Julian’s Curse

Only 19

T here wasn’t anything fundamentally wrong with my home. On the surface, everything seemed fine. I always had food on the table, and my dad worked hard to provide for me, making sure I had the essentials—clothes, a roof over my head, and the things I needed to get by. He did his best to make sure I was taken care of, and of that, I was appreciative. But there was always a quiet sense of something missing. While the house was filled with the necessities of life, it lacked the warmth and connection that make a home feel truly alive. The kind of love and understanding that you can’t quite put into words, but you feel in every corner of your heart, was something we struggled to find.

So, per usual, returning home often pushed me to the brink of despair. It was winter break from college, a time when everyone else seemed to be wrapped in the warmth of holiday cheer, yet our house felt as cold and unwelcoming as the weather outside itself. My stepmother had a way of chipping away at me, no matter how hard I tried to keep my composure. It didn’t matter what kind of attitude I brought with me—she knew of ways to break me down anyway.

“Writing doesn’t make money,” my father shouted when I told him I wanted to pursue an English major. “Pick something practical—law, accounting, or med school. Please. I’m not paying for anything else.” His words stung, not just because of the dismissal of my passion, but because they felt like a door slamming shut on my identity.

I understood that, deep down, a part of him genuinely cared about my future and wanted me to be secure in life. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t change who I was at my core. Language had always been my passion. From the moment I could form sentences, I found solace and meaning in words. I kept journals as a child, scribbling down my frustrations, my aspirations, and the world I was trying to make sense of. When Mom passed away, poetry became my refuge—a way to capture the raw, complicated emotions I couldn’t express any other way, all distilled into a few lines. If I felt such a strong pull to writing, it had to be right for me.

And even if I could agree with Dad, I couldn’t picture spending my life in court, following laws that always seemed too limited, too flawed to truly serve justice. I also had no desire to spend my days adding up numbers in some office, watching the hours slip by. And being a doctor? That was never even a consideration. I could barely handle the sight of blood—my own blood during a simple draw was enough to make me dizzy, let alone someone else’s.

“When you end up as a teacher making less than 30k, don’t call me to borrow money,” he said bitterly. “You’re just like your mother—so na?ve. You need to become realistic.”

“Yes, your mother was a bitch that exploited your father for money,” my stepmom chimed.

I wanted to punch her in the face so badly, except I wasn’t violent enough to do so. My first instinct was to run to Gram’s house, but I didn’t want to burden her with my pain again. With only a few days left in Christmas break before returning to my dorm, I stayed put, relieved that Federal Loans would cover my school expenses. But I wasn’t totally oblivious to my father’s point. I knew studying literature wasn’t the quickest route to a high-paying job, and paying off those loans could be tough per his prediction. The thought of it made me loathe myself.

“I’m so disappointed in you,” he spat, slamming his fist on the table. “And with that loser you’re seeing too—thinking he can make a living playing the piano.” With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there. Through the living room window, I watched him get into his Lexus and drive away, the silence enveloping me like a suffocating fog.

On a random note, it suddenly hit me how our house was completely empty of any pictures of Mom. My stepmother had taken them all down as soon as she moved in, replacing those memories with her own. Nothing in the house felt familiar anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t have even been here at all then. Without waiting for her response, I sprinted upstairs to grab my phone and quickly packed the small suitcase I had brought home for the break. I hadn’t planned to stay long anyway.

You okay? James texted to my Blackberry.

Not even close , I replied, not needing to explain how lately, life felt like hell. Fear had gripped me so tightly it was paralyzing.

I am coming to pick you up , he let me know. You’re not alone in this. My family would love to have you over for the holidays, Lucie.

This was the first time I realized that love could, in some way, save me. Without James, the day would have felt much darker and lonelier. But with him, it became an adventure, and at least I knew what came next. He had a way of helping me stop overthinking, which, for an introvert, felt like a lifeline.

Within ten minutes, James’s 2003 Discovery Land Rover pulled up in front of my father’s house. He stepped out, leaning against the truck with a cigarette in hand—a bad habit he should quit. It was the 2010s, when smoking still seemed common, especially among those who didn’t think too much about the consequences.

For a moment, I watched him through the window, indulging in a fleeting moment of voyeurism, allowing myself to analyze him from a distance. James Stone had an edge to him that I liked a lot. Rebellious energy lingered around him like a cloud of smoke, while he effortlessly balanced two sides of himself: the creativity of an artist and the precision of a mathematician. He exuded a quiet, dangerous confidence—something about it, combined with his messy brown hair, sharp jawline, and eyes that always seemed to be sizing things up, had the power to crush hearts. My classmates flocked to him because he had a way of making you feel like the world was yours—if only you could see it through his eyes.

He also had a rare patience, waiting for me without complaint—something most guys wouldn’t bother with. The two of us had been in a relationship for almost a year, yet we had stayed just a bit more than friends. We kissed passionately, and made out, but I still wasn’t ready to cross the first base with him. Sometimes, I wondered if James had other girls on the side to satisfy his needs, but it didn’t seem like it—at least not right now. He appeared genuinely invested in me, despite my own hesitations. I often found it ironic that the biggest prude in our class, myself, was dating a notorious bad boy. But that was also the thing—bad boys often had surprising depth and a sharp intelligence beneath their tough exterior. At least, that’s how it seemed to me. It felt like there was a pattern there, one that perhaps science hadn’t quite figured out yet.

“Oh, Lucie,” he pulled me into a hug the moment I approached the car. As I buried my face in his chest, I caught a glimpse of my stepmom through the window. I was pretty sure I saw her lips move, muttering something along the lines of, “The trash takes itself out.” I wiped my tears. “I hate her,” I spoke about my stepmom and he immediately knew.

I brought you something to cheer you up,” he ignored her with nonchalance, nodding toward a box filled with an assortment of flavored Trident gum on the passenger seat. The sight of it shifted my mood. How long had he spent collecting these? There was Original Mint, Spearmint, Tropical Twist, Watermelon, Wintergreen, Fruit Rush, Tropical Fruit, and even a limited-edition Pina Colada I’d lately liked the most. Chewing gum had become a small comfort for me, and he’d clearly noticed.

“So thoughtful of you,” I grabbed the box with a genuine smile as I settled into the passenger seat. He shut the door behind me and walked around to the driver’s side. “Let’s get you out of here.” He sank into his seat with an effortless ease, his composure unwavering.

Neither one of us said anything else, while he blasted deep, emotional piano music from the speakers. It was his constant companion, his beautiful obsession. He’d won the Seattle International Piano Competition, and it seemed like he’d be on his way to Juilliard for grad school. I wondered if life would eventually separate us and how I’d cope. Would I be able to let go when the time came? I pushed it aside for the moment, wanting to stay in the present.

He revved the engine, and we were finally driving away from the house of nightmares.

“Lucie, I care.” He sent me a side glance. “I’ll always be here for you.”

It sounded like a promise. Maybe even a vow.

I felt a deep sense of shame, realizing that everything I owned was packed into one suitcase. With the school dining hall closed for the winter, I knew I’d need to make money soon. Even buying meals could soon become a struggle, but there was always the possibility of finding an off-campus job that paid more. Then again, because of my eating disorder, I didn’t eat much. Lately, I’d become unable to touch anything that nourished my body. It was possible to smart and dumb at the same time when it came to my disease.

“Why don’t we stop by Jack in the Box?” He proposed as if he could read my mind.

A burger truly sounded amazing—juicy, warm, with melted cheese and all the toppings piled high. But I hesitated. This wasn’t in line with the resolution I’d made to stick to low calorie foods. Yet, he made it so tempting. Not just the idea of going out, but the idea of living without guilt in general.

“I love curves on you, Lucie,” he swallowed, his voice steady and sincere. “I wouldn’t mind a few extra pounds on you.” His tone remained firm, yet gentle, as if he truly cared about my well-being. “I mean, you’re hot as hell already, but you know…”

Did he know how deeply this touched me? I’d always felt the pressure to be perfect. I had to stick to a strict gym routine, apply heavy makeup every morning—anything to gain acceptance. Only when I caught those admiring, even ogling, looks from others did I feel adequate. The idea of having any flab, anywhere, terrified me. It was as if my worth depended on being flawless. And yet, in that moment, he had completely erased that toxic notion. Because having his acceptance meant everything to me right then. He made me feel like I was enough, just as I was. Nobody, except for mom, a long time ago, had done that for me.

“Sounds good, let’s eat,” I grinned.

James was too smart to ever pressure a girl to change her body for him. But he had become aware of my struggle, and being the gentleman that he was, he wouldn’t say it directly. Instead, he dropped subtle hints, hoping I would understand that my healing was important to him. “Great, let’s go to the airport after that,” he suggested.

He was in the process of getting his Cessna license, and flying was something he couldn’t wait to share with me. The excitement in his voice was palpable as if every lesson brought him closer to a dream he was eager to live out with me there. I was almost beginning to believe that he could be my happy ending. After all, Grandpa and Grandma met when they were around our age. If he did end up going to Juilliard, could I move to New York with him?

“I love you,” he said, catching me off guard.

I gave him a glance, marveling at his statement. Yes, I could picture myself in the Big Apple. “I love you too,” I quickly echoed. But it was bittersweet. For the rest of the drive, I stared out of the window of his Discovery, watching as the scenery quickly disappeared behind us, the landscape blurring into a haze of colors and shapes. Still, like The Dharma Bums said in Jack Kerouac, I felt like I had nothing to offer except my own confusion.

I lay in bed, feeling almost lifeless. The intensity of the flashback to the old days with James caught me by surprise. My positive memories of him had remained buried somewhere deep in my subconscious until now, like fragments of a past I shouldn’t revisit. In that quiet moment, just before dawn, I realized something important. Everything that had happened to me—good or bad—was part of the journey that shaped me into the person I was today. And though I no longer recognized the insecure, broken girl I once was, I still understood her. I felt compassion for her pain, as if she were a part of me I could never truly leave behind.

It was probably time to finally face the articles about me and James, just to get a sense of the damage and see how far the fallout had spread. So, after making a cup of coffee with precisely 200 mg of caffeine, and settling back into bed, I googled my name along with Julian’s. The softness of the morning shattered instantly, like ice water splashed in my face, leaving me disoriented.

Lucie Benton Gets an Abortion After Breakup with Billionaire Valmont: A Heartbreaking Decision

Contrary to my expectation, the articles about James and me weren’t the most important news of the day, this was. I shot out of bed, a claw of shock snatching the breath from my lungs.

If Julian found these articles first, he’d be devastated. My mind raced, fueled by sudden regret. The thought of him reading about this before I could explain, before I could even try to make sense of it all, was unbearable. Why hadn’t I seen this coming, knowing well enough how tabloids chased every story?

Frantically, I dialed his rehab center, my hands trembling as I tried to push aside the gnawing thought that Oliver still had no answers about Sophie. Everything lately felt infinitely wrong—no matter how hard I tried to steady myself, more chaos kept coming at me. Then with that came a wave of nausea, a reminder that I was in fact carrying Julian’s child. Unexpectedly, I felt a pop of bubbles in my underbelly, which couldn’t have been the baby’s movement yet, but it was distinctly different from how I normally felt. “Hi, this is Lucie Valemont. I am calling to see if I can speak with Julian, the passcode is 4222.” I muttered. “He’s been at your facility for almost a month now.” As if I needed to remind them who the famous billionaire was. The staff at this place probably had to sign some of the strictest NDAs they’d ever read.

“Hi Lucie,” answered a pleasant voice. “Actually, Julian’s just checked out unexpectedly this morning.”

My stomach dropped. This was definitely not how I had planned things. Now, I had no idea how to reach him, especially since I still had his phone. Was he on his way home now? Something told me that with Julian, things were about to get far more complicated than I could imagine. He was probably furious, assuming I’d gone through with the abortion without even telling him.

“Do you know where he was headed?”

“No, he left quite abruptly. We’ve tried to convince him to continue the program for another few months but it became impossible.” She let me know apologetically. “Our guests are free to leave anytime.”

There was no doubt that Julian had read the news, and that’s why he was no longer in Palm Springs. I needed to call Oliver about Sophie anyway, so hopefully he’d know how to get in touch with him. I thanked the rehab assistant, then ended the call, next dialed Oliver’s number. He almost always picked up my calls on the first ring.

“Miss Benton.” He answered instantly as I’d expected.

“Oliver, I tried to call the rehab but Julian’s checked out. Do you know if he is using a new number?”

“I will text it to you,” he assured me, then paused. Likely, he had many questions for me but he hesitated to ask…

I sighed with relief, nevertheless. “I know you’re focused on finding Sophie, and that’s really the most important thing. Any news on that?” I urged, still immensely embarrassed about the headlines.

“Actually,” he said in a promising tone. “I have one strong lead for her disappearance.”

“You do?” I suddenly felt a rush of hope, despite how grim the rest of my situation seemed. I hadn’t honestly expected him to move so quickly—after all, when it came to my car accident the previous year, we’d been stuck in a standstill with no leads for what felt like forever. This was different. There was momentum now, and with that came a flicker of hope.

“We’ve been running some phone logs from the area where Mark reported her going that evening,” his voice remained steady despite the weight of the information. “There’s one phone that’s been used in the area, and it belongs to her former colleague, Jessica Doutzen.”

The words hit me like a cold wave. Jessica. Of all people. The name alone stirred up a mix of confusion and unease—why had she been in that area? And what did it mean for Sophie?

“I don’t believe it’s just a coincidence,” he continued, his tone even but firm. “I’ve interviewed Amanda Hart, and it seems like the two girls had a falling out. Do you have any more information on this?”

“Sure, Oliver. Jessica got fired. At one point, she told Sophie that Mark, her boyfriend at the time, had a hidden dating profile. It was pretty petty, honestly. But Sophie took it seriously. So, she broke up with Mark because of Jessica’s story, and it took like a year for them to connect again.” I then shared with him the story about the strange letter she’d sent to Mark.

“Excellent,” he seemed satisfied with my explanation.

“Do we know anything else?” I queried anxiously.

“Not yet, but I am driving to her house at the moment. I am working with the investigators to see if we could request a search warrant. It’s my goal to get them enough facts so they can do so.”

“I am so grateful for your help Oliver.”

“Miss Benton, about the news,” he switched subjects, his tone remaining calm. “I wish you’d let me know sooner, so we could figure out how to address it with the public.” I could sense his frustration with my decision to handle it alone, and I knew he was right. Keeping everything under wraps had never been easy, but now that the story was out, the damage control felt like it was already slipping through our fingers.

“I meant to deal with things in private. I hope you understand, Oliver. I am sorry how this impacted Julian’s business.”

“Yes, Will spoke to me about your sudden trip to East County.”

To my relief, he didn’t ask what part of the story was true or not. But knowing him, he’d probably collected much of the information himself already.

“Do you know how much Julian knows?”

“He’s found out from his PR lady about the articles. She’s not too happy, let me just say it gently.” He acknowledged with brutal honesty.

Something told me that Oliver hadn’t gone as far as telling everything he knew to Julian. This was far too personal for him to throw me under the bus like that. “I’ll give him a call now, and I’ll talk to you later,” I ended our conversation. I didn’t need to remind him to keep me updated on Sophie—I knew he’d do that without being asked.

Almost instantly, I dialed Julian’s new number. A heavy rock settled in the pit of my stomach as each ring stretched on, feeling like eternity. Just as I’d anticipated, he didn’t pick up and it went straight to voicemail. “Hey Julian, it’s Lucie. I meant to tell you everything before the articles came out, but then Sophie disappeared. I am not sure you know she’s missing. Please call me back soon.” I ended my voicemail.

Then, I took a seat in our living room, randomly waiting to hear the familiar, rambunctious roar of the Huracan’s engine. Would he call? Would he come home eventually? Knowing it was a terrible idea if I wanted to keep my sanity, I decided to Google the rest of the articles to assess the damage to my reputation. The headlines flashed on the screen, each one more damning than the last.

Is Lucie Benton, Girlfriend of Billionaire Julian, Reigniting Romance with Pop Star James Stone?

Abortion Before Breakup: Love Rekindled for Lucie Benton with Pop Star James Stone?

Too Many Men in Lucie Benton’s Life: Who’s the Father?

James Stone Writes Music for His Muse, Lucie Benton: A Love That Never Faded

I didn’t think it was possible to get myself into a more embarrassing situation, let alone have it play out in front of the whole world. I’d need a hazmat suit just to navigate my own life at this point. And with all these scandals swirling around, the chances of Julian coming home were about as likely as me winning the lottery. I knew his personality, and that he always pulled away when he was hurt.

Anxious, I texted him again. I love you. I need to tell you what really happened. I did not get an abortion.

But there was no answer. Julian was usually glued to his phone, and it never took him long to reply, so his silence spoke volumes. He was definitely pissed. As my stomach was more sensitive these days, my nausea hit once again. I grabbed the Preggie Pops—bonbon-like candies Sophie had sent me through Amazon—hoping they’d offer some relief. But just seeing them made me think about Sophie’s situation, and whether she was even still alive. The thought pushed me over the edge, and I broke down into uncontrollable sobs, my fear for her life reaching unbearable levels.

At that moment, a knock echoed at the door. For a brief instant, I let myself believe it might be her—maybe, just maybe, God, in whatever form I understood Him (which wasn’t much), would finally free me from this endless nightmare. I hurried to the door, my face swollen and flushed. Eager to see her, I checked the camera, only to feel a surge of frustration as I saw who stood on the other side. The sudden realization that it wasn’t Sophie hit me like a blow, and the identity of my unexpected visitor only deepened the shock.

It was James Stone. From the looks of it, he was alone—or at least, there was no sign of his security entourage. He looked just as I remembered, though now he carried a bit more of that boy band pop star flair, the kind of polished charm that seemed to radiate from famous people. What the hell was he doing here?

In haste, I threw on a floral bathrobe to cover my undergarments—barely enough to be decent, but it was all I could manage in the rush. After all, he’d seen more of me before.

“James,” I popped the door open.

“Jesus, Lucie, you could have at least given me a warning.” A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his voice light and unruffled. It was clear that the news hadn’t fazed him in the slightest. James had always been different from the others—where most would react with shock, curiosity, or judgment, he remained stoic. Whether it was a personal scandal, a new piece of juicy gossip, or the latest school drama, he approached it all with a detached calm, as though he were an outsider watching the frenzy unfold from a distance, unaffected by the tide of opinions that swept through the crowd.

“I didn’t realize the press knew about my trip to the clinic, but it’s not what the headlines say,” I muttered, feeling the weight of it. I figured that’s what he was referring to—his name dragged into the mess, now linked to an abortion.

“I’m sorry they found out, Lucie,” his gaze swept over me before scanning the apartment, as if looking for signs of how my life had shifted since he left.

“James, it wasn’t the wisest thing for you to come here,” I pointed out.

His sharp eyes met mine, intense and unflinching. “I needed to see you, Lucie. We’ve always had a sixth sense about each other. And from the looks of it, you aren’t alright.”

I sighed. “Not when you were seeing Andrea,” I retorted. I needed to remind him of why our relationship ended. Pinpricks of anger vibrated beneath my chest.

“I was an addict back then. I made a million mistakes that I regret. Can we talk?”

He looked genuinely apologetic, but I’d already accepted an apology in the past. There really was no good reason for him to come here in the first place.

I stepped back but he stepped closer, the space between us narrowing with every movement. Then, I spotted Will in the background, his expression clear—basically asking me if he should take him out. I didn’t have the heart. James was still an important person in my history, and he’d been there for me through some bad times.

“Fine,” I agreed, inviting him in for some privacy, then shut the door on Will. We needed to talk about how he was handling his PR anyway. I led him up to the kitchen, where I poured him and myself a coffee. We both drank it black, outward evidence of our intense souls. I opted for decaf.

Still standing at the counter, I initiated a conversation. “I can’t be the girl who inspires your music. It’s not fair to Julian and to me.” Momentarily, I placed my hand over my stomach. From the way things were shaping up, he’d likely be the father of my child. Deep down, I knew I was starting to love the little one in my belly—perhaps too much to ever consider ending its life.

“Lucie, don’t lie about your life. You can’t be okay here with him,” I almost thought he’d brush the tendrils from my face like he used to, but I wouldn’t have let him anyway.

“And why is that, James? Because I found happiness without you?” I could be sharp-tongued when I wanted.

Judging from his expression, I’d managed to injure him. Still, he wasn’t giving up on the conversation. “I don’t need saving.” My irritation grew.

“Maybe you don’t know you need saving,” he retorted, his tone hinting at something important. “I was at a house party yesterday, Lucie.” He began what seemed to be a story. By that, he probably meant a lavish party with a few famous people mixed in. I swallowed because I already had a good idea of where this conversation was going.

“I chatted up a girl named Jazmin Williams,” he continued. “She’s a rising model, and it’s Julian’s talent agency that represents her.”

I lifted my eyebrow. Julian owned a talent agency in Hollywood as part of his investments. Rose constantly nudged him to sell it, though it was doing exceptionally well. Unfortunately, I also knew he’d pulled quite a few past girlfriends from it.

James paused, contemplating taking a seat, but then decided against it—he hadn’t been invited. “Look, I’m worried about you. You’ve always had self-destructive tendencies, but he’s beyond that. I know about the coke.”

Acid filled my mouth, at the thought of what he was about to say next.

“Why did you come here, James?” I narrowed my eyes, trying to see past his facade.

“Lucie,” he said gently, as if every word was laced with care. It almost seemed like he was about to reconsider telling me.

“What do you know?” Now that he knew about Julian’s problem, I needed to know what else was out there.

“Jazmin’s been doing drugs with him. She’s an ex-stripper who became huge after Julian’s agency discovered her. Apparently, he handpicked her himself.”

The name felt like a knife lodged in my chest. At this point, the anger inside me started to burn, pure and explosive. Jazmin? So, Julian had a female companion for his habits? Did he sleep with her at any point and not tell me? But I certainly wasn’t going to show James he’d hit me in my Achilles heel.

“Look, James, my private life is none of your business,” I snapped, my voice shaky, a mix of embarrassment. “You need to leave.”

He extended his hand to take mine. “I am here for you, like I once promised.”

I refused it, tears now welling up in my eyes.

“I will always feel awful about how things ended. I write about you in my music, because there’s no other girl I’ve ever known who has your kindness and sweetness combined.”

Was he shaking? I couldn’t tell if it was the words or the weight of the past that had him visibly affected. Damn, he’d really come here changed.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, James knew me through and through. He understood my reactions, my defenses, the way I’d lash out when I was hurt. “I know,” I mustered a response. Of course, there’d always be a part of me that would love him too, for everything that we’d been through before it blew up in our faces. “I have forgiven you,” I added. “But you can’t go around saying I am the inspiration for your music anymore. Please, James.”

He took another step toward me as if he’d stepped out of a memory long gone. And for some reason, I didn’t flinch away. It was as though I was revisiting my past, but from a completely different angle, seeing it through new eyes. It felt like a strange reconciliation, a chance to view everything we’d shared without the bitterness. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t just looking back—I was re-seeing it all. His lips hovered just inches from mine, his gaze intense, as if he were drinking me in—each fleeting moment, each subtle shift of my expression. The air between us thickened, charged with something unsaid, something that hung heavily in the space we shared. Had he tried to lean in, I would have yanked myself away. But he didn’t make a move. “I am sorry, Lucie,” he whispered, his voice thick with regret. “But it’s the truth; I think about you each time I sit down to write music.”

My blood thrummed louder. It was just then that I suddenly heard the faint click of the lock, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps in the hallway. The noise was subtle but enough to send a jolt of panic through me. I knew his routine by heart, the subtle rhythm of his movements, the way the door would creak when he walked in, the shuffle of his shoes on the floor. I knew the sound of him settling in—how he’d drop his keys, toss his coat over the chair.

I turned away from James, my heart pounding in my chest, and quickly walked toward the staircase. “Julian,” I whispered, swallowing hard as the name caught in my throat.

James flinched, then realized who had just walked in. Julian came toward us, the embodiment of a powerful, no-nonsense entrepreneur. Dressed in his sharp suit, tall and commanding, he exuded an aura of authority and danger—someone who didn’t mess around and got things done his way. His glare—ready to melt the gold frames on the wall—now burned everything in its path.

First, he gazed up at me without saying a word, his silence almost louder than anything he could have said. In that brief exchange, I felt it—the raw connection we’d always had, the kind of bond that wasn’t easily severed by time or distance. It wasn’t just familiarity; it was something deeper, an invisible bond that had always existed between us as if our souls had been tethered together long before this lifetime. Even with the intensity of his anger, I felt unafraid, as though I had the ability to diffuse it with just my presence.

But with that depth came discomfort, because Julian held the power to mirror back to me parts of myself that I wasn’t always ready to face. He didn’t just reflect who I was in the surface-level sense, but he revealed the shadows—those hidden fears, insecurities, and unresolved wounds that I’d long tried to bury. And right now, it was more than that; it was the raw, justified tangled mess of emotions that surged within. I felt insecure about Jazmin’s role in his life, certain that James hadn’t lied about it. I pursed my lips, now feeling like I had every right to be upset myself.

A muscle flexed in Julian’s jaw when he noticed James. “You can’t be serious, Lucie,” he growled, next, his eyes scanning my outfit with an intensity that made me feel exposed. It certainly wasn’t doing me any favors. I knew exactly what it looked like—disheveled, unkempt as if I’d had company overnight. “James came to visit me this morning,” I attempted an explanation, even though I wasn’t sure if Julian deserved it after me learning about Jazmin.

“I better head out,” James murmured, his voice tinged with apology directed at me. For a brief moment, I could see the hesitation in his eyes, as if he were debating whether to add, “Call for help, if you need,” but he wisely held back, sensing the fragile tension of the moment. But Julian had already caught his glance. His eyes narrowed, the unspoken tension between them suddenly palpable. “What the fuck are you doing in my house with my girl?” He roared.

This wasn’t going to be an easy exit…

“Bro, you need to calm down,” James stepped back with his hands slightly raised in a gesture of peace. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “I came to talk with Lucie about the mess online, while you were busy most likely snorting drugs somewhere.”

Bad choice of words. With a furious growl, Julian lunged at James, using all his strength to try and pin him against the wall. But James wasn’t a stranger to physical confrontation. He’d been in his fair share of fights, and he was quick to react. As Julian’s body collided with his, he twisted out of the way, his reflexes sharp and practiced.

“Stop, let him go” I tried to grab Julian by the arm.

“Get out of the way, Lucie.” He ordered me, and I couldn’t help but notice he put his hand protectively over my stomach.

“You want a fight, we can have a fight,” James seemed now ready for a confrontation. The air around them crackled with aggression, and I could feel the pulse of danger in my chest as they circled one another.

A sickening crunch ripped the air, followed by a howl. James’s blood spurted everywhere.

“I know enough about how you treated Lucie to know that I’ll never let you come close to her,” Julian’s voice was cold, but his words hit with the force of a slap. “You’re not welcome in our home.” Though powerful, he was fueled by emotion, and I hoped it wouldn’t cloud his judgment to do something that would result in a lawsuit.

“Julian, it’s fine, I put that behind me,” I said softly. “He’s going to leave now.” Julian was referring to the incident when James broke my phone and hurt my wrist while trying to restrain it.

James, still reeling from the tension and physical struggle, stood frozen for a second, the gravity of the accusation sinking in. His mouth opened, but no words came out—he knew better than to try and justify himself now. Just then, Julian aimed another punch at him, and he barely ducked in time, the punch missing by mere inches. The force of the swing sent Julian off balance for a brief moment, but he quickly regained his stance, his eyes locked on James with a renewed fury. James didn’t waste a second, his body reacting instinctively. He sidestepped, putting distance between them, his chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.

“I care about her,” James exclaimed, his voice sharp. He showed no signs of fear, while the potent smell of blood filled the air. Next, he took a step closer, his posture firm. “At least I’m not leading her on, as I keep prostitutes on the side. Don’t pretend you’re a saint, Valmont.”

My pulse drummed. This was not going to end well. And whose side was I on? If what James said was right, he’d come with the intention to help. Julian lounged at him again, this time managing to hit James hard enough so he sank to the ground, his jaw bleeding enough to send him to the ER right away.

“Please stop now,” I cried out desperately. I ran to James, while I tried to pick him up.

“Get out of the way, please, Lucie.” Julian rolled up his sleeves as if he was just beginning the fight. Clearly, he’d come here to get his retribution.

James took a few seconds to gather himself as Julian watched him with narrowed eyes, his expression darkening like a predator sizing up its next move. There was loads of blood on our white carpet now. The two of them remained locked in their tense standoff. The silence felt heavier now, as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting for someone to speak, to make sense of the chaos that had exploded here. But no one moved. Both of them breathed hard, the tension between them thickening with every labored inhale. James stood up again, and I stepped away, giving up on involvement in this. This time around, it was him who punched first. He wasn’t backing down, “I am not giving up on Lucie.” He attempted to punch Julian, and he succeeded with a weak result.

Julian’s gaze was sharp, his fists clenched at his sides now, the veins in his neck standing out with the force of his anger. There was something wildly inappropriate about seeing an entrepreneur like him, in his suit, so roughed up with splatters of blood. The sharp, crisp lines of his tailored blazer were rumpled, the collar of his shirt undone, and a few dark smudges marred the otherwise pristine fabric. I made another attempt to grab him by the arm, but I wouldn’t try to restrain him. James was a strong opponent and I couldn’t tell if he was contemplating another blow.

“Please just stop this, both of you,” I begged.

“No, Lucie.” Julian’s response was sharp, almost cold, his gaze flicking to me for a brief moment before locking onto James. He stood his ground, unafraid, the simmering anger still radiating off him. “It’s my goddamn business that this wannabe popstar is writing songs about my fiancée and announcing it to the media for his own publicity.”

Julian’s protective instinct was on full display, but the way he spoke, the way he viewed James—like some sort of enemy or threat to what he thought was his—felt almost comforting to me.

“It’s my goddamn business he’s inserting himself into the relationship with my future wife.” He scanned James like he was ready to finish him off.

“I am leaving now. For you.” James glanced at me. “I can’t see you suffer like this,” his voice was low, almost breaking, as he turned his back to us. He started walking toward the staircase, his steps measured, as if he were trying to make this moment as dignified as possible. “I love you, Lucie. I always have,” He muttered somberly.

An odd ache gripped my chest.

It was only then, when his back was turned and the distance between us started to grow, that I realized it—the way his eyes had glistened was more than just an injury from the fight. There was something in them that I hadn’t seen before, something raw and vulnerable, like the weight of everything we had gone through had finally caught up with him. Like he’d truly come here to save me from harm’s way.

“You ever come close to her, in any way—even if just insinuating her name in public—the two of us won’t be done yet,” Julian threatened, his voice like ice, cutting through the tension that hung thick in the air. There was no hesitation, no room for negotiation. He meant every word, and there was an edge to him now that made it clear he wasn’t bluffing.

In a strange way, I almost welcomed it, because I didn’t want these declarations of love from my ex. And he just wasn’t getting the message. I also had zero interest in being the internet’s mystery girl.

Julian’s eyes slid to me once the door slammed shut. The tension in the air was thick, but it wasn’t until then that I realized my face was wet, with more tears streaming down my cheeks. His hard jawline softened, his movements swift and urgent like he couldn’t bear to see me like this for another second. But instead of pulling me into an embrace, like I might have expected, he kneeled in front of me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my heart ache. He took my hands into his, his grip firm but gentle, as if he were trying to ground both of us.

“Is it true?” He swallowed. “You’re having our baby?”

I again wondered how much he knew already. Julian didn’t rely on tabloids for his information—Oliver’s team was always gathering intel for him, keeping him in the loop on things.

“I meant to tell you,” I started, my voice shaky, “but I couldn’t find the strength. Julian, I don’t know if we can do this—keep this baby.” My voice broke. “The doctors are saying it would most likely be fine, but there’s a lot of research saying otherwise. I am scared because this all didn’t start right.” It was a huge relief to finally tell him the truth.

His thumbs brushed over my skin, soothing in the way only he could, though the rawness in his eyes told me that he was just as torn apart by everything as I was. There was something deeply vulnerable in the way he held me—like he didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t stand to see me sad anymore.

For a moment, we both just hugged, the silence floating in the space between us. It was like time had slowed, like all the noise and chaos outside the room had faded away, and it was just us. Julian’s eyes finally searched mine, filled with questions, guilt, and regret. “Lucie...” he whispered, his voice hoarse, as if speaking my name was all he could manage. “I’d love to be a father. I want this with you more than anything despite the timing.”

My chest, already tight from my pregnancy, heaved with each breath. “I also don’t know if I’m ready myself, you know.” The words tumbled out in a rush, each one heavy with the weight of everything I hadn’t said, everything that had been building up inside me. “But I love this little thing inside more than I could ever imagine. I couldn’t do it when I went. I couldn’t go through with the abortion.”

Would he be upset that I tried to take things into my own hands? Was it weak of me to try to hide it from him?

It didn’t seem like Julian harbored any bitterness toward my actions. Without a word, he kissed me on the forehead, both of us still kneeling on the floor. His arms wrapped around me, a steady, grounding presence amidst the chaos. And for a moment, as I clung to him, I allowed myself to feel the smallest bit of relief, even if just for the briefest of seconds. The weight of the world hadn’t disappeared, but in his arms, I felt less alone.

“I love you, Lucie. It’s your body and your decision,” He whispered softly, his voice full of quiet conviction. He held me tighter, his hands gently cradling my face as I continued to sob, the tears soaking his shirt. “And I’ll be there for every moment of it.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead, his lips warm and tender against my skin, a silent promise that spoke volumes. “I’m ready for all of it with you—the pain, the happiness, and even our darkest of griefs.”