"Every secret has a shelf life." Spencer Hastings (Pretty Little Liars)

Saint

The warmth lingered in the kitchen, a stark contrast to the icy fear that had gripped the house earlier. Veronica and I lay tangled on the floor, sunlight painting patterns on her skin. A fragile peace settled over me, a welcome respite from the tension that had been gnawing at me since I discovered those damn roses.

We moved to the couch, still intertwined, sipping coffee and talking. The need to find out who was terrorizing her was paramount. The fear in her eyes last night… it fueled a rage within me. No one touches what’s mine.

"So," I said, my voice still rough from this morning, "let's go through this again. Luke, the movie producer. Jack, the actor. Thomas, the musician. Did any of them strike you as the type to… escalate things?"

She shook her head, tracing patterns on my chest with her fingertip. God, she was beautiful. Vulnerable, but strong. I wanted to protect her, to shield her from the darkness that was trying to consume her.

"Luke was a bit intense," she said, "but we ended things amicably. Jack and I are still friends, and Thomas… well, he was always more focused on his music than anything else."

"Right," I said, my brow furrowed. "But what about this guy from when you were nineteen? You never told me his name."

She stiffened, the memory clearly painful. "It was a long time ago," she murmured, avoiding my gaze. "It doesn't matter."

"It might," I insisted, my voice gentle but firm. I needed to know everything. Every detail. "Tell me about him, Veronica. What was his name?"

She hesitated, the words clearly difficult to form. "His name was… Julian," she finally whispered, the name sounding foreign and unpleasant on her lips.

"Julian," I repeated, storing it away. I’d find this Julian. I’d dig into his past, his present, everything. "And what did he do?"

She took a deep breath, the memories clearly flooding back. "He was… older," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "A photographer. I was young, naive… He swept me off my feet."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"And then?" I prompted, my hand finding hers, squeezing gently.

"And then…" she swallowed hard, the pain of that time still raw. "He became… controlling. Possessive. He didn't like me talking to other men, going out with my friends… He wanted me all to himself."

My jaw tightened. The bastard.

"Did he ever… hurt you?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I needed to know. I needed to know the extent of the damage.

Her breath hitched, and her eyes flickered with a pain so intense it made my gut clench. She pulled her hand away from mine, her expression closing off. "I… I don't want to talk about it," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Before I could say anything, she stood up abruptly, her movements stiff and unnatural. She turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone on the couch, the silence heavy with unspoken words.

I sat there for a moment, my mind racing. She was hiding something, something that clearly still haunted her. And I knew, with a chilling certainty, that it was connected to what was happening now. I couldn't push her. Not yet. She was too fragile, too vulnerable. But I couldn't ignore it either. I needed to know the truth, even if it meant going behind her back. I owed her that much. And I owed it to myself. No one, *no one*, hurts Veronica and gets away with it.

I got up and went to the kitchen, grabbing my laptop from my bag. I needed to start digging. Julian. The name was a starting point. I opened a new browser window, my fingers flying across the keyboard. I started with a simple search: "Julian photographer." A slew of results popped up – portfolios, articles, social media profiles. I scrolled through them, searching for a face that matched the image in my mind, the image Veronica had painted with her hesitant words.

Several Julians stared back at me from the screen, their faces blurring together. I added more search terms: Julian photographer Veronica's last name. The results narrowed. A few more click, and I found him. Julian Vance. His website showcased his work – dark, edgy, artistic photos. And then, I saw her. A younger Veronica, her face full of innocence and vulnerability, her eyes… they held a sadness that tugged at my heart. The photos were intimate, almost invasive. They captured a side of her she had clearly tried to hide.

I clicked on his "About" page, my blood running cold. He was local. He lived in the same city as Veronica. My grip tightened on the mouse. This was no coincidence. This had to be connected.

I saved the link to his website, his old social media profiles, everything I could find. I needed more information. I needed to know what he was doing presently.

I then delved deeper. I checked local news archives, court records… and then I found it. A news article from years ago detailing a horrific crime. Julian Vance, along with an accomplice, had been arrested and convicted of assault and rape. The victim… Veronica. The details were sickening. They had broken into her home at night, drugged her… the article trailed off, the rest redacted.

My blood ran cold. Rage, pure and unadulterated, surged through me. The bastard. He had violated her, stolen her innocence, and left her with scars that clearly still ran deep.

I checked further. Vance was currently incarcerated, serving his sentence. But then, another chilling detail: his parole hearing was in two weeks.

Two weeks. He could be out in two weeks. My grip on the laptop tightened until my knuckles turned white. This changed everything. This wasn't just about some random stalker. This was about him. Julian Vance. He was the one who had invaded her life once before, and he was trying to do it again. But… this was starting to get confusing. If he was locked up, who was sending the roses? Who was watching her? Was he working with someone on the outside? My mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle. One thing was certain: I would find out the truth. And when I did, heads would roll. I closed the laptop, a new wave of protectiveness washing over me. I had to find out who his accomplice was. Who was helping him. Veronica was safe for now, here with me, but that could change in an instant. I wouldn’t rest until I knew every piece of this twisted puzzle. I would protect her. No matter the cost.