Chapter Twenty-Nine
Julian
I don’t know how long I cried.
Minutes. Hours.
Forever.
My chest still ached like it was bruised from the inside out, my throat raw and tight. My eyes burned from the tears that wouldn’t stop—the ones I hadn’t let fall for years. But they were done now. All spent. All emptied. Like me.
Miles never let go.
He held me the whole time. Quiet. Warm. Steady.
Like I wasn’t a disaster. Like I wasn’t broken beyond repair.
I finally peeled myself away from his shoulder, the soft fabric of his hoodie damp beneath my cheek. My hands shook as I steadied myself, pulling back just enough to see him—to meet those wide, gentle eyes that watched me like I was something fragile and precious and not...this.
He reached up, brushing his thumb beneath my eye, wiping the wetness away. Soft. Careful. Like I might shatter if he pressed too hard.
I hated this.
I hated that he’d seen me like this—crumbling, weak, ugly.
God, I must’ve looked hideous.
Red eyes. Puffy face. Snot and tears and shaking hands.
I never let anyone see me like this. Ever.
And now he had.
He’s going to leave.
He’s going to look at me with disgust. Pity. Regret. He’s going to realize what a mess I am and wonder why he ever bothered.
I stared at him, panic bubbling cold in my gut. My fingers curled into my palms to stop them from trembling again.
Say something.
Anything.
Apologize. Tell him you’re fine. Lie, like always.
But I couldn’t force the words out. My throat tightened, my chest hitching like another sob was hiding there, waiting to betray me.
Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why wasn’t he pulling away?
I glanced down at myself—God, I probably looked pathetic. Small. Pathetic. Weak.
A model who couldn’t keep it together.
A man who wasn’t strong enough to fight back.
A failure.
He sees it now. All of it. The real me.
And still... he stayed.
His hand gently cupped the side of my face, thumb stroking the curve of my cheekbone as if I was something worth touching. Worth keeping close.
I gulped. My chest squeezed tight again.
Why was he still here?
Why didn’t he pull away?
Why did this feel like the safest place I’d been in years?
“I’m sorry,” I rasped, my voice cracked and low.
My hands gripped the fabric of my sweats, fingers twisting so hard they ached.
“I—I’m sorry you had to see that. God, I’m such a mess, Miles.
I’m weak. I’m pathetic. I get it if you want to leave—if you want nothing to do with me after this.
I must look disgusting. Like something broken you didn’t sign up for—”
“Baby. Stop.”
His voice cut through my panic like a thread pulling me back.
Firm. Soft. Unshakable.
I blinked at him, breath hitching, throat burning. His hand was still warm on my cheek, thumb brushing the skin just under my eye. Still here. Still holding me. Like I hadn’t ruined everything.
“Julian,” Miles said gently, “you are not pathetic. You are not weak. And you sure as hell are not disgusting. Don’t you ever—” he shook his head, leaning in closer, his voice low, steady, meant only for me, “—don’t you ever say that about yourself again.”
I gulped. My eyes burned fresh and I hated it—hated that I wanted to believe him so badly.
He gave me a small smile, barely there but real.
“You think I’d leave because you had a breakdown?
You think I’d run because you let yourself feel something for once?
” He shook his head again, fingers brushing the line of my jaw like I was something precious.
“You’re human, Jules. Not some perfect porcelain thing that has to pretend all the time. ”
His words settled like warmth in my chest, fighting against the cold that lived there. “I’m not going anywhere,” Miles murmured. “Not because of this. Not because of you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe past the lump in my throat. My fingers gripped his wrist like I needed to hold onto something solid. And maybe I did.
“You deserve someone who stays,” he whispered.
God. He is killing me.
And I didn’t know how to believe him. But part of me wanted to.
So badly.
We stared at each other.
The silence stretched, heavy and thick, but not uncomfortable. It’s charged. My chest rose and fell like I’ve run a marathon. His eyes—warm, endless, safe—search mine, asking questions without a word.
And then we both leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first, like testing the surface of water, but the moment my fingers curled in his shirt, it deepened. I felt his hands on my waist, holding me, grounding me. I press in harder. My mouth opened beneath his without fear this time, without hesitation.
The taste of him—warm, familiar, safe—undoes me.
His hands slide up my back, and my breath catches when he shifts, guiding me to straddle his lap.
I do it willingly, craving the press of him, the heat, the spark flaring between us.
Our kiss turned hungry, desperate like we’ve waited far too long.
I tug at his shirt, wanting it off, wanting all of him—
But then Miles pulls back. His chest heaves. His forehead rests against mine.
“Julian...” His voice is low, shaky. “Are you sure? I—I don’t want to do this if you’re not okay. After everything. I can’t—”
I grab his face, my fingers trembling against his cheeks.
“Please,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes. “Please, Miles. I need this. I need to be touched like I’m not broken. Like I’m not made of glass. Please...” My throat tightens. “I need this. I need to have control over something in my life and I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you.”
His breath hitched. Something shifts in his eyes—soft concern melting into something deeper. Fierce. Devoted. “Okay,” he murmurs, his hands sliding to cup my jaw. “Okay, baby. I’ve got you. Whatever you want. Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
But I don’t want him to stop. Not tonight.
His mouth claimed mine again, slower this time but no less desperate.
My fingers tugged his shirt off. He helped, stripping me gently but eagerly, until I’m bare beneath him.
When he laid me down on the bed, his hand never left me—tracing my chest, my hips, my trembling stomach like I was something precious, not broken pieces.
“Beautiful,” he whispered against my neck. “So damn beautiful, Jules.”
Clothes fell away, slow and breathless, until there was nothing between us.
“Is this okay?” Miles asked again softly, brushing his hand down my side, his touch feather-light.
I nodded, chest tight. “Yes. Please.”
His praise kept coming—gentle, warm. “You deserve the world. You deserve more than they’ve given you.” His lips ghosted over my jaw. “You’re perfect. My pretty boy.”
When he finally pushed into me, he went slow. Careful. Like he was memorizing every inch of me. I gasped, but not from fear—no, from the strange, wild feeling of being held like this. Of being wanted, worshipped, without strings or pain.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” Miles murmured. “You’re doing so good. Taking me so well.”
I clutched his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him closer, and he moved—deep, smooth thrusts that make warmth bloom low in my belly. His praises spilled in my ear like a balm.
“So good for me. So perfect. Look at you.” His hand brushed my cheek, thumb stroking beneath my eye. “You deserve to feel this good, Julian. You deserve everything.”
My throat worked around a soft sound—half a gasp, half a moan—and his smile broke, gentle and awed. “Pretty boy,” he whispered, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
I arched into him, chasing the heat, the edge, the freedom of this moment where no one else existed. Just him. Just us.
And when I fell apart beneath him, breaking with a soft, shuddering cry, he followed—holding me close, his forehead pressed to mine, breathless and shaking. “Mine,” he murmured, lips brushing my temple. “You’re mine, Jules. No one gets to hurt you again.”
And I believed him.
For the first time in forever...I believed it.
The room was quiet. Only the sound of our breathing filled the space. My body felt warm, stretched, heavy in the best way. Like for once... I wasn’t just existing—I was alive.
Miles was still beside me, chest against my back, his arm curled protectively around my waist like he didn’t want to let me go. I don’t think I wanted him to, either. His lips pressed softly to my shoulder. “You okay?” His voice was quiet, careful. Like I might break if he’s too loud.
I nodded, my throat too tight to answer properly.
Then he lifted his head, smiling. “You hungry, pretty boy?”
I let out a breath—half sigh, half laugh. “Didn’t you bring food?”
He grinned. “I did. It’s probably cold by now, but hey... cold takeout never killed anyone. Might even taste better this way.”
A real laugh slipped from me—small, but genuine. God, he’s such a dork. And I loved that about him. “There’s that smile,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the corner of my mouth. “Was starting to miss it.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips.
“Stay here. Don’t move.” Miles climbed off the bed, pulling on his boxers, and padded out of the room. When he came back, he was holding one of his sweaters—soft, dark gray, oversized.
“Here.” He knelt by the bed, gently slipping it over my head like I’m fragile, like I matter. “Can’t have you getting cold on me.”
I let him dress me without protest, the fabric swallowing me whole, smelling like him—like warmth and safety and home.
“Looks better on you anyway.” He smirked softly, fingers brushing my jaw. “Beautiful.”
My face burned. I ducked my head, hiding in the collar of the sweater.
Miles sat beside me, careful, gentle. His hand found mine, fingers tangling together. “Thank you.” The words slipped out before I can stop them. Quiet. Raw. Real. “For being here. For... this. All of this.”
His thumb stroked my knuckles. “Always, Jules. You don’t have to thank me.”
I gulp, feeling the weight of everything I wanted to say—but not tonight. I wasn’t ready for all of it yet.
“I want to explain,” I murmured. “I do. Everything. What’s been going on. With Victor. With all of it. But... not tonight. Not yet.”
Miles smiled. No pressure. No demand. Just patience.
“Okay,” he said, leaning in to kiss my temple. “Whenever you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere.”
Something in my chest eased. The knot loosening.
He stayed beside me, pulling me close, letting me rest my head against his chest. His fingers stroked slow circles into my back, grounding me in this moment. Safe. Wanted.
For once...I didn’t feel like glass.
And for the first time in forever...I wasn’t afraid to fall asleep.