Chapter Fifteen
Julian
A knock at the door.
Then wheels squeaking against the floor.
Room service.
Miles was already bouncing off his bed like a damn Labrador retriever, grinning as he let the cart in. I stayed where I was, cross-legged, arms tight over my chest.
But when I finally glanced at the cart—
I blinked.
Too much. Way too much. Plates stacked with breads, soft cheeses, grilled chicken, pasta, fruit. Even a small chocolate torte sitting on the side like some careless afterthought.
“What the hell is this?” I muttered, frowning.
Miles rubbed the back of his neck, looking like a kid caught sneaking cookies. “I... uh, didn’t know what you liked. So... I got a little bit of everything?” His smile was crooked, soft. Not apologetic. Not mocking. Just... honest.
But my stomach knotted. Tight.
Victor’s voice slipped into my head like oil:
You’re slipping, Julian. Every bite shows.
I felt the weight of his hand. His glare. His threat.
Even here in the safety of my temporary room, he controlled me.
I gulped down the panic. “I’m not... hungry.” My voice was thin. Hollow.
Miles flopped back onto his bed and grabbed a plate anyway, piling cheese and crackers like it was nothing. Like food wasn’t a loaded gun pressed to my ribs.
“Suit yourself. But I’m starving,” he said lightly, popping an olive into his mouth. “They really do feed us better overseas... You know, my mom always said trips like this are for eating your weight in food.”
I didn’t answer. My eyes stayed locked on the food, on the calories I could almost feel burning holes in my control.
But Miles didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t.
“Y’know... I think this is the real you right now.”
My gaze snapped to him.
He smiled gently, not teasing. “This you. Sitting here. Quiet. Trying not to let anyone in. It’s not the ‘Julian Vale’ in magazines. Or the one they dress up on set. This is the actual you. And you look... human. I like it.”
I stiffened. His words scratched somewhere I didn’t want to feel.
“Here.” He picked up a cracker, carefully stacking a thin slice of brie on it. “The real you deserves to eat, too. Don’t let... whatever voice is in there tell you otherwise.”
I stared. The panic flared hot in my throat. Victor’s voice snapped inside my skull—
But Miles was patient. Steady. Like holding out peace in the middle of a war.
Slowly—too slowly—my hand moved. I took the cracker.
He grinned like I’d just given him gold.
I bit into it. Creamy. Warm. Perfect.
And suddenly... it was like my body remembered I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. My stomach woke up with a quiet burn.
Before I could stop myself, I reached for another. Then another. Pasta. Fruit. Chicken. One bite after the next. Like the wall inside me crumbled brick by brick.
Miles watched, quiet now, letting me eat. Letting me breathe.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Glanced at him. He smiled again. “Told you. The real Julian deserves to eat.”
I exhaled. Something inside me... loosened.
Just for tonight.
Miles grabbed the remote, flopping back against the pillows of his own bed with all the grace of a golden retriever after a long run.
“So,” he said, grinning like this was the most exciting part of his day, “we need to pick a movie. Something classic. Or stupid. Or scary—unless you’re scared of scary movies, Vale.”
I gave him a look over the rim of my water bottle. “I’m not scared of anything.”
He hummed, unconvinced. And then, without warning, he pushed off his bed and strolled right over to mine. My bed. My space. Before I could blink, he sat down—comfortably, like he belonged there.
I flinched. Subtle. Barely a twitch in my shoulder. But I felt it.
He sat down. On my bed. Like it was nothing. Like he belonged there.
And for some reason... I didn’t tell him to get the hell off.
“Okay,” he said, turning the remote in his hand, still unaware—or maybe pretending to be—of the small chaos in my chest. “We’ll figure this out together. What’s your go-to? Rom-com? Action? Murder mystery? You seem like a murder mystery guy.”
I gave him a flat look. “You’re sitting on my bed.”
He blinked, innocent as ever. “Am I? Huh. Didn’t notice.” His smile curled wider, teeth flashing. “Well... you didn’t say no.”
I narrowed my eyes, but the words I meant to say didn’t make it out. I could’ve told him to move. Should’ve. But all I did was shift slightly, tense, pretending I wasn’t letting him stay.
He fiddled with the remote, oblivious or pretending to be, still waiting for my answer.
“Crime documentary,” I muttered.
“See? Murder mystery. Called it.” His grin was so annoyingly warm it made my chest tighten.
I huffed and leaned back against the headboard, watching him scroll through endless titles—acting like this was the most normal thing in the world.
And the worst part?
I let him.