28 WTF?!!

Julian's POV

"Remember, you're not supposed to talk too much. Sometimes you can't help yourself, and you might forget where you are," Adam says, his voice trembling slightly. He looks extremely nervous, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

"What? Why shouldn't I talk? I can speak like a girl. I've got this! Can you just trust me for once?" I reply, slightly annoyed.

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbles, pulling the car into a long driveway.

"And you," I retort, "you need to stop looking like you're hiding something! Relax. People are going to notice your nerves from a mile away."

"Uh, sorry," he mutters again.

"Why do you keep apologizing? Hey, I promise everything's going to be fine. Just calm down," I reassure him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay... Whatever happens in there, promise me one thing: you won't leave me or avoid me afterward," he says, his voice soft but filled with fear.

"What? Of course, I won't," I reply firmly. "We've come too far for that. I've already made up my mind. The moment I stepped into this dress for you, that was it. No matter what happens, I'll fight for us."

"Come here," I say, pulling him into a hug. I feel his body relax slightly in my arms. Pulling back, I press a kiss to his forehead, then his lips, lingering for just a moment to remind him he's not alone.

He finally unlocks the car and opens the door.

"Welcome back, young master," a woman in uniform greets as we step out. A group of maids, impeccably dressed, guide us toward the house. Their eyes flicker to me, smiling with thinly veiled admiration. I can almost hear their thoughts: "What a beauty! Is it even possible for someone like this to exist?" Not to brag, but I know I've outdone myself.

As we approach the mansion, I feel the weight of the place settle over us. The building is enormous, with towering columns and pristine marble floors that gleam under the light.

The walls are lined with stern portraits of ancestors who seem to judge us from their ornate frames.

It's all so cold, so distant. I glance at Adam, watching his shoulders tense the closer we get to the grand entrance. For a moment, I wonder what it must have been like for him to grow up in this place.

A middle-aged woman, stunning yet severe, strides toward us the moment we step inside. Her presence is commanding, her sharp eyes assessing me.

"You've arrived," she says, her tone devoid of warmth. No hugs, no greetings—just a cold acknowledgment.

"Yes, Mother," Adam replies stiffly. The formality in his voice surprises me. Is this really how he addresses his own mother?

"Adam, are you okay?" I whisper, leaning toward him. He looks like he's shrinking into himself.

"Relax," I add softly. "I told you, everything will be okay."

"I'm fine," he replies curtly, brushing me off. But his rigid posture and pale face tell another story.

Then a tall man, likely in his late sixties, enters the room. His sharp gaze lands on me, and I feel like I'm being measured and found lacking. "So, she's the one?" he says with a slight smirk. "Now I see why you refused Meredith. This one is far prettier. Son, I must admit, you have good taste." The sarcasm in his voice is unmistakable.

"Why don't we head to the dining room? I hear dinner is ready," he adds, leading the way.

The dining table is long, laden with an extravagant spread. Platters of roasted meats, delicately arranged vegetables, and sauces I can't even identify glisten under the soft lighting.

As we sit down, I notice Adam's posture shift. His head dips slightly, and his once-confident demeanor shrinks. The transformation is startling.

Outside, he's the kind of man who commands a room with a glance. But here, in the shadow of his parents, he looks small—vulnerable even.

His mother's voice cuts through the silence. "So, what's your name, young lady?" she asks, her tone as icy as her gaze.

I hesitate, realizing we didn't prepare for basic questions like this. Quickly, I recover. "Annabel Krause, ma'am," I reply softly, keeping my tone sweet but firm.

Adam glances at me, his expression unreadable.

"And how do you find being with him?" she continues, her voice laced with irritation. "I know he can be… difficult. What's the word I'm looking for?"

Before I can respond, his father interjects. "What does it matter, Madison? At least he's finally done something right. We'll have grandchildren soon, won't we?"

I freeze, taken aback by the dismissiveness in his tone. What does he mean by "finally done something right"? Adam is so much more than they make him out to be.

I can't stay silent. "Excuse me, sir," I say, my voice steady but firm. "With all due respect, Adam has always done everything right. He works tirelessly to please you, and yet you—"

Adam's hand grips mine under the table, squeezing tightly. "Stop," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

But I can't. My temper flares, and I raise my voice slightly. "Let me speak! Sir, Adam tries so hard to make you both proud. Yet you belittle him like this. He doesn't deserve it!"

His mother's gaze hardens. "Trying to wash away his guilt is what you call making us proud?" she snaps.

My confusion deepens. "What guilt?" I ask, genuinely perplexed.

"You mean he hasn't told you?" she sneers. "And you claim he loves you?"

"Madison, stop," his father interjects. "You'll scare her away. We need grandchildren."

Her laughter is cold. "If she runs away, so be it. Maybe then he'll finally marry the one we chose for him. He needs to understand what it feels like to lose someone you care about."

I've had enough. "What is going on here?!" I snap, unable to contain my frustration.

His father's sharp eyes narrow at me. "Why do you sound like a man?" he asks suspiciously.

I falter, but recover quickly. "I sound like this when I'm angry," I reply coolly. "Don't worry about it."

He studies me for a moment, then smirks. "Well, if you weren't so beautiful, I'd almost believe you're a man in disguise. You know why? I've always suspected Adam doesn't marry because he prefers… his own kind. Disgusting." He turns to Adam, his voice dripping with contempt. "Do you still foolishly believe there's love between two men? Let me remind you—when you were younger, you forced yourself on a neighbor's son. We had to pay to keep the police away!"

I'm stunned into silence. The weight of his words is suffocating.

Adam's mother picks up where he leaves off, her voice filled with venom. "And don't forget the guilt you carry from killing my poor son—your brother!"

Adam finally snaps. His voice, raw and anguished, cuts through the air. "I didn't kill him!"

For the first time, I see the deep wounds his parents have inflicted on him. And for the first time, I realize how much he's been hiding from me.