Chapter Twelve
Julian
I hated mornings.
I hated them more when Victor was near.
And now, trapped in this hotel room with Miles Bennett breathing too loud on the other side, I hated them the most.
“Do you have to sigh that much this early?” I snapped, slinging my jacket over my shoulder and shooting him a sideways glare. He’d done nothing—of course he hadn’t—but the tension under my skin itched for a target.
Miles blinked at me, toothbrush halfway to his mouth, foam dotting his lower lip. “Uh...sorry?” he mumbled, confused.
God. I rubbed the heel of my palm against my eye. His face was too soft. Too awake. Like he didn’t understand how bad this day already was shaping up to be.
He moved to grab something from his bag, and the rustling sound of his clothes scraping together made my jaw clench tight.
“Could you not make so much noise?” I muttered, sharper than I meant to. “Christ.”
Miles glanced at me but said nothing. Good. He was learning.
The zipper on his duffel caught for half a second and made that screeching sound metal teeth made when they fought each other.
I stiffened. “Seriously? You can’t even close a bag without waking the whole damn floor?”
His quiet “sorry” came out small, almost unsure, and for a moment I felt something coil low in my gut—guilt or annoyance, I couldn’t tell. Probably both.
But I couldn’t stop. I was wired, burning from the inside. Victor was here. Waiting. Watching. And Miles was breathing wrong.
Even in the elevator, the silence pressed in, and my leg bounced like it had a mind of its own. I crossed my arms, staring straight ahead, jaw tight.
I felt Miles glance at me once. Twice.
“Are you okay—”
“Don’t.” My voice cut him off like a blade. “Not today, Bennett.”
He stiffened but nodded. Stayed quiet. Good. He was smart enough to leave it.
But as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, that awful, familiar weight settled in my chest.
The car was too quiet.
Not even Miles dared to fill the silence now. For once.
I slid into the seat beside him, arms crossed tight over my chest, jaw clenched hard enough to make my temples throb. My leg bounced—nonstop—heel tapping a frantic rhythm against the floorboard. Couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t focus.
Victor’s here.
Victor’s waiting.
And you didn’t do your yoga.
Didn’t stretch. Didn’t eat the breakfast you made.
No control. No shield.
The window beside me showed nothing but the blur of Florence rushing past—sunlight washing pale stone, market tents like scraps of color along the streets. But all I saw was the studio ahead. And him.
My chest tightened. Breathe. Breathe, damn it.
Miles was watching. I felt his gaze flick toward me more than once—like he wanted to say something but wisely swallowed it. His patience grated against me almost as badly as his joy did.
Stop bouncing your leg, Julian.
Victor’s voice, unspoken, in the back of my head. I could almost hear him. Feel the way his hand would slam down on my knee and force it still.
I dragged in a breath, sharp and shallow. The air tasted wrong. Too clean. Too empty.
This wasn’t my kitchen. My space. My rules.
I didn’t stretch.
Didn’t make tea.
Didn’t listen to the podcast.
I was raw. Exposed. And Victor would smell it the second I walked in.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. My hand twitched to grab it.
Victor?
I didn’t check. I didn’t want to see his name glowing like a warning.
Miles shifted beside me. His knee barely bumped mine, and I flinched like he’d struck me.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
I gritted my teeth. “Stop apologizing.” My voice came out sharper than I meant, but I didn’t correct it. Let him think I was just a bastard this morning. Better that than weak.
The driver spoke softly in Italian—fifteen minutes away.
Fifteen minutes to face Victor.
Fifteen minutes to pretend this was normal.
I pressed my knuckles against my thigh to stop the damn bouncing. It didn’t help.
I could feel it building. Tight and loud in my chest. Like something cracking under glass.
He’s going to be there.
He’s going to hurt you.
He’s going to corner you.
I closed my eyes. Breathed once, sharp and shallow. The leather of the seat creaked as I curled my fingers tighter into my palm.
Not here. Not now. You can’t lose it. Not in front of him.
Not in front of Miles.
The second the car stopped, I was out.
Didn’t wait for Miles. Didn’t wait for anyone. I didn’t have the luxury to linger—not when the air in this place already felt like him.
Victor.
I could feel it. Like a shadow dragging fingers down my spine. I didn’t have to see him to know he was close. Watching. Waiting.
Bradley murmured something to Lena as we walked inside, something about checking the schedule. I didn’t hear the rest. My pulse roared too loud in my ears.
Lena stayed close. Good. At least there was one person in this hellhole who didn’t want to break me.
“C’mon, Vale,” she said, giving my arm a gentle tug as we reached the prep room. My room. The only slice of safety in this place, thin as it was. “Breathe. You’ve got time before you’re on. No need to start vibrating apart yet.”
I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. The door clicked shut behind us, muting the world outside.
But not the weight in my chest. Not the feeling. He was close. He was always close.
Lena turned, eyes soft, knowing. She crossed her arms and leaned against the table. “He’s here, isn’t he?” she said quietly.
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.
Her face pinched in sympathy. But she didn’t reach for me. She knew better. Knew the rules of what I could stand. “Julian...” she said gently, tilting her head, “I know. I do. But you’ve got this. Like every other time. You’re steel, babe.”
I sat heavily in the chair, elbows on knees, staring at the floor. “Steel cracks.”
“Not you,” she said, and this time there was the smallest smile. “Besides. You’ve got a fan now, remember? Golden boy Miles Bennett. I caught him looking at you like you hung the damn moon.”
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Don’t. Don’t start with that.”
“Oh, come on,” she teased. “He’s adorable. Like a lost puppy in a room full of wolves. Could be good for you, you know. Someone to balance your sunshine personality.”
I let out a sharp breath. Almost a laugh. Almost.
Then the door opened.
The air shifted.
Cold, thick, crawling over my skin.
Victor.
Lena straightened like a wire, all the warmth bleeding from her face. Her hand hovered near her brush belt, like instinct told her to keep busy. To stay small.
“Out,” Victor commanded. No warmth. No humor.
Lena froze and stared at me. I gave the barest nod. She couldn’t fight this. Neither of us could.
She hesitated a moment longer than she should have. Then slipped out without a word.
And I was alone.
Victor stepped in, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.
I kept my face blank and squared my shoulders as if they were my armor.
But inside, everything cracked.
The door clicked shut behind Lena.
And just like that, the air thinned.
Victor moved closer, slow and deliberate, the sharp sound of his shoes clicking against the floor echoing in the small space. Like a countdown.
I didn’t breathe. I couldn’t.
“Strip.”
The word fell like lead. Heavy. Commanding. Final.
I gulped, tightening my throat, and stood on shaky legs. My fingers moved on their own, pulling at the hem of my shirt. Over my head. Off. My jeans next. Pooled at my feet.
I stood there, in nothing but my boxers. Exposed. Small.
His eyes dragged over me, cold and sharp as glass. Pausing at my stomach. Lingering.
“You’re getting fat,” he muttered, his lip curling. “Are you slipping, Julian?”
I shook my head fast, sharp, desperate.
“No—no, sir.” My voice cracked. I forced my jaw tight, held the tears at the edge, and gulped.
Victor stepped in closer. Close enough I could smell the sharp cologne, the coffee on his breath. His hand came out. Fingers brushing my stomach, pressing in. Like inspecting flawed merchandise.
Something in me snapped.
I slapped his hand away on instinct.
A mistake. A stupid, stupid mistake.
His eyes flared. His hand shot up—
Crack.
My head jerked sideways from the force of the backhand. Heat bloomed across my cheek, stinging bright and fast.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.
Fingers gripped my jaw, rough, biting into the bone as he yanked my face toward him.
“I own you,” Victor hissed close to my ear. “Don’t forget that. Keep gaining weight, keep this little attitude of yours—and I’ll ruin you. I’ll let the world see who you really are. Every last dirty secret. You know I can.”
I shut my eyes. Squeezed them tight. My heart hammered so hard I could feel it in my throat. “I can make you nothing, Julian,” he whispered. “Nothing.”
The door opened.
“Victor?” Lena’s voice—steady, bright, lying. “They’re asking for you. Now. Director’s request.”
His hand lingered. Squeezed. Then let go. “Lucky,” he murmured, straightening his jacket. “For now.”
And then he was gone.
I didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Only when the door closed did I sink into the chair. Slowly. Carefully. Like if I moved too fast, I’d break.
I stared at the mirror across the room. At myself.
A perfect mask. A perfect doll.
A tear slipped down my cheek. Then another. I didn’t wipe them away.
I just sat there. Watching. Silent.
Steel cracks.
And I was cracking.
I didn’t see Lena walk closer. Didn’t flinch when gentle hands touched my face.
“Hey...” Lena’s soft voice broke the silence, threading warmth through the cold I’d sunk into.
A tissue dabbed under my eye, wiping away the tears I hadn’t bothered to hide. She didn’t say anything about them. Just wiped. Gentle. Careful. Like handling something cracked and ready to shatter.
“I’ve got you, okay?” she murmured. “It’s all right. Just makeup. Just another day.”
I gulped. My throat burned. My cheek throbbed where Victor’s ring had kissed skin.
The soft brush of foundation dusted my face. Concealer. Powder. Each layer hiding the mark, the damage, sealing it away like it had never happened. Like I’d imagined it.
“We’ll cover it up,” Lena whispered. “No one will see. You’ve done this before.”
Yes. I had.
Too many times.
Her fingers were steady. Reassuring.
But my heart still punched against my ribs, wild and frantic and caged.
“Deep breath,” she coaxed, stepping back to admire her work. “There. All perfect again.”
I stood slowly. My legs felt wrong. Like they’d forgotten how to hold me up.
Lena handed me my shirt. I pulled it on without thinking. Robot. Doll. Product.
My eyes drifted to the door. The knob gleamed under the dressing room light. My hand hovered over it, fingertips grazing the cool metal.
I paused.
Breathe. In. Out.
I straightened my spine. Lifted my chin. Pulled the mask down tight. A small, practiced smile curved my mouth.
Fake. Beautiful. Unbreakable.
Show time.
I opened the door and stepped out.
The hallway was cold, humming with quiet voices, distant footsteps.
And there—turning the corner, walking from his own room—was Miles. His eyes met mine. Wide. Concerned. Curious.
“Hey—are you okay?” His voice was soft, cautious, like he knew something was wrong.
I didn’t answer. Didn’t slow. Didn’t blink. Just walked past him. Like his words hadn’t touched me at all.
I was fine.
I had to be.