Chapter Eleven
Julian
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Victor wasn’t supposed to be here.
I sat stiffly on the edge of the hotel bed, facing the window, shoulders locked, eyes unfocused. My suitcase sat perfectly unpacked by the dresser—my things untouched, my control slipping, thread by thread.
I couldn’t breathe.
Not properly.
Victor had called right before the shoot. Said he’d be flying in to “check on things.” His exact words, laced with quiet threat.
I wasn’t ready. I never was without my rituals. My armor.
At home, I had a routine. Order. I could wake up early, make tea, roll out the mat and stretch until my body and mind stopped clawing at the edges of panic. I could make breakfast the way I wanted—not the way Victor starved me into doing, but the way I liked—fresh, clean, controlled.
But here?
Here there was nothing.
No mat.
No quiet kitchen.
No familiar walls to hold me together.
Just this strange room.
And him.
Miles’s soft humming was behind me somewhere. His phone maybe. I didn’t care. I couldn’t care.
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, fighting the burn rising in my chest. Stop. Control it. You’ve done this before.
But my heart pounded faster. My throat tightened, too tight to swallow. My foot jiggled. Then my knee.
I stood. I couldn’t sit.
Pacing. Back and forth.
Five steps to the door. Turn. Five steps to the window. Turn.
Breathe.
I tried to count. Four in, four out. But my chest stuttered and skipped, pulling half breaths, not enough air, never enough—
“Julian?”
A voice behind me. Light. Concerned.
No. Not now.
I turned my back harder toward him, pressing my palm to the cool window, trying to anchor. Failing. My head spun. My skin felt too tight.
I kept pacing. Faster. My vision blurred at the edges. A cold sweat trickled down my neck. Stop. Control it.
A hand caught my shoulder.
Firm. Warm. Grounding.
I froze.
“Julian,” Miles began, stepping right in front of me. His hands came to my shoulders—solid, certain. His stupid sunshine face wasn’t smiling this time. It was serious. Careful.
“Breathe, Julian.”
My eyes squeezed shut.
No.
Not him. Not now.
But my body betrayed me. My chest jerked, catching on a ragged inhale. The air came in sharper, slower. Then again.
And again.
His thumbs pressed lightly into my shoulders, steadying me as my knees almost buckled. My breathing eased—just barely—enough to keep standing. Enough to not shatter completely.
A single tear slipped free, burning hot down my cheek. I let it fall. I couldn’t stop it.
I hated this.
Hated him for seeing.
But I could breathe.
“Good. Just like that,” Miles murmured. Quiet. Not pitying. Not fake. Just...there.
I gasped one more breath, shaky and bitter in my throat—and yanked myself away.
“Don’t,” I snapped, backing off fast. My voice cracked. My fists curled tight. I turned sharply to hide my face, wiping the tear from my skin like it burned.
“You don’t get to see this. No one does.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t step closer.
Smart boy.
I grabbed my phone, stalking to the bathroom, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
The walls were rebuilding fast. Higher. Thicker.
Because they had to.
Because if they didn’t...
I’d crumble.
And I don’t crumble.
Not for anyone.
The door clicked shut behind me.
Blessed silence.
I pressed my palms flat to the bathroom counter, chest still heaving, throat raw. The face in the mirror stared back—pale, shaken, a crack splitting down the middle.
Pathetic.
I turned the faucet on. Cold. Splashing the icy water over my face, over and over, until my skin stung and the memory of warm hands on my shoulders faded.
But it didn’t fade.
I could still feel him. The weight of his grip. The way his thumbs pressed gently—firm but not hard. Not controlling. Not like Victor.
God.
I gripped the edges of the sink tighter, knuckles white.
Why the hell had that worked? Why had I let him touch me? Why did it help?
I breathed out slowly. Forced it to even out. One breath. Two. I could do this without him. I always had.
But the ghost of his voice lingered.
Breathe, Julian.
Soft. Steady. Like someone who gave a damn.
I hated that it calmed me.
I hated that for three whole seconds, I felt...safe.
And I hated him most for that.
I wiped my face dry, staring hard into the glass. The walls were back. Solid. Cold. Just the way they were meant to be.
No more cracks.
I’d survive this week. Like always.
Alone.
I dried my face for the third time, dragging the towel down over my mouth to smother the shaky breath that refused to even out.
Control.
I needed it back. Now.
Miles’s hands still lingered on my skin like phantom heat. His voice—soft, low, steady—still rang in my ears.
Breathe, Julian.
God.
I shoved the towel aside and stared at my reflection. Paler than usual. Eyes dark under the soft lights.
I was fine.
I was fine.
No more cracks.
No more slipping.
I rolled my shoulders back, straightened my spine, and opened the door.
Miles shot up from where he sat on the bed. Wide-eyed. Nervous. Like a kid caught sneaking candy.
His gaze darted to mine. “Julian, I—look, I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to overstep or—or make things worse, I just—” He stumbled over the words, hands half raised like he wasn’t sure if he should gesture or shove them in his pockets.
“I just wanted to help. You looked like you couldn’t—breathe.
And I thought—I mean—I didn’t know what else to do. ”
He stopped, breathless.
I stared. Silent. Letting him ramble. Watching him squirm.
He looked ridiculous. Flushed and awkward and so painfully earnest.
But, I felt his hands. His voice. I breathed because of him. Even if I hated that truth. Even if I’d shoved him away after.
I let the quiet stretch. His nerves tangled tighter with every second.
Then I spoke. Low. Flat.
“Don’t do that again.”
His face fell.
“But...” I added, dragging the word slow, rough. My gaze flicked away for half a breath before settling back on him. “Thanks.”
Miles blinked. His mouth opened—then shut.
Surprised. But relieved. Like he’d just passed some secret test neither of us admitted to giving.
I turned away, grabbing my phone off the dresser, letting the wall slide right back into place.
That was it.
That was all he’d get.
For now.