Chapter Twenty-Seven
Julian
It’s been a few days since the interview. A few days since the video went viral, since the world spun differently—for once, in my favor. And strangely... I haven’t hated it.
Miles has been around more. Or maybe I’ve let him be around more.
He keeps finding excuses to come over. Dropping off lunch.
Texting about some dumb movie he insists I have to see.
Making me dinner because, as he so bluntly put it, “Julian Vale, America’s Sweetheart, cannot make pasta to save his life. ”
He wasn’t wrong.
I’m a disaster in the kitchen. I tried boiling water last night and nearly set off the smoke alarm.
But Miles just laughs and gently pushes me aside with his shoulder, humming while he slices vegetables or stirs sauce like it’s second nature. Like he belongs there. In my quiet kitchen. In my space.
It’s... unnerving.
And worse, it’s nice.
God, I hate how nice it is. How safe he makes the apartment feel when he’s there. Like maybe it could be something more than cold walls and loneliness.
I rub the back of my neck as I step out of the dressing room, the familiar weight settling back onto my shoulders. The real world waits outside that little bubble. The studio’s cold air hits my skin, reminding me exactly where I am. What I am.
Victor’s here today. I can feel him in the air. Like a storm just waiting to break.
I glance down. Swimwear. Great. This shoot was going to be torture. My stomach twists, remembering the pasta Miles made last night—carbonara, the good kind. I ate the whole damn bowl. And then the sweet and fluffy pancakes before coming here.
Mistake. Such a dumb mistake.
I take a breath and step onto set.
And just like I feared... there he is.
Victor.
His gaze snaps to me like a trap springing shut. I watch his eyes flick over my body, cold calculation in every inch. He steps closer, his polished shoes quiet on the concrete floor.
“You’ve been eating too much.” His voice is low. Flat. Dangerous. “You’ve gotten soft.”
My chest tightens.
“Victor, I—”
His hand shoots out, clamping around my wrist like iron. He leans close, his breath hot against my ear.
“Bathroom. Now.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
“Victor—”
“Now.” His grip tightens.
I freeze.
“W-What? No...”
He snarls, dragging me with him, quick and brutal like dragging a stray dog. I stumble after him into the studio bathroom, heart hammering against my ribs. “Throw it up.”
My blood runs cold. “W-what? No—I-I can’t—”
“Do it,” he hisses, slamming the door behind us. “Or I’ll do it for you.”
I stay still, staring at the toilet, throat closing, nails biting into my palms.
Victor’s patience snaps. Rough hands shove me down, my knees cracking hard against the cold tile.
“Open your mouth.”
“No—Victor, please, I—”
His fingers jam past my lips, cruel and practiced, pressing deep into my throat until my body betrays me—gagging, choking, heat rising in my eyes. My stomach convulses. Everything Miles made me, everything good, is ripped away in seconds.
I gasp, coughing, shaking. My throat burns. My chest feels hollow. Victor crouches beside me, gripping my jaw tight. His voice is low, poisonous. “Look at you. A fucking pig. Weak. Useless. You forget why you’re here, Julian? You forget who made you?”
Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I won’t let them fall. Not here. Not for him.
“You’ll skip dinner tonight. Understand?”
I nod stiffly. Anything to make him leave.
He stands, smoothing his jacket, cold and perfect like this never happened.
“By the next shoot... you’d better have lost ten pounds. Or instead of shooting, we’ll be back in here doing the same thing.” Tears rolled down my face slowly, but I refused to let the whole dam break in front of him.
“Go clean up. You look disgusting.”
The door slams behind him.
And I stay there—knees on tile, throat raw, everything in me shaking.
I breathe. I have to breathe. Because after this... I can’t go home. Not yet. Not alone.
Without thinking, my hand shakily pulls out my phone.
My thumb hovers over one name.
Miles.
Maybe... maybe he’ll let me come over.
Maybe I can feel safe for just a little while longer.
I stared at the sink, knuckles white against porcelain, the taste of bile still burning at the back of my throat. My knees ached from the cold tile floor. My chest was tight—locked up like something raw and bruised beneath my ribs.
The bathroom smelled like mint soap and sickness. Like humiliation.
I wiped my mouth with shaking fingers, forcing the tears back. No tears. Not here. Not for him.
Victor’s words still rang sharp and cruel in my head.
“By the next shoot... you’d better have lost ten pounds...”
I swallowed hard. The bitter sting at the back of my throat made my eyes water, but I didn’t let it spill. Couldn’t. The mirror showed the truth I didn’t want to see—red eyes, pale skin, the faintest tremble in my jaw.
I needed out. Out of this building. Out of this body.
And without thinking I pulled out my phone. I stared at Miles’s name for too long. He’d pick up. He always did.
My thumb hovered over the “call” button.
What was I doing?
I couldn’t tell him. Not this. He’d look at me like everyone else. Like I was broken.
But my body moved anyway—thumb pressing the button before my mind could scream ‘stop.’
It rang once.
Twice.
“Julian?” Miles’s voice was warm, gentle, like summer air sneaking through a crack in the window. “Hey—everything okay?”
I almost hung up. My throat clamped shut, but then the words fell out in a quiet breath:
“Hey. Sorry for calling like this. I just—uh... are you home?”
A pause.
“Yeah, I just got in. What’s up?” Concern crept into his voice.
I pressed my knuckles to my mouth, eyes squeezed shut. I hated this. Hated how small I sounded. “Can I... come over?” The words slipped out, brittle and bare. “Just for a while. I... I don’t wanna be home right now.”
Another pause—so long I felt my stomach twist.
“Of course.” His voice softened. Steady. “You can come by, Julian. Anytime.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, ignoring the burn in my eyes.
“Cool,” I muttered, trying to sound normal, casual. “Just... just wanted to get out. No reason.”
“Okay,” Miles said gently. I could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Come on over. I’ll even make tea if you want.”
I gulped. “Yeah. Tea sounds good.”
I hung up before I could say anything else. I wouldn’t tell him. Not what happened. Not what Victor did. I’d keep it quiet, like always. Lock it away.
I could pretend to be fine for a few more hours. Just until the shaking stopped.
The drive to Miles’s place felt longer than it should’ve.
I kept one hand tight on the steering wheel, the other fidgeting in my lap. My stomach was hollow, aching—not from hunger, but from what I’d left behind on that bathroom floor.
Every red light stretched forever. Every turn felt sharper than it needed to be. I could still feel Victor’s fingers on my jaw, the cold press of the sink against my skin. My chest squeezed tight.
But I couldn’t think about that now.
Not when I was going to see him.
Miles.
God, what was I even doing? Showing up like this... unannounced... again. Like I needed him.
I hated that I did.
But the thought of walking into my apartment—the quiet, the emptiness—made my throat close up. Made the walls feel like they’d crush me.
No. I’d rather be here. With him.
Even if it made my head spin.
I pulled into his driveway, cutting the engine. My fingers lingered on the keys longer than they should have, breathing slow, trying to swallow the knot in my chest.
When I finally stepped out, I barely made it to the door before the sound of clicking nails echoed against the floor.
Sunny.
The golden blur bounded down the hall, tail wagging wildly, tongue lolling. Last time she nearly knocked me flat.
This time, I braced myself.
“Hey, trouble,” I muttered as she bumped into my legs, pushing her snout into my hand.
I hesitated.
Then—slow, awkward—I let my hand rest on her head. Gave a little scratch behind her ears. She wagged harder, tongue flopping, as if I’d just given her the greatest gift in the world.
Stupid dog.
I sighed. But my chest felt less tight.
The door opened wide.
Miles stood there in sweatpants and a loose black tee, hair messy like he’d just run a hand through it. His grin spread wide, easy, warm.
“Hey, grumps,” he said, voice soft like he was afraid to spook me.
And then—without thinking—he leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
It was quick, barely there. Gentle. Like breathing.
But it knocked the air from my lungs.
I stared at him, throat tight, heartbeat jumping. His eyes held mine, soft and steady, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.
“Long day?” he asked, hand brushing my shoulder.
I swallowed. Hard. “Something like that,” I muttered, forcing the corners of my mouth up. Just a little. Just enough.
Miles smiled wider and stepped aside. “Come on in. Sunny’s been waiting for you, apparently.”
Sunny let out a huff, still pressed against my leg like she owned me now. I shook my head, the smallest smirk tugging at my lips.
Maybe this wasn’t the worst place to be after all.
The couch sank under me as I sat, the familiar scent of Miles’s place wrapping around me—clean cotton, something warm and spiced from the tea already waiting on the table.
He always made tea when I came over.
I stared at the cup, fingers curling around it but not lifting. The steam ghosted up toward my face, but the warmth didn’t touch me.
I wasn’t here. Not really.
I could still feel the tile floor of the bathroom under my knees. Still hear Victor’s voice curling in my ear like poison. Throw it up. Do it or I’ll do it for you.
My stomach twisted.
“Hey,” Miles purred, dropping onto the cushion beside me. “Tea’s getting cold.”
I blinked, pulling myself up from the dark pit I’d slipped into. “Right. Sorry.” My fingers tightened on the cup, but I didn’t drink.
His eyes flicked to me—watching, careful. Like he knew something was off.
“You hungry? I can make something. Or order. Whatever you want.”
I shook my head too fast. “No. I’m fine.”
His lips pressed into a line. Not convinced. But he didn’t push.
Instead, he leaned back, arm stretched along the top of the couch behind me. His thumb brushed my shoulder—not enough to make me flinch. Just there. Warm. Real.
“Guess what Sunny did this morning,” Miles said, voice light, dragging the tension into something softer. “She figured out how to open the treat drawer. Like—full-on pulled it out with her teeth. Smart little brat.”
I huffed. A weak, breathless sound that wasn’t quite a laugh.
“She ate half the bag of jerky before I caught her. Looked so damn proud, too. Tail wagging, tongue out... like she just saved the world.”
I gave the smallest shake of my head, eyes down. “Your dog’s a menace.”
“She’s your dog now, too. She sits by the door when you leave, you know. Waiting. Like I’m gonna open it and you’ll walk back in.”
That pulled something in my chest. I gulped.
His thumb brushed my shoulder again. Quiet. Comforting.
“Hey...” Miles’s voice dropped softer. “You’re kinda... not here. You okay?”
I stiffened. He noticed. Of course he did.
“Yeah,” I lied, forcing my voice steady. “Just tired.”
He didn’t believe me. I could feel it. But he didn’t push. Didn’t make me say the words that burned in my throat.
“Okay,” he said after a beat. “No pressure. Just... you can sit here. With me. You don’t have to talk.”
I stared at the tea again and noticed the steam fade.
His hand rested behind me. Not pulling, not pressing. Just... there.
For the first time that day... I breathed.