Chapter 46
Julian
I walked into my new penthouse. The silence reminded me that she wasn’t there.
I hated it. The move from our place had been a tactical retreat—a new place to live with no ghosts, no lingering scent of her perfume, no memories in the walls.
To keep from thinking of her, I’d been working until my vision blurred, drinking until the world softened at the edges.
Anything to keep from doing the one thing my entire being screamed to do: go to D.C. and drag her back.
The door clicked shut behind me. I shrugged off my coat, the room dark except for the city bleeding in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Then I saw her. My heart sped up. What was she doing here? When had she come back?
She was curled in my leather armchair, a shadow within a shadow. For a dizzying second, I thought the bourbon had finally conjured her. A cruel, perfect hallucination.
My entire body went rigid. “What the hell are you doing here?” It came out hostile, though I felt my stomach unclench for the first time in a year.
She held up a book. I could just make out the title—Disappearing Acts.
“I know you don’t have this one,” she said, a trace of a smile in her tone.
“I stood in a freezing D.C. line for three hours. I even told the author a certain billionaire white boy was her biggest fan. She laughed. Hard. I think the title is apropos for our situation—at least the disappearing part.”
Against my will, the corner of my mouth twitched. I wanted to stay angry—I needed to stay angry—but seeing her felt like finding air after a year underwater. I couldn't give in yet. If I didn't set a boundary now, she’d keep walking over me until she walked out for good.
“How did you get in?”
“Your mother.” She set the book down gently on the side table. “We’ve been talking a lot this past year. She gave me the keys. She said you’ve been burning the midnight oil at the office. Drowning yourself in work.”
“I had to do something,” I bit out, the words sharper than I intended, “to keep myself from flying to D.C. and dragging you back here by your hair. It wouldn’t have ended well.”
“I know.” Her gaze held mine, unflinching. “That’s why I came. Before you did.” She took a slow breath. “And… thank you. For what you did. To the Ashworths. I heard… about everything.”
The gratitude, coming from her, felt like salt in an open wound. “I didn’t do it for your thanks,” I growled, finally stepping further into the room, the space between us crackling with a year of unsaid things. “I did it because you needed me to.”
“I know that, too.” She stood then, unfolding herself from the chair.
I took her in. She was wearing a frilly black lace skirt and a white blouse that she’d rolled the sleeves up on.
Her hair had grown, her hips were wider, and the dark circles under her eyes were gone.
She looked… softer. Clearer. Like she’d been rebuilt with stronger materials.
“We need to talk, Julian,” she said. “About why I left. I didn't mean to stay gone a year, but I was no good for you then. I was at a point where I just wanted to lay my burdens on you and stay in bed while you handled the world.”
“You could have,” I countered.
She shook her head. “But then what? How do I become someone worth the things you give me if I collapse the moment life gets heavy? I wanted to be a woman who could stand next to you, Julian. Not behind you. Not begging you to hold her together.”
Her voice trembled, but she didn’t look away. “I needed to go somewhere you couldn't reach me.”
A dry, bitter laugh escaped me. “And in the process, you forgot how to reach for me? I called you a thousand times.”
“I couldn’t answer. But I listened to every message.”
“Listening doesn't do a damn thing for a man who’s empty,” I snapped.
She stepped closer, until her fingers were inches from mine. “I know. I’m not asking you to pretend it didn’t hurt. I’m asking you to understand.”
She waited, her lip caught between her teeth. I had nothing left to say. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.
“Can we sit? Talk? No fighting, no performing. Just... us?”
I stared at her, the ache in my chest becoming unbearable. “No. I’m going to bed,” I said, my voice flat. I needed the dark to process the seismic shift of her being back.
She didn’t look hurt. Instead, a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “I'll go with you.”
“No.”
She laughed, a light, melodic sound. “It’s okay. Be mad. I’ll wait.”
She stepped toward me, closing the distance until I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “But just so you know,” she murmured, her voice dropping to an intimate, challenging whisper, “I’m taking a page from the Julian Hale playbook.”
Her fingers brushed the tense line of my jaw. The touch was light, but it sent a shockwave through my system.
“I’m back for good. You can sleep alone tonight, that’s fine.” Her smile turned wicked. “But I’m going to chase you now. And I’m very, very good at getting what I want.”
She rose onto her toes, slid her hand up the back of my neck, fingers threading into the hair. Then she kissed me.
Not with urgency. Not with an apology. But with a slow, deliberate softness that felt like a hand pressed to a bruise—gentle, but aware of exactly where it hurts.
Her mouth moved against mine with a confidence that made something in my chest stutter.
She kissed me like she already knew I forgave her, and my body relaxed like it had been waiting twelve months just to exhale into her.
She kissed me like there was no scenario in which I didn’t kiss her back—and when I kissed her back, she stopped.
She was teasing me, making me anticipate the next time.
Her lips ghosted mine as she retreated. Then she stepped away—unhurried—like she hadn’t just reached inside me and rearranged the organs.
She walked out the door and left me standing there, pulse staggering, breath tripping over itself, my heart clawing its way up from whatever grave I’d shoved it in.
And it was as if she’d never left. I flopped down on the sofa and picked up the book she’d gifted me and flipped to the signature page.
“To the billionaire who knows his heart, and the woman who finally found hers. Believe her when she says she’ll never disappear again.”