𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 [ ON HOLD ]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ 008

Parallel lines .... 1921

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James, well, he was fine, or at least that is what he would tell everyone who cared to ask. It was a facade he had perfected over time, masking the storm of emotions raging within him. He would put on a brave face, showing the world only what he wanted them to see. But deep down, behind closed doors, he was drowning in grief.

Anger consumed him at times, an intense fire that burned through his veins. He would clench his fists, seething with frustration, unable to comprehend why life had dealt him such a cruel hand. Sadness would wash over him like a tidal wave, engulfing his thoughts and leaving him gasping for air. In those moments, he would retreat into himself, seeking solace in the darkness of his own mind. Denial became his constant companion, refusing to accept the harsh reality that his heart had been shattered.

The Shelby family, with their own troubles and secrets, remained blissfully unaware of James' internal torment. They were too busy navigating their own treacherous paths, their focus fixed on the intricate web of their criminal empire. Only Polly, with her sharp intuition, caught glimpses of the turmoil that James struggled to hide. One evening, she had stumbled upon him, slumbering in a drunken stupor, an empty bottle of whiskey clutched tightly in his hands. She had seen his pain, his vulnerability, in that moment, and a heavy sense of concern settled within her.

James had worked tirelessly to ascend the ranks within the Shelby family, standing shoulder to shoulder with the formidable Shelby brothers. From an outsider's perspective, he had achieved a certain level of success, but within himself, he felt hollow, incomplete. The loss of Rosalie, the woman he vowed to love, had left a void in his heart that seemed impossible to fill. It felt as if someone had ripped out his very soul, replacing it with a mechanical engine that simply kept him functioning, void of true warmth and happiness.

Blood stains his hands, reminders of the violent world he had become so accustomed to.

The weight of guilt had become a harrowing friend, knowing that he had spilled blood in the name of the Shelby family's reputation and power. But now, the blood on his hands felt heavier than ever before, tinged with the sorrow that consumed him. When the sun set and darkness shrouded the world, his tears would flow freely, a release for the anguish he carried within.

Nearly two years had passed since Rosalie's absence, but James remained trapped in a state of limbo, unable to move past the pain that clung to him like a relentless shadow. The memories of her, their precious moments together, haunted his thoughts, eliciting a deep ache in his chest. Each morning, as he woke from fitful sleep, he would momentarily forget, briefly tricking himself into believing that he would find her soft curls resting against his chest or surprise her with fresh bread like she so adored. But reality would come crashing down, each time sharper and more unforgiving.

James existed in a state of uncertainty, unable to determine Rosalie's fate. The whispers and rumors that reached his ears painted conflicting pictures — she could have moved on, found peace in the arms of a posh bastard in America, living a life of comfort and luxury.

Or, grim as it seemed, she may have met deaths hands, her once vibrant spirit reduced to decaying flesh buried in the earth, withered away as worms claimed her remains. The uncertainty gnawed at him, feeding his desperation for closure.

Polly and Thomas, more than anyone else, told James that Rosalie was dead. Their words were like cold knives, slicing through his fragile thread of hope with cruel precision. With each passing day, their certainty seeped into his consciousness, slowly but surely wearing down the fragile defenses he had built. He had started to lean towards the conclusion they painted, as painful as it was to admit. The idea of Rosalie's death, as devastating as it might be, at least offered him a twisted semblance of closure. It was easier to believe that she had moved on to another existence, far removed from the chaos that claimed him.