartment’s nearby,” she said hoarsely. “You can call a taxi from there. It’s safe.”

Adam nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They made their way to Belle’s apartment, her steps quick and urgent. Once inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Adam looked around the room, taking in the scattered manuscripts and the skylight above. 

The studio was dim and quiet, moonlight spilling through the skylight in a pale wash across the floor. Adam flipped on a lamp near the futon, casting a soft glow over the space. Belle collapsed onto the futon, her coat falling open to reveal the blood-soaked blouse beneath.

Adam’s eyes widened. “Jesus. You’re hurt!”

Belle winced, struggling to sit up as pain flared through her chest. “I-It’s fine.”

“It’s not.” He knelt beside her, gently unbuttoning her blouse. “I’m going to clean this, okay?”

She nodded, barely breathing.

He found her first aid kit under the sink and returned with gauze, antiseptic, and shaking hands. As he dabbed at the wound, Belle flinched.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “It’s deep. What happened?”

Belle looked away. The words clawed at her throat, but she remembered the promise.

‘Never say you saw me. Never say you heard me speak. Never tell anyone how I look. Never repeat what I’ve said. A promise forever.’

“I… I can’t,” she whispered, face pale.

Adam paused. “You don’t have to tell me. But you’re safe now.”

She looked at him—really looked. His face was kind. His voice was steady. His touch was careful. And something in her chest shifted. His messy hair, the curve of his jaw, the stormy blue of his eyes—it all felt too familiar… She blushed, suddenly aware of how close he was, how exposed she felt. But she didn’t pull away.

He finished dressing the wound, then sat beside her, his expression unreadable. “Do you want me to leave?”

Belle’s breath caught. The thought of being alone—of silence, of shadows, of her father’s blood still fresh in her memory—was unbearable. Her lips quivered. Her eyes filled. Then the dam broke.

“Please stay,” she sobbed, clutching his arm. “Don’t leave me. I don’t want to be alone. Please.”

Adam didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her gently against his chest. She buried her face in his shirt, the tears coming hard and fast now.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Belle clung to him, her body shaking. If Papa hadn’t come to walk me home, she thought, he’d still be here. He’d be holding me right now. He’d be telling me it’s okay. But he wasn’t. And Adam was. 

And that thing —the one she couldn’t name, the one that watched and waited—was still out there.

She turned into him, her cheek resting against his chest. His arms stayed around her—warm, protective, steady.

They didn’t speak.

Outside, the wind stirred. Inside, the silence held them like a breath.

Belle’s sobs faded into soft hiccups, then into silence. Her fingers curled against his shirt, her body finally still. Adam didn’t move. He just held her, grounding her in the present, anchoring her to something that felt safe.

And when sleep finally took her—uneven, fragile, but deep—he stayed.

He held her all night.

…

The wound on Belle’s chest healed, but the scar remained—a thin, pale line just above her heart. She never spoke of its origin. Not to Adam. Not to Tiana. Not even to herself. But some nights, she’d trace it absentmindedly, as if trying to remember what she’d sworn to forget.

But something changed after that night.

Adam never left her side.

In the days that followed, Belle became jumpy, needy, paranoid. She startled at footsteps. She flinched at shadows. She clung to Adam like a lifeline, terrified of silence, terrified of being alone… She couldn’t sleep without the hallway light on, couldn’t shower unless Adam was in the apartment, couldn’t write unless he was within reach. She hated it—hated how fragile she felt, how broken she must’ve looked. She didn’t understand why he stayed. Why he’d want anyone like her, especially now.

But he persisted.

He brought her flowers—wild ones, colorful and bright. He brought her pastries from the corner café, and videos from the shop down the street. He’d pick out romantic comedies and animated classics—anything with singing animals or happily-ever-afters—because Belle refused to watch horror, no matter how tame.

He also brought her books—worn paperbacks and forgotten hardcovers from the vintage shop near the park. Fairy tales, poetry, old romances with frayed edges and faded covers. He said they reminded him of her: a little bruised, maybe, but still worth reading.

When night fell, he’d curl up beside her, wrap her in his arms like she was the most fragile, precious thing in the world—and he wouldn’t let go.

But none of it mattered as much as the nights she couldn’t breathe, and Adam held her until she could. The mornings she couldn’t speak, and he made her tea without asking. The days she couldn’t remember who she was before that thing found her—and he reminded her, gently, that she was still here.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t push. He just stayed.

And slowly, Belle began to write again.

Her writing—once whimsical, romantic, full of enchanted forests and noble quests—took a sharp turn. The stories became darker. Bleaker. Her heroines were hunted. Her villains wore claws and curved horns. Her worlds bled. Her prose sharpened like claws. Her metaphors grew teeth.

And people loved it.

Her debut horror novel, The Promise That Bled , was a bestseller. Critics called it ‘visceral,’ ‘haunting,’ and ‘a masterpiece of psychological dread.’ Belle smiled through interviews, signed books with a steady hand, and told everyone the same thing: It’s just fiction.

Tiana wasn’t convinced.

They met for coffee one rainy afternoon, Belle’s second novel already climbing the charts. The café was dim and quiet, the windows streaked with rain and fogged at the edges. Belle sat hunched in an oversized knit sweater, sleeves swallowing her hands, Tiana stirred her drink slowly, watching her with quiet concern.

“I read it,” she said, voice low. “ The Night I Was Spared. ”

Belle didn’t look up. “And?”

“It’s brilliant,” Tiana said. “But it scared me. The way you described the creature… the way it speaks. It felt real.”

Belle’s fingers curled around her mug. “It’s not.”

Tiana leaned in, choosing her words carefully. “Belle, I know you say it’s fiction. But one minute you were writing romantic fantasy stories, and now you’re writing things that feel like memories.” 

She hesitated. “I feel like you’re trying to say something you won’t say out loud.”

Belle’s jaw clenched. “It’s fiction,” she said again, but her voice was thinner now, stretched tight.

Belle’s eyes flicked to the window, watching the rain slide down the glass. Her voice dropped. “You told me to take my writing in a new direction… You said horror was honest.” 

Tiana’s face softened. “I didn’t mean for it to consume you.”

Belle blinked. Her breath caught. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” Belle said. Her voice shook. “I write it down and it feels true.”

Tiana’s voice softened, but didn’t lose its edge. “I know you’ve been different ever since you lost your father. I know something happened that night. I just don’t know what.”

Belle stared into her coffee like it might offer answers. “I was drunk,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I don’t remember seeing him. I don’t remember anything.”

Her lips quivered. Tears welled up before she could stop them, spilling over as she clutched the mug tighter, like it might hold her together. She was clearly lying to Tiana—but mostly to herself.

Tiana’s eyes widened, then softened with something deeper—heartbreak. “Oh, honey…” she murmured, her voice thick with feeling.

She reached across the table and squeezed Belle’s hand. Her touch was warm. Belle’s fingers were ice but she didn’t pull away.

“I just worry,” Tiana said, her thumb brushing Belle’s knuckles. Then she tilted her head, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “But from what I hear, you’ve got yourself a very handsome shadow these days. That man’s been glued to your side like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.”

Belle let out a shaky laugh, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

“I trust he’s been taking good care of you,” Tiana added, her tone light but still laced with meaning.

Belle nodded, a small smile ghosting across her lips. “Yeah… he is. Adam’s been incredible.”

She hesitated, then added, “He knows people—editors, publishers, agents. Some owed him favors, others just… admired him.”

Her fingers curled around the mug again, but this time it was steadier. “He helped me get my manuscript picked up by a boutique horror press. They’re known for their eerie book covers and this weird little cult following. It still doesn’t feel real.”

Tiana grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Look at you,” she said. “Published, praised, and pampered by your mysterious, handsome man. I always knew you’d make it big.”

Belle laughed softly.

Tiana’s pager buzzed against the table, rattling the ceramic. She glanced down and sighed. “That’s Naveen. I promised I’d meet him for dinner tonight.”

She stood, gathering her coat and bag, then leaned down to kiss Belle’s temple. “I’m proud of you, you know. Even if you’re writing creepy stuff now.”

Belle gave her a soft smile.

“Call me later tonight?” Tiana asked.

“I will,” Belle assured.

Tiana left in a rush of rain and wind, the faint scent of her perfume trailing behind her.

Belle stayed seated, staring into her half-empty mug. The café felt colder now. Quieter. The windows wept with rain.

She reached up and touched the scar just above her heart, tracing the thin line with the pad of her finger.

She hadn’t spoken. But her soul was screaming through her work.

…

Belle tossed and turned beneath the covers, her sheets twisted around her legs like vines. The room was dark, save for the pale spill of moonlight pouring through the skylight, casting fractured silver across the ceiling. Shadows shifted with every movement, like something watching from above.

Her breath hitched. Her fingers clawed at the sheets.

In the dream, she was back there—back in the alley, back in the dark. Her feet pounded the pavement, but it felt like running through molasses. The air was thick and metallic. Her father was ahead of her, just out of reach, his figure flickering like a dying lightbulb.

He turned to speak, but his mouth didn’t move. Blood spilled from his neck in slow motion, blooming like a flower across his shirt.

She tried to scream, but her throat locked.

Behind her, the voice slithered closer—guttural and splintering, like bones crunching underfoot. It didn’t shout. It didn’t need to. It scraped its way through the dark, each word cracking like broken glass.

“Cross your heart?”

She turned—and the beast was there.

Its eyes were the only thing that didn’t blur. They seethed, deep and endless, locked on hers like it already knew the answer.

And then—

“I promise!” she screamed, bolting upright.

Her chest heaved. Sweat clung to her skin. Her heart thundered like it was trying to escape.

Adam stirred beside her, already reaching for her before his eyes were fully open. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, grounding her in the warmth of his body.

“You’re okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Belle buried her face in his chest, her voice muffled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I don’t care,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m here.”

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy, searching his face like it might give her permission. The words hovered on her tongue— the secret, the promise, the thing that haunted her.

“I need to tell you something,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the pull of temptation.

But Adam shook his head, slow and gentle. His thumb brushed across her cheek—warm, grounding—and then he cupped her face, pulling her close.

“Shh,” he murmured, and kissed her. 

Soft. Steady. Silencing.

A kiss that asked her not to speak. A kiss that held her in place, quieting the urge to tell the truth.

Belle closed her eyes, the truth dissolving on her tongue.

As Adam’s kisses trailed down her neck, his stubble lightly scraping her skin, Belle’s breath hitched with a mix of anticipation and lingering fear. He gently removed her top, his touch tender and reverent, and pressed his lips to the scar above her heart, a silent promise of possession and permanence. His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, sending shivers of pleasure through her body.

He moved lower, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses across her stomach and pelvis, each touch a gentle reassurance that chased away the shadows of her nightmare. With a deft movement, he removed her panties, his eyes never leaving hers, a silent question in their depths. Belle nodded, her fingers tangling in his hair as he lowered his head between her thighs.

His tongue explored her delicate folds, teasing and tasting, while his fingers found her most sensitive spot, stroking and circling with a skill that made her hips buck. Belle’s fear began to melt away, replaced by a growing heat that spread through her body. She moaned softly, her back arching as he increased the pressure, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony.

Adam moved up, the head of his shaft rubbing against her folds, teasing her entrance. Belle wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer, and with a single, smooth thrust, he was inside her. She gasped, her body stretching to accommodate him, the sensation of fullness both intense and comforting.

Their bodies moved in sync, a dance as old as time, each thrust driving them closer to the edge. Belle matched his rhythm, her hips meeting his with a desperation born of need and release. The weight of Adam’s arms around her was an anchor, grounding her in the present, even as the shadows of her past threatened to resurface.

Their breaths mingled, their hearts pounding in unison, each thrust a promise, each touch a claim. Belle clung to him, her nails digging into his back, her body begging for more. Adam’s movements became more urgent, more feral-like, his grip tightening as he drove them both towards the precipice.

With a final, deep thrust, they tumbled over the edge, their cries mingling in the darkness. Belle’s body clenched around him, waves of pleasure washing over her, each one more intense than the last. Adam followed soon after, his release triggering another round of spasms within her, their bodies locked together in a dance of ecstasy.

As they lay entwined, their breaths slowly returning to normal, Belle could still feel the weight of her secret pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Adam's kiss had silenced her confession, but it hadn't silenced the storm inside her. The secret she carried was a burden, a promise made in the dark that she couldn't shake. “Cross your heart?” The beast’s question echoed in her mind, a sinister promise that bound her to a fate she couldn’t escape.

…

Adam proposed on a quiet winter evening, in the same studio apartment where they first lay together. Belle said yes.

They moved into a brownstone near the park. Belle converted the attic into a writing room, complete with a skylight. She never looked at the clock tower again.

Their children came in spring and autumn—first a boy, then a girl. Belle named her son Maurice, in honor of her beloved father, and her daughter Clarice, whom she and Adam lovingly called Clary.

She loved them both fiercely.

Over the years, Belle lived a life that felt almost enchanted. Adam was more than a husband—he was a beacon. Wherever he went, good things followed. Her books sold. Her name spread. Their home was warm, their children healthy, their laughter constant. It was as if luck clung to him, and by loving him, it clung to her too.

But sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, Belle would lie awake and wonder how it could all be real. How she could be here, wrapped in comfort and joy, while her father had been torn from her in the dark. That night—the night she met both the monster and Adam—was the most unfortunate and the most miraculous night of her life. A night soaked in blood and sealed with a vow. A night that gave her everything… and took everything, all at once.

She never spoke of it.

But it never stopped speaking to her.

…

The night was alive with flickering jack-o’-lanterns and the rustle of candy bags. Children darted from porch to porch, their laughter echoing through the crisp autumn air. Belle walked beside Tiana, coats pulled tight against the chill, watching Adam and Naveen carry their daughters on their shoulders—Clary giggling in her fairy wings, Naveen’s little one bouncing with joy in matching wings.

Belle smiled, her heart full and aching all at once.

Tiana looped her arm through Belle’s and leaned in. “Look at them. You built this. You survived everything—and still made something beautiful.”

Belle’s smile faltered. “I know. I just… sometimes I forget how lucky I am.”

“Then I’ll remind you,” Tiana said softly. “Every time. Even when you don’t want to hear it.”

They walked on. A Halloween parade caught their attention—a vibrant display of costumes and creativity. The street ahead glowed brighter: music rising, lights flashing. Dancers, floats, towering creatures on stilts. Belle’s son, walking beside Tiana’s, pointed at a group of zombies, eyes wide with wonder.

Belle and Tiana exchanged a glance, their laughter mingling with the festive atmosphere.

The children squealed with delight. Adam turned to Belle, smiling. “Let’s get closer.”

But as they moved toward the parade, Belle stopped. Her body went rigid.

Her breath caught. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

There, in the middle of the crowd—amid the swirling lights and costumed chaos—stood it.

The beast.

Out in the open.

Towering. Horned. Covered in fur that shimmered like oil in the streetlights. Its eyes—those piercing blue eyes—locked onto hers.

Everything else fell away.

The music faded. The laughter dissolved. The world narrowed to a single, suffocating moment of terror.

Belle’s knees buckled. Her chest tightened. Her vision blurred.

And then—

Warmth.

A slow, humiliating warmth running down her thighs, soaking into her stockings, spilling into her heels. Her body betrayed her, frozen in fear.

Adam spun around, rushing to her. “Belle!”

She blinked, gasping, pointing frantically. “I KEPT MY PROMISE!” Her voice cracked through the night. “I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING!”

Adam’s voice cut through the fog. “Belle?”

She was pointing, shaking, eyes wide with terror. “He’s here! He’s here! I didn’t tell anyone—I didn’t—I kept it secret!”

Adam grabbed her shoulders. “Belle, there’s no one there. It’s just a man on stilts. A costume, Belle. Look.”

He waved the performer over.

“No!” she cried, stumbling back. “He’s real! He’s right there! Don’t let that thing near me! Don’t let it near the children!”

The creature stepped forward, towering, silent.

Then it stopped—and removed its mask.

A man smiled beneath it. Human. Harmless.

Tiana rushed over, eyes wide and heart pounding. “Belle? We heard you scream—what’s happening?”

She stopped short, looked down—and saw the puddle at Belle’s feet.

Belle’s face crumpled.

Adam stepped in quickly, scooping her into his arms and shielding her from the crowd. “She’s having an episode. I need to get her home.”

Tiana hesitated, concern etched deep into her face. “Are you sure? She’s—she’s terrified.”

“Please,” Adam said, already turning away. “Can you and Naveen finish trick-or-treating with the kids?”

Tiana nodded slowly, watching Belle’s pale face as Adam carried her away.

Belle buried her face in his chest, sobbing.

She didn’t look back.

…

Adam carried Belle into the house without a word. The silence between them was thick, but not cold. He moved with practiced care—setting her down, running the bath, didn’t flinch as he undressed her, didn’t look away when her eyes filled with shame. He didn’t hesitate.

Belle sank into the warm water, knees drawn to her chest, steam curling around her like fog. The warmth should’ve soothed her, but it only made her feel exposed. Ashamed. Stupid.

She stared at the water, watching it ripple with every breath. Am I crazy? Was it even real? If I could mistake a costume for that —for him —then maybe the night I remember never happened. Maybe I built my entire life on a hallucination.

The sound of footsteps pulled her back. Adam returned with a mug, kneeling beside the tub.

“Here,” he said softly. “Drink this. It’ll help.”

Belle took it, hands trembling. She sipped. Cinnamon. Chamomile. Something else. Her throat tightened.

“You always do this when I’m upset…” she murmured.

Adam’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s just something to help you sleep. You haven’t been sleeping well, and I just want you to rest. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Belle stared at the water. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For humiliating you. For always needing you to pick up the pieces.”

Adam shook his head. “You didn’t humiliate me. And you never have to be sorry for needing care.”

She looked at him, eyes glassy. “Why do you stay?”

He smiled, brushing damp hair from her cheek. “Because I love you. I promised myself I’d take care of you—from the moment I saw you.” His voice dropped. “Before you, my life was… dark.”

Belle’s lips parted. “I wasn’t always like this,” she began, but her vision blurred. Her fingers slipped. The mug clattered to the floor.

“I… I just wanted to feel normal…”

Adam caught her as she slumped forward, lifting her from the tub and wrapping her in a robe. He carried her to bed, kissed her forehead, and tucked her in like something fragile.

Adam descended the stairs slowly, then brightened as he entered the living room.

“My little ones!” he said, arms wide.

The children squealed, rushing into his embrace, candy bags rustling.

“Look what we got!” Clary beamed, holding up a huge chocolate bar.

Tiana stood nearby, arms crossed. “Where’s Belle?”

Adam smiled. “She’s asleep. She needed rest.”

Tiana hesitated. “I think I should stay. Naveen took our kids home, and… I want to talk to her. She said something strange.”

Adam’s smile softened. “She’s just tired. She’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Tiana lingered. “She said, ‘I kept my promise.’ What did she mean?”

Adam’s smile faltered. “I don’t know. She was confused.”

Tiana didn’t move. Her gut twisted. She’d always felt like Adam didn’t want her around when Belle was like this. Like he was guarding something.

But she nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow then.”

Adam walked her to the door, watched her descend the porch steps. He closed the door slowly, then stood there for a moment, listening.

Then Adam turned to the kids with a smile, rubbing his hands together. “Alright, let’s get ready for bed. You’ve got school in the morning.” 

Tiana had left, but unease clung to her heels all the way home.

…

The tenth anniversary of their meeting came quietly. No parties. No champagne. Just Belle, standing in the attic beneath the skylight, holding a box she hadn’t touched in a decade. The rain tapped faintly above her, like a memory trying to get in.

Adam sat at her writing desk, flipping through notes for her next novel. He looked up when she entered, his face softening.

Belle knelt before him, her hands trembling as she placed the box between them.

“No one has ever seen this,” she said.

Adam’s brow furrowed.

She opened the box slowly, reverently, and pulled out a single manuscript—yellowed, hand-bound, the pages worn at the edges.

She handed it to him.

Adam read in silence. His eyes moved slowly, then faster, then stopped altogether. His hands clenched the paper. His breath caught.

“That’s what killed my father…” Belle whispered. “Then it turned on me.”

Adam looked up at her, wordless. His eyes were full of concern, confusion, something deeper.

“I knew I was going to die,” she said, her voice cracking. “But it spoke… it spoke.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “It said to me that it wouldn't kill me if I promised to never tell anybody what had happened, what I'd seen… so I never told anybody.”

Adam’s voice was low. “Then why are you telling me?”

Belle reached for his hand. “Because you're the most important thing in my life. Because you've brought me ten years of happiness. Ten years of success. Ten years of a perfect life. I'm telling you because I love you.”

She knelt closer, her voice barely a whisper. “You deserve everything I can give you. And the only thing I've never given you is the truth. About what happened the night we met.”

She searched his eyes, hoping for understanding. Hoping for forgiveness.

But something shifted. Adam’s face twisted. He stood abruptly, clutching the manuscript so tightly it wrinkled in his grip. His hands trembled.

Then he began to sob. Not quietly. Not gently. It was a sound torn from the deepest part of him—raw, animal, broken.

Belle rose, heart pounding. “What’s wrong? I’m not making this up, I’m telling you the truth.”

Adam turned to her, his eyes filled with a mix of heartbreak and anguish. "You promised you'd never tell!" he wailed, his voice laced with pain.

Belle staggered back. “Adam…?”

Belle stood back, her eyes wide with horror as she watched Adam undergo a grotesque transformation. His body convulsed. He dropped the manuscript and fell to his knees, screaming. His skin rippled, bones cracking beneath it. His hands clawed at his face as it began to stretch and distort.

“You broke your promise, damn it!! I loved you!!” he howled, tearing at his own flesh.

Belle screamed, backing into the wall, watching in horror as his human form began to peel away. His skin rippled and tore—revealing the beast beneath. Horns burst from his skull. His hair grew long and wild, shadowing a face no longer his. And his eyes—those eyes—glowed blue. That piercing blue that had haunted her for years.

He towered over her now—no longer Adam. The beast. A monstrous figure of the man she once loved.

“Adam, please, please stop it! Just change back!” Belle begged, her voice breaking with each word.

Adam's voice was a gruff rasp, his fangs protruding from his mouth. “I can't.”

Suddenly, their children’s screams echoed from the bedroom.

Belle turned toward the sound. “What is happening to the children? Stop it!”

Adam’s voice was low, sorrowful. “It’s too late. You betrayed your vow.”

He roared, shaking the walls. Books fell from shelves. The skylight cracked. The house groaned like it was alive.

Belle's heart raced as she stumbled toward the hallway, but her foot caught the edge of the rug and she fell hard, falling flat on her stomach.

She looked up—and froze.

Maurice and Clarice stood in the doorway, their small bodies twisted, furred, horned. Their eyes filled with a profound sadness that crushed her soul.

“Nooooooo!!” Belle shrieked.

Clarice clung to her brother, sobbing into his shoulder. Maurice held her tightly, tears streaming down his beast-like face.

Adam stepped forward, his massive form casting a shadow over Belle. He knelt, gently lifting her into his arms.

Belle looked at him, her voice barely audible. “Adam... I loved you,” she whispered, her voice filled with a final, heart-wrenching plea.

“And I loved you too,” he said, brushing a lock of hair from her face. His clawed hand trembled. “But you broke your vow. And that sealed our destiny.”

He leaned in, eyes full of sorrow.

Then, with one final breath, he sank his teeth into her throat, ripping it out.

Belle gasped, her body convulsing. Blood spilled across his arms. He held her close as life slipped away and the light faded from her hazel eyes.

He kissed her forehead, slow and trembling, before laying her down gently. Cradling her lifeless form, he lowered her to the floor, where her blood soaked into the floorboards like a final offering.

Then he howled—haunting and heartbroken—a sound torn from the depths of sorrow. It echoed through the house, rattling its bones with grief.

He turned to his children, scooped them into his arms, their small, beastly forms clinging to him, and disappeared into the cold, dead night—leaving behind a house steeped in blood, silence, and the echo of a love cursed by a broken vow.