Chapter Twenty-Six
Julian
The moment I saw the video blow up on my phone, my stomach dropped. Great. Just what I needed. My perfect, spotless image shredded in public.
I sat on the edge of my bed, fingers trembling as I tapped the screen to open the flood of notifications.
At first, panic flooded me. If Victor or Bradley saw this? If they decided this was the final straw—what would they do? How far would they go? I swallowed hard, heart hammering against my ribs. I felt exposed. Vulnerable.
But then, as the comments started loading, my breath caught. The tone wasn’t what I’d feared.
People weren’t tearing me down. They weren’t twisting my words or making cruel jokes. Instead, they were lifting me up.
“Finally, the real Julian Vale.”
“Miles is one lucky guy—anyone would be with someone who stands up like that.”
“Who knew America’s Sweetheart had claws?”
“This is what real loyalty looks like.”
I blinked hard, disbelieving. The relief that washed over me was almost shocking. Maybe, just maybe, the world hadn’t already decided I was a lost cause.
Curiosity nudged me, and I tapped on the top headline that popped up right beside the video—an article from one of the biggest entertainment sites.
The headline screamed: “The Untouchable America’s Sweetheart Stands Up for Miles Bennett—The World Just Fell in Love Again.”
The words felt surreal under my skin. The article recapped the whole scene—everything Ethan said, the ugliness, and then my outburst defending Miles.
As I read, a small, reluctant warmth bloomed in my chest. The crowd wasn’t against me. They wanted the real me—the one who could care, who could fight, who could show something beyond a perfect smile for the cameras.
I hated how much I hated the attention, but I hated even more how much I wanted it. Wanted him.
The phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, a sharp, unwelcome sound slicing through the quiet morning. My thumb hovered over the screen, heart sinking. Bradley. I didn’t want to answer. Not now. Not like this.
But the buzzing didn’t stop, and neither would he. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tapped the green button.
“Julian, hey!” Bradley’s voice came through, surprisingly upbeat. No anger. No yelling. Just... excitement. “I saw the video. The one where you defended Miles. It’s exactly what you needed—good publicity. The world’s eating it up. You’ve got them eating out of your hand.”
I blinked, caught off guard.
“And I went ahead and booked you for a podcast interview today. You have no choice. It’s the perfect chance to explain yourself and spin this story your way.”
My chest tightened. My breath hitched. Today? Now? Me? Talking? My job was modeling. Not talking. Not opening up. Not like this.
What if I messed up? What if I said the wrong thing? What if—
Panic clawed its way up my spine, twisting my stomach into knots.
I wasn’t ready for this. I barely wanted to be in the spotlight, and now they wanted me to shine brighter than ever.
There was no way out. No choice but to face it.
The panic clung to me like a shadow, each breath shorter than the last. A podcast interview. Today. Talking. Explaining. Me. I bit my lip, pacing the small room, wrestling with the urge to just hide away.
Should I call Miles? My fingers hovered over the phone, trembling. What if I bothered him? What if I sounded weak? What if—
No. I needed him. His steady voice, his calm light in the storm. He always made the weight feel lighter.
Finally, swallowing my fear, I pressed his number.
The phone rang once. Twice.
“Miles?” I croaked, voice cracking.
“Hey—sorry for calling so suddenly. I know you’re busy and I’m probably bothering you but—there’s this podcast interview today and I wasn’t ready for it, Bradley just told me and I’m freaking out a bit and—”
His calm voice stopped me mid-rush.
“Julian. Slow down. Breathe.”
I took a shaky breath, trying to steady myself.
“So, the interview’s about that video—the one where I stood up for you. And, well... would you come with me? I think it’d help to have you there.”
Miles’s voice was steady, like a warm hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do this alone, Julian. I’m there, okay? We’ll figure it out together.”
His confidence made my chest tighten—not with pressure, but relief.
“I—thanks, Miles. Maybe you could come over for a bit? We can just hang out a bit before, so I don’t feel like I’m walking into it by myself.”
There was a pause, and then his easy laugh, soft and genuine. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”
What the hell did I just do?
I stared at my phone like it personally betrayed me. I just invited him over. To my house.
For the first time.
My stomach twisted. What was I thinking?
I didn’t do this. I didn’t invite people into my space. Ever.
What if he hated it? What if it was too clean? Or too empty? Or smelled weird?
What if he thought it was pathetic? What if he realized there was nothing here—no warmth, no life, no sign of anyone else ever being part of this place?
I rubbed the back of my neck and paced the living room, my mind spiraling fast and reckless.
The place was already spotless—of course it was—but suddenly everything looked wrong.
The pillows on the couch weren’t fluffed enough.
The coffee table books weren’t perfectly lined up.
The floor might have had a speck of dust no one else could see but me.
I dropped to my knees and scrubbed at the already-shining floor with a cloth from the kitchen.
I straightened every picture frame. Adjusted the curtains—twice.
Rearranged the magazines on the side table into neat little fans before undoing it and stacking them perfectly instead.
I ran into the bathroom. Re-folded the hand towels. Sprayed the mirror. Wiped it again.
My heart wouldn’t slow down.
Why the hell was I acting like this? Like some kid hosting their first sleepover?
It’s just Miles. The golden retriever. The sunshine boy.
The only person who somehow made the noise in my head quiet down...even if it was just for a second.
The doorbell rang.
I froze.
Too late now.
I wiped my palms on my jeans, ignoring how they were starting to sweat, and went to open the door.
I opened the door, my heart still racing, and there he was.
Miles stood there with that usual stupid, warm grin like this was the most normal thing in the world. Like showing up at my door wasn’t making my chest feel tight in ways I couldn’t explain.
“Hey,” he said—bright and easy—before I could even get a word out. And then he pulled me into a hug. Just like that. No hesitation. No awkwardness.
I froze for a breath—because I always froze—but something in me loosened just enough to let my chin rest briefly on his shoulder before pulling away.
He stepped inside like he belonged here. Like this wasn’t a cold, quiet space made for being alone.
His eyes roamed around my living room as he kicked off his shoes. “Your place is really nice,” he said sincerely, smiling back at me. “I don’t know what I expected...but this fits you. Clean. Minimal. Kinda calm.”
I swallowed, feeling a weird lump in my throat. He didn’t say it was boring. Or stiff. Or lifeless.
Just...calm.
He wandered toward the couch and dropped onto it like he’d been here a hundred times before, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Sunny would probably curl up there if she were here.
I stood awkwardly by the door for a second before forcing myself to sit beside him—carefully, like the couch might bite.
Miles glanced at me, serious now. “So...you saw the video, right? The one from set?”
I nodded stiffly, my stomach flipping again.
“Because of that video, Ethan’s getting a lot of hate,” he said, voice gentle but honest. “People are tearing him apart in the comments. Saying he’s jealous. A bully. All of it.”
He leaned back, resting his head against the couch cushion, eyes on the ceiling. “Kinda wild, honestly. The internet loves you right now. You’re some kind of knight-in-shining-armor to them.”
I scoffed, “Yeah. That’s new.”
He glanced sideways at me, grinning. “You should see the stuff they’re saying. ‘Get you a man that defends you like Julian defends Miles.’ I think someone called you ‘The Untouchable America’s Sweetheart with claws.’”
I felt heat crawl up my neck, my throat tightening with something I couldn’t name.
“Bradley’s thrilled,” I muttered. “I’m supposed to play this part. Sweetheart. Perfect. Untouchable.”
Miles was quiet for a moment. Then he nudged my knee gently with his. “You know...I liked that version of you way more.”
I looked at him. “What version?”
“The real one,” he said simply. “The one who tells assholes off. The one who doesn’t just smile and take it.”
I swallowed hard. My fingers curled against the couch cushion.
That version wasn’t supposed to exist. But with him...it slipped out too easily. Too naturally. Too dangerously.
I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. “I don’t know how to do this,” I muttered. “I’m not good at...talking. Podcasts. Interviews. That’s not my job. I model, I pose, I keep quiet and look pretty. That’s what they pay me for. Not this.”
Miles shifted beside me on the couch, turning his body toward mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him hesitate for half a second—and then his hand landed gently on my thigh. Warm. Solid. Steady.
“I know you hate this stuff,” he murmured, “but you don’t have to be perfect, Grumps. You don’t have to say some rehearsed, shiny line. You don’t even have to smile the whole time if you don’t want to. Just...be you. Like you were in that video.”
I snorted bitterly. “Yeah, that’s what scares me. That was me losing it. Cracking in front of everyone.”
His thumb rubbed absent-minded circles on my leg, slow and grounding. “And look what happened. The world loved you for it.”
I glanced down—his fingers were warm against my thigh. Calming. Safe.