Chapter 10 #2
But my traitorous thoughts kept drifting to Julian.
Absurd. Arrogant. A tyrant. Was I actually considering moving in with him?
He matched me in intensity and focus, but not emotionally.
That was the only place he lacked maturity.
He cried and whined, openly and honestly.
It was unnerving because he looked so pitiful when he did.
It was irritating because whenever he broke open in front of me, something in me wanted to fix it. To comfort him.
I didn’t know if I wanted to deal with that. I wanted to be selfish for once. I had spent nearly twenty years being the woman who swallowed her own needs so someone else could breathe easier. I didn’t want to do that anymore.
I exhaled slowly. I wished my momma was here. She gave the best life advice, but she was gone.
I looked at my phone, thinking of calling Julian.
To hear the voice he used just for me. To say…
what? Thank you for tormenting my husband?
Or to fuck. I missed that. The way he fucked me like he was starving.
Sometimes he’d have me so strung out I felt the need to crawl inside his skin.
There wasn’t a single part of me he touched like he expected a tomorrow.
My stomach fluttered, heat curling low and deep. I slid the phone away too quickly. “No,” I whispered. “No, ma’am. We are not doing that tonight.”
Instead, I did what truly constituted self-care. I ordered an obscene amount of garlic butter crab legs from an overpriced seafood place and turned on Olivia Dean. I ate with my fingers, licking butter from my knuckles, not giving a single damn about etiquette.
The wine, the food, and the exhaustion hit me like a tide. I meant to just close my eyes for a second on the sofa while “Dive” played softly.
I woke to darkness. The music had stopped. The condo was silent, lit only by the ambient glow of the city through the windows. And I was warm. I was covered.
Confusion, thick and cottony from sleep, muddled my thoughts. I hadn’t grabbed a blanket. I’d fallen asleep with the lights on. I shifted, and the blanket slid down to my waist. I sat up, my heart beginning a slow, heavy thump.
A shadow moved in the armchair across from me.
“You drool in your sleep when you’re alone,” a familiar voice said, low and amused. I would have never known. I guess that’s the only time you relax.”
Julian.
He was in my home. In the dark. Watching me sleep.
Adrenaline burned through my grogginess. I fumbled for the lamp, clicking it on. The soft light revealed him lounging in my yellow boudoir chair as if he owned it. He was too big for it. He was in dark jeans and a grey tee, but his shoes were off, tucked neatly by the chair leg.
“What the hell?” My voice was a sleep-rasped croak. I glanced at the clock, it was 8:30 PM. “How did you get in here?”
He didn’t even have the decency to look contrite.
He just shrugged. “I have a copy of every key you have. Apartment, office, safety deposit box. I had them made three years ago, after the third time you fell asleep in my bed and muttered about ‘needing to leave before sunrise.’ I wanted to make sure I could always find you if you tried to disappear.”
The casual admission stole my breath. It was a staggering violation. “That’s—that’s breaking and entering! I could call the police!”
“You won’t,” he said, certain. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’d have to explain why the heir of Esmé Group has a key to your condo. I don’t mind, but your husband might. It could get messy for your precious ‘family’ brand.”
He had me in checkmate. I should have been furious, but I was stuck on the fact that he’d wanted me enough three years ago to plan for my escape.
“You know…” he said, his voice low, “three years ago wasn’t the first time we met.”
I tilted my head, waiting.
“You came to my school,” he continued, his eyes following my shape beneath the blanket. “The Accelerated Learning program. You and a bunch of other alumni came to talk to us. You stood on that stage so confident. So sure of who you were. You were beautiful.”
A beat passed.
“And I thought you were smart,” he went on, his voice tightening. “So capable. Untouchable. Then I grow up and find out you let people walk all over you. That you’re just…”
“Stop.” My voice was softer than I intended. I didn't want to hear the truth. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” he snapped. “Because I need to hear you say something that makes sense. Give me a reason that isn’t pathetic.”
I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. “I’m not like you, Julian. I don’t get to exist in a world of absolutes. I exist in the quagmire. You see a door and you kick it down. I have to calculate if the wall will collapse on me.”
“So you just live in misery? You’re not happy,” he shot back, his voice pained.
“Are you?” I asked quietly.
His eyes turned blazing. He looked away, his jaw working. “No.”
“Why not?”
He dragged a hand over his face. “Because you won’t fucking do what I want.”
A laugh escaped me. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like a toddler. ‘You won’t do what I want.’ That’s your grand tragedy?”
He glared at me, but there was no heat behind it. “When it comes to you, yes. It is.”
“That’s childish, Julian.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t infantilize me because you don't want to deal with what I'm actually saying.” He leaned closer.
“I want you. You're not with me. Therefore, I am unhappy.
It's logic. You're the one wrapping your misery in layers of obligation and debt, trying to make it seem noble.
Don't dress your misery up and call mine immature.”
He had a brutal, infuriating point.
“I've put you first,” he continued. “Before my pride. Before my instincts. For three years, I put what you needed ahead of what I wanted. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. My father bought me a hundred-thousand-dollar car when I was four because I said I wanted it. I’ve always been the first option.
But for you, I learned how to be second.
I let you walk away. I swallowed every single thing I am for you.
So don't you dare call me childish. A child takes.
I gave. And now I'm done giving on your terms.”
I rolled my eyes. He saw it.
“Elara.” My name was a warning. “Stop playing with me.”
“Baby, I’m not. I swear. I couldn’t help it because that was the most spoiled-rich-boy pivot ever. You basically told me, ‘My pain is more valid because I am unaccustomed to it.’”
His jaw ticked. His eyes went sharp and glassy—a warning sign I knew too well.
“I’m not belittling you,” I said carefully. “I understand. You bent in ways nobody ever asked you to before. I see that.”
He was waiting for the but.
“But... when my parents died, I had nothing. The Ashworths opened their door. They fed me, educated me. They didn’t have to do that. My momma loved and trusted Mr. Ashworth—he was her best friend. I can’t just randomly walk away.”
Julian was silent. “Okay. I’ll drop it after you answer one more question. In six months, are you really moving in with me?”
I held up my hand. “I swear I am. Just give me six months.”
He stared into my eyes, searching for a lie. He didn't find one. He sat back. “Okay.”
Before I could retort, he reached down and picked up a book from my table, Terry McMillan’s I Almost Forgot About You. I raised an eyebrow. “You got the sequel?”
“Yes. After Waiting to Exhale, I was hooked.”
He stood up. I braced myself, but he didn't come toward me.
Instead, he simply began to undress. He pulled his tee over his head, unbuckled his jeans, and stepped out of them, leaving him in just black boxer briefs.
He folded his clothes neatly on the chair, walked to the sofa, and lay down with his head in my lap.
He looked up at me, holding the book out. “Read to me.”
I was paralyzed. The heat of him seeped through my pajamas. He smelled like crisp air and something uniquely him.
“I… I will. But you can’t stay all night. Out by midnight.”
“I know,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Now read.”
I took the book and turned to the beginning . I began to read aloud. His breathing deepened, and his hand came up, his fingers tangling in the hem of my shirt, holding on to me as he drifted off.
I knew he wasn’t leaving. I was trapped. By his body, by his audacity.
It felt different than being trapped with the Ashworths. It felt like home.