Chapter Twenty-Four
Miles
The script in my hands blurred as I read the same damn line for the third time. My brain felt foggy, weighed down by exhaustion and nerves, but I pushed through it—mouthing the words, trying to feel the scene. I could practically hear the director breathing down my neck from across the set.
Then it happened.
The quiet hum of the studio—crew voices, shifting equipment—shifted. Grew louder. Urgent. Like something was happening at the entrance.
I glanced up.
People gathered by the door, murmuring in low, sharp voices. A few crew members paused what they were doing, their heads turning in the same direction.
And then I saw him.
Julian.
His figure stood stiff and out of place at the edge of the chaos, like he’d just stumbled into the wrong world.
But no—it was him. And he was here.
I froze, the script lowering in my hand without thought. My chest tightened.
God, he looked... wrecked.
His usual armor—sharp lines, perfect posture, cold confidence—was cracked. Gone. His face was pale, drawn tight around the mouth. His eyes—normally hard, unimpressed, untouchable—were dull, glassy. Like he’d forgotten how to blink.
His hair was messy, shoved back like he’d dragged frustrated fingers through it too many times. His clothes hung on him wrong, wrinkled, like he’d thrown them on without care. Or maybe like someone else had pulled him around that morning.
Something was wrong. Deep, shattering wrong.
He hadn’t seen me yet. His gaze was unfocused, heavy, like he was walking underwater.
Why is he here? My heart kicked up painfully. He didn’t belong on my set. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
And yet—here he was.
Looking lost.
Broken.
Like he’d come here because there was nowhere else left to go.
I stepped forward, still watching him, my throat tight.
“Julian...?” I whispered.
But he hadn’t noticed me yet.
And in that moment, I realized something that made my stomach twist.
He didn’t want to be alone.
He came here.
To me.
I took a step forward, my mouth parting to call his name for real this time—louder—when his eyes finally met mine.
And everything else stopped.
Julian Vale—the Julian Vale—was standing there in the middle of my set, ignoring the wandering gazes, the curious whispers, and every single one of my co-stars who were practically falling over themselves trying to get his attention.
Nearby, Ethan muttered something sharply, but Julian didn’t even glance his way.
No.
His gaze was locked on me.
Only me.
He walked toward me, slow but sure, like the rest of the room didn’t exist. Like I was the only thing he could see. Like I was the only familiar thing left.
And when he got close enough—close enough that I could really see him—my stomach knotted.
There it was.
A fading red mark on his cheek. Swollen slightly at the edge, the shape unmistakable.
A handprint.
Rage bubbled hot in my chest, sharp and uncontrollable. I had to curl my fingers into fists at my sides to keep from shaking.
Victor.
It was him. It had to be him.
Julian opened his mouth like he wanted to speak—but the words caught. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the floor for a heartbeat before dragging back up to mine.
“Sorry...” he muttered, voice low and rough. “I—I didn’t know where else to go.”
His eyes—those pale, guarded eyes—looked anything but guarded now. They looked exhausted. Frayed. Like he was holding on by threads.
And he was apologizing?
Jesus.
My anger clawed at my chest—hot and aching.
Why the hell is he apologizing? Why is he the one saying sorry when someone else put that mark on his face? When someone else broke him like this?
I didn’t care that Ethan and the others were watching. I didn’t care that the director was somewhere behind me, wondering what the hell was going on.
Right now—none of it mattered.
Only him.
Only this broken version of Julian Vale standing in front of me, looking lost and small and like he had no idea how to ask for help.
I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
“Hey... you don’t have to be sorry. Not with me.”
His mouth twitched, like he wanted to argue. Like saying sorry was the only way he knew how to exist.
But not this time. Not with me.
“I gotta get back.” My voice was low, careful, like speaking too loud might spook him and send him running. “But... stay. Okay? Watch from here. When I’m done—we’ll go somewhere. Just us.”
I half expected him to roll his eyes, maybe mutter something sharp. But he didn’t.
Julian paused. Then—
A tiny smile. Barely there. But it was real.
My chest ached.
He gave a small nod, stepping back toward the corner of the set, out of the way. Quiet. Watching.
God, he stayed.
I turned, swallowing hard as the director clapped his hands, barking, “Places, everyone! Action in thirty!”
The weight of the past week sat heavy on my shoulders.
The messed-up lines, the distractions, the pressure.
But somehow... knowing he was there... I could breathe.
“All right, Bennett,” the director snapped.
“Let’s see if you can make it through this scene without tripping over your own tongue this time. ”
A few quiet chuckles rippled through the crew. Even Ethan smirked from his mark, arms crossed like he was waiting for me to crash and burn.
But I didn’t care. Not this time.
I glanced once toward the side—Julian stood there, arms crossed, head tilted ever so slightly. Watching me. Really watching.
And for some reason?
That steadied me.
“Action!”
The scene began. Lines I’d fumbled yesterday came smooth now. Words flowing like I meant them. My body moved the way it should, hitting marks like second nature. No tripping. No stuttering.
No screwing up.
I could feel the quiet surprise building behind the cameras. The director said nothing. Ethan barely covered his sour expression when I nailed the final line.
“Cut.”
Silence. Then—
“Finally,” the director muttered, scratching his temple, but his eyes—he almost looked impressed. “That’s more like it. Take five before the next setup.”
I breathed out. My chest loosening for the first time in days.
And out of the corner of my eye, Julian—
Still there. Still watching. Still... smiling. Just a little.
I stepped off the mark, muscles finally starting to unclench, when I felt a rough hand yank at my shoulder. “Hey. Golden Boy.”
Ethan.
I stiffened as he pulled me back, forcing me to face him. His grin was cruel. Sharp. And out of the corner of my eye, I caught it—someone pulling out their phone. Recording. Great.
“You think you’re something now, huh?” Ethan sneered, loud enough for the nearby crew to pretend not to hear but listen anyway.
“One little trip to Italy with The Julian Vale and suddenly you’re famous?
Like hell, Miles. You’re still nothing. Just some no-name actor riding on a pretty face and Vale’s leftover scraps. ”
My fists clenched at my sides. Heat crept up my neck.
“Face it,” Ethan leaned closer, his voice dripping venom. “You’re not cut out for this. You’re not one of us. Just a pathetic, awkward charity case. And everyone here knows it. Julian Vale was probably just bored. Or pitying you. You really think he’d ever choose—”
“Say another word to him and I’ll break your jaw.”
The voice cut through the studio like a blade.
Julian.
Everything froze.
I turned—so did everyone else.
He was striding across the set, sharp, dangerous fury written across every inch of him. His usual mask gone. Completely gone. Eyes burning. Hands curled into fists at his sides.
Julian stopped beside me, glaring Ethan down like he could set him on fire with just a look.
“You think you can talk to him like that?” Julian spat. “You think you’re safe behind your little crew and your mediocre lines and your cheap gossip? Let me tell you something—Miles Bennett is ten times the actor you’ll ever be. And a better person than you could ever fake being.”
Ethan opened his mouth but Julian cut him off.
“Shut up. I’m not done.” The words cracked like a whip. “You’re pathetic. Jealous. And everyone here knows that too. I’ve seen real talent, real worth, and guess what? It’s not you.”
The studio was silent except for someone’s phone still recording, catching every word.
Julian took a single step closer to Ethan. His voice dropped low, deadly. “Say his name like that again and I swear—you’ll regret it.”
Ethan actually flinched.
I stared. Everyone stared.
No one had ever defended me like that. No one.
And especially not him. The last person I’d ever expect to.
Julian turned sharply, grabbed my wrist—not roughly, not like Victor—his touch was firm. Protective. “Let’s go.”
I let him lead me. Wordless. My heart hammering.
The recording still going somewhere behind us.
But I didn’t care.
Not about Ethan. Not about the director.
Only about the fire burning in Julian’s eyes.
He snapped.
Because of me.
And something in my chest cracked wide open
I pulled him into my dressing room, shutting the door behind us before the stares and whispers could follow.
Julian stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, shoulders tight, fists still clenched like he didn’t know how to let go. His jaw twitched. His gaze wouldn’t meet mine.
“I... shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, voice low and ragged. “It wasn’t my place. To yell. To get involved. I shouldn’t have—”
“Julian.”
He flinched at his name like it startled him. I stepped closer, slow, careful. Like approaching a wild animal that could bolt at any second. “Don’t apologize.”
Finally—finally—his eyes lifted to mine.
“You were defending me.” I offered him a small, quiet smile. “No one’s ever done that before. Not here. Not like that.”
His throat bobbed. His face soft, uncertain in a way I’d never seen. Walls cracking just enough for me to see something raw underneath.
Silence stretched between us.
And then—so faint I barely felt it—his fingers brushed mine. Just the softest, hesitant touch. Like he wasn’t sure if he should. Like he was testing if I’d pull away.
I didn’t.
His hand lingered there for a breath longer before he pulled back, glancing toward the door.
I smiled. “Come on,” I said gently. “Let’s get out of here.”
His eyes met mine one last time. And for the first time all day... he didn’t look like he wanted to run.