In the dimly lit corners of London, where the supernatural lurks beneath the surface, John Constantine, the enigmatic occult detective, is a familiar face known for his quick wit and darker-than- average humor. One fateful evening, during a gathering at the infamous "Midnight Bar," an unexpected revelation shakes everyone to their core. John Constantine has a wife. The atmosphere shifts as whispers ripple through the crowd when his close friend Chas accidentally discovers a worn photograph of a woman in Constantine's jacket. When pressed, John reluctantly admits that he is married, sparking curiosity and disbelief among his friends.

Chas squints at the photograph, holding it up to the dim bar light. The edges are frayed, the image slightly faded, but the woman in it is unmistakable—dark hair cascading over her shoulders, piercing eyes that seem to look straight through the camera. There’s something hauntingly familiar about her, though none of them can place it.

“You serious, John?” Chas mutters, his voice barely audible over the murmurs spreading through the Midnight Bar. “You, married?”

John snatches the photo back with a sigh, stuffing it into his coat like it’s some cursed artifact. “Well, not exactly the honeymoon type, am I?” He takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke like a sigh. “But yeah. Happened.”

Zed, perched on a nearby stool, raises a brow. John’s jaw tightens. He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he downs the rest of his whiskey in one swift gulp and signals the bartender for another. The silence stretches, thick and uneasy. “She’s… not around,” he finally mutters. “Not anymore.”

Chas narrows his eyes. “Dead?” John lets out a hollow chuckle. “Worse.”

The room chills, the weight of those words settling over them like a bad omen. “What the hell did you do, Constantine?” Chas presses, the concern in his voice only half-masked by exasperation. John flicks ash from his cigarette, staring into the swirling smoke. “Let’s just say… some vows are harder to break than others.”