The Queen Vic was buzzing that evening, the chatter of locals mingling with the clinking of glasses. But in the far corner, tension was brewing like a storm on the horizon. Julie stood near the bar, her arms folded tightly, eyes fixed on the doorway as if waiting for someone she dreaded.

That someone arrived in the form of Phil Mitchell—broad-shouldered, jaw set, eyes blazing with the kind of fury that promised trouble. He didn’t stop to greet anyone. He went straight to Julie, his boots heavy on the worn pub floor.

“We need to talk,” Phil growled, his voice low but sharp enough to cut glass.

Julie straightened, unwilling to show the nerves tightening her chest. “If this is about Nigel, I’ve already said my piece.”

Phil leaned in, his face inches from hers. “Your ‘piece’ doesn’t cut it. You’ve been running your mouth, Julie—telling people things you shouldn’t. Things that could ruin him.”

The air between them thickened. People nearby began to glance over, sensing trouble. Linda paused mid-pour, her eyes darting between the pair.

Julie’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to say anything if you and Nigel had kept your hands clean.”

Phil’s nostrils flared. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know enough,” Julie shot back, her voice trembling despite her attempt at calm. “I know that Nigel’s been mixed up in something he shouldn’t. And I know you’ve been covering for him.”

That was the spark that lit the fire. Phil’s voice rose, deep and dangerous. “You’re walking a fine line, Julie. You start throwing accusations like that, you’re gonna get people hurt—yourself included.”

Julie’s eyes widened, not just at the threat but at the sheer intensity in his tone. “Is that supposed to scare me?” she whispered, but her voice betrayed a hint of fear.

Phil slammed his hand down on the table between them, the thud echoing through the pub. “I’m not playing games. Nigel’s got enough on his plate without you making it worse. You keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you.”

“This does concern me!” Julie’s voice cracked, but she held her ground. “What Nigel’s mixed up in—it’s dangerous. I’ve seen it before, Phil. I’ve buried friends because of it.”

For a moment, Phil’s face shifted, something softer flickering in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came. “Then you should know better than to stir things up.”

The room had gone quiet now, the usual pub banter replaced by a tense silence. Even the dart players had stopped mid-throw, watching.

Julie swallowed hard. “I’m not going to stand by while you protect him from the truth. If he’s in trouble, he needs help—not more lies.”

Phil’s voice dropped to a cold, almost whispering growl. “Help’s not what’s on offer in this world, Julie. You know that. All you can do is survive it.”

With that, he stepped back, his glare still locked on hers. The distance between them didn’t lessen the weight of his words—it only made the threat feel colder, more calculated.

Julie stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding, the sound of her own breathing loud in her ears. She could feel every pair of eyes on her, but she didn’t look away from Phil until he finally turned and walked out, his departure as forceful as his arrival.

As the door swung shut behind him, the pub slowly came back to life, the whispers starting immediately. But Julie didn’t move. Phil’s words had hit their mark, leaving her shaken—not just because of the warning, but because deep down, she knew he was right about one thing.

Whatever Nigel was involved in, it wasn’t just trouble. It was the kind of trouble that didn’t leave survivors.

And if she wasn’t careful, she might be next.