Shatterd Bonds

Chapter 1: The Night of the Murder

The village of Briarwood was the kind of place people dreamed of escaping to when they needed peace. Surrounded by towering pines and nestled at the foot of an ancient forest, its charm lay in the quiet that hung in the air, broken only by birdsong or the occasional rustle of wind through the trees. But tonight, that tranquility was shattered.

Thunder rolled ominously through the sky, and lightning slashed the horizon, casting brief flickers of light across the darkened landscape. The rain pounded relentlessly against the windows of the small cottage at the forest's edge, where Isabelle lay nestled beside James, her fiancé. At twenty-seven, Isabelle felt as though her life had finally come together. She and James had planned everything. Their wedding was just months away, and their future was painted with dreams of a simple, happy life together.

Isabelle, wrapped in the warmth of James's presence, smiled faintly in her sleep. Outside, the storm raged, but inside, there was peace. At least for now.

The clock on the wall ticked softly, almost drowned out by the storm. As the minutes passed, the wind howled louder, and the trees outside bent and swayed like dark, ghostly figures dancing in the storm's fury. It was a night that seemed to scream of something terrible to come.

Suddenly, without a sound, a shadow slipped through the unlocked door. The figure moved like a predator-swift and silent, even as the storm continued to rage. The intruder navigated the hallway with eerie precision, avoiding the floorboards that creaked. The room where Isabelle and James slept grew closer, and with every step, the tension in the air thickened.

Inside the bedroom, Isabelle stared as the storm outside grew louder. She blinked awake, her vision blurry, disoriented by the sudden shift in the room's atmosphere. Something felt wrong. In the darkness, her eyes caught a flicker of movement near the door. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, a figure was standing over James, raising a knife that glinted in the pale light of a distant flash of lightning.

"James?" she whispered, her voice weak, barely audible over the rain.

In that instant, the knife plunged down with brutal force. James jerked awake, his eyes wide in shock and pain, his mouth opening in a silent scream. Blood soaked the bed, the sheets, everything, turning the soft fabric into a pool of crimson. Isabelle screamed, her heart slamming in her chest as she scrambled backward, her mind unable to process the horror unfolding in front of her.

"NO!" she cried, her voice ragged, broken.

The killer's eyes, cold and unfeeling, turned to meet hers for the briefest of moments before disappearing into the shadows. In the dim light of the storm, Isabelle caught a glimpse of his face-a face she knew too well.

Ethan.

It couldn't be. Her mind refused to accept it. Ethan was James's brother, his protector, his blood. They had been close, inseparable, bound by more than just family. And yet, there he stood, covered in James's blood, vanishing into the darkness as though he had never been there.

Isabelle's breath came in short, panicked gasps as she rushed to James's side. His chest heaved weakly, his eyes filled with pain and confusion. His hand reached out toward her, trembling, his fingers slick with blood.

"Isabelle..." he rasped, but his voice faded before he could say more. His body fell limp, the life slipping from him in a matter of seconds.

"James! No... please," she sobbed, clutching his lifeless hand. The room spun, her heart shattered into pieces. Her body shook with the force of her cries, the weight of her grief crashing over her like a wave. Her mind, though, raced with one singular thought: Ethan had done this. Ethan, the man she trusted, the man James had loved.