Chapter Seventeen
Miles
I woke up to the sound of movement—sharp, restless, irritated.
Julian was already up. Fully dressed. Pacing like a caged animal. His jaw tight, his eyes dark and distant, like he was chewing on thoughts he’d never say out loud.
“Finally awake, sunshine?” he muttered without even glancing at me. “Took you long enough.”
I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, dragging myself upright. “Morning to you too,” I said gently, forcing a small smile.
He didn’t respond. Just let the curtain fall from where he’d pulled it back to peek outside, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.
Then he snapped his gaze to me. Sharp. Cold. “Could you breathe quieter? Or better yet—not at all?”
I didn’t even flinch. Not anymore.
This wasn’t about me.
I sat up on the bed, watching him without speaking, letting him burn himself out on whatever this was. The same way you watch a storm roll in—not because you like it, but because you can’t stop it.
Julian Vale was always like this. Sharp edges. No softness. But this morning? This was worse.
He was more restless. More clipped. Like he was waiting for something awful to happen.
And after what I saw yesterday—Victor slipping out of the room, Julian looking wrecked and hollow in his wake—I couldn’t shake the suspicion crawling under my skin.
Was this him? Was Victor the reason for this constant pressure simmering just beneath Julian’s skin?
“You’re staring,” Julian snapped again, cutting his eyes toward me. “Do you need something, or do you just enjoy looking stupid in the mornings?”
I smiled. “Just thinking about how charming you are before coffee. Really sets the mood for the day.”
His glare narrowed but then flickered away, like he didn’t have the energy to keep the fight going. His fingers twitched at his side. His leg bounced like he couldn’t make it stop.
I didn’t take it personally.
Not anymore.
Because this didn’t feel like Julian hating me.
It felt like Julian was losing against something I couldn’t see yet.
And somehow, that made me want to be patient. To stay steady. To make it through this day beside him without pushing him off the edge.
Even if he made it so damn hard.
The door shut softly behind me as we stepped into the hallway. Julian was ahead of me, fast-paced like he wanted to out-walk the day itself. Not a word. Not even a glance.
Awkward wasn’t strong enough for what the elevator ride felt like.
We stood side by side in that little metal box, the silence thick and pressing. The air conditioner hummed. The floor numbers blinked slowly. Julian stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, arms folded tight across his chest like armor.
I glanced at him once—just once—and caught the faint tremor in his hand where it gripped his phone. White-knuckled.
He caught me looking out of the corner of his eye. “What?” he muttered, low and sharp like breaking glass.
“Nothing,” I said quietly. “Just...long elevator ride.”
He exhaled through his nose, like I was the stupidest thing alive, and stared back at the doors until they slid open.
We walked out into the lobby and into the car waiting for us outside.
Julian slid in first, dropping heavily into the corner seat like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. I climbed in after him, sitting carefully beside him, not close enough to touch.
I stayed quiet. Watching.
He held his phone in both hands now, eyes flicking down every time it buzzed—a sharp wince tightening the corner of his mouth every time the screen lit up. Like he was bracing for something awful. Like he already knew what the messages would say.
His leg bounced restlessly against the floor of the car, a steady rhythm he couldn’t stop.
I kept my gaze on the window, pretending not to notice. But I did.
All of it.
The tension winding him tight. The quiet panic I’d caught last night creeping back into him.
I didn’t know what was on that phone. But I had guesses.
Bad ones.
The drive was quiet except for the faint sound of the driver’s radio and the soft buzz of Julian’s phone—again and again. Each time, he flinched like a startled animal, jaw tight, eyes locked forward.
When we finally pulled up to the studio, he shoved the phone deep into his jacket pocket and didn’t say a word as the car slowed to a stop.
I didn’t ask.
But God, I wanted to.
I climbed out after him, the cold air biting my skin.
Julian was already walking ahead, head down, shoulders squared like armor. Like he could keep the world out if he just stayed angry enough.
I followed. Quiet. Watching. Wondering how much longer he could keep pretending he was fine.
My dressing room smelled faintly like hairspray and coffee when I stepped in. Renee stood by the little table piled with papers, phone in hand, rattling off some last-minute schedule details to my stylist—Cassie, a small, sharp woman with round glasses who smiled and waved as I walked in.
“Hey, superstar,” Cassie grinned, picking up a comb. “Sit. Let’s fix that bedhead of yours before the cameras start screaming.”
I smiled faintly, but my mind wasn’t in the room. Not really.
Renee was saying something about the photo order, but it washed over me, dull and far away.
Because all I could think about...was him.
Julian Vale.
The way he flinched at his phone. The way he stiffened every time a message came through. The barely-there marks I’d noticed yesterday—the redness on his cheek, the way he kept his sleeves pulled tight. The way Victor’s voice sounded in that room last night.
It kept turning over in my head, pieces falling into place like slow puzzle pieces I didn’t want to see fit together.
Something wasn’t right.
Something was really not right.
“Earth to Miles?” Cassie giggled, waving a hand in front of my face. “You in there or are you dreaming about the gelato again?”
I blinked and gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry. Long morning.”
Renee stepped over, giving me a mock-stern look. “Stay awake, sunshine boy. Big day. Big photos. Big smile.”
I nodded, forcing a grin. They both smiled and stepped toward the door.
“Five minutes to dress,” Cassie said as they left. “Don’t make us drag you out.”
The door clicked shut behind them.
And the quiet dropped like a stone.
I pulled out my phone.
Scrolled to my favorites.
Mom.
My thumb hovered. Hesitated. Then pressed.
She picked up after two rings.
“Baby? Everything okay?”
I sank onto the little couch, leaning forward, elbows on my knees.
“Yeah. Kinda. I just...” I trailed off, staring at the floor. “Needed to hear your voice.”
Her voice softened immediately. “Talk to me, Miles. What’s going on?”
I rubbed my hand over my face. God, where do I even start?
“You know the guy I’m working with? Julian Vale?”
“The gorgeous one? The one from the perfume ads?”
I huffed. “Yeah. Him.”
Long pause.
“I... I think someone’s hurting him, Mom.” My voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I think...his photographer. The guy who’s always with him—Victor.”
Her breath caught. “Miles. Are you sure?”
“I-I don’t know,” I admitted, raking a hand through my hair.
“But it feels wrong. The bruises he hides on his wrists. The way he flinches. His phone blowing up every five minutes and him looking like the world’s about to end every time.
Even the way he acts...like he’s holding his breath every second he’s not performing. ”
Silence on the line for a moment.
“Oh, honey,” she said quietly. “You always want to fix everyone. You always did notice things most people didn’t”
I smiled weakly, my chest tight.
“I can’t help it, Mom. I see it. I see him drowning and no one else seems to care. But I don’t know what to do. I’m just...me. And he won’t even let me in.”
“Sometimes all you can do is let someone know you’re there,” she said gently. “Be patient. Be careful. But don’t turn away. People like that...they’ve been hurt so much they expect everyone to leave.”
I gulped. My throat felt tight.
“I’m scared for him.”
“I know, baby. But you’ve got a good heart. Just be there, okay?”
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay.”
“Call me later, sweetheart. I want to hear how it goes.”
“Yeah. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you more.”
I hung up slowly, staring at the screen.
And for a long moment, I just sat there.
Thinking about Julian Vale. About the cracks in his armor. About the storm behind his eyes.
God help me...
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
Because if I was right—if even half of what I suspected was true—then Julian Vale wasn’t just guarded or grumpy.
He was trapped.
I wanted to fix him.
Even if he never let me.