Chapter Thirty-Five #2
I crouched in front of him, brushing the hair from his damp face, waiting for him to speak.
And when he finally did, his voice was so small, so soft I almost didn’t hear him.
“You...love me?” he whispered, eyes wide, glimmering with unshed tears.
I smiled gently. No hesitation. No fear. Just the truth.
“Yeah, baby,” I said, voice steady, low, and sure. “I love you. I’ve been falling for you for a while now. I think I knew it back in Florence... when you laughed at me for tripping over my own feet.”
His lip twitched, the ghost of a smile. But then it faded.
He looked away, his hands twisting in his lap, jaw tight. “You...can’t,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t.”
“Jules—”
“I’m broken,” he whispered harshly. “I’m weak. Pathetic. A fucking walking thundercloud. I ruin everything. Look at me—” his voice cracked as he touched the faint bruise on his neck, “—I’m disgusting. How can you love this? How could anyone want this?”
His head dropped, shoulders shaking again.
I reached up, cupping his jaw, tilting his face to mine—forcing him to meet my eyes.
“Don’t you ever say that again,” I said softly, but firmly. “Not around me. Not about yourself. Because none of that is true. Not even close.”
He gulped, trembling.
“You want to know why I love you?” I asked gently. “I’ll tell you.”
I leaned closer, brushing my thumb under his eye.
“I love you because you are the strongest person I’ve ever met. You’ve survived so much... and you’re still here. Still fighting. Even when the whole world—when Victor—tries to break you. You get up. You keep going.”
His lip trembled, eyes burning.
“I love your grumpy face in the morning. I love the way you ramble about books for hours and don’t even notice you do it.
I love that you care about people even when you pretend not to.
I love the way you hold Sunny like she’s the most precious thing on the planet.
I love the way you hold me like I matter. ”
I smiled, brushing the pads of my fingers down his cheek.
“And I love you, Julian Vale. Not the model. Not America’s Sweetheart. You. The real you. The one who gets grumpy when his tea’s cold and curses under his breath when he burns toast. The one who looks at me like I hung the stars when you think I’m not watching.”
A tear slipped down his cheek.
“You are not broken. You are not pathetic. And you’re not dragging me into the dark, baby. You’re the one dragging me into the light.”
He let out a shaky, wet laugh. His chest hitched. His hands reached for mine, holding tight.
“Miles...” he breathed.
“I see you, Julian. All of you. And I love what I see. Every part.”
For a moment—just a moment—he finally looked like he believed me.
He squeezed my hands tight.
“...you’re too good to me,” he whispered.
I smiled. “Nah. Just good enough for the man I love.”
His lip quivered again—but this time, there was a small, soft smile beneath it.
A real one.
Julian fell asleep crying in my arms.
The soft, broken sounds of his sobs finally quieted, his breathing settling into something slower, steadier—though even in sleep, his fingers clung weakly to the fabric of my hoodie like he was afraid I’d disappear.
I pressed a kiss to his damp temple. “I’ve got you, baby... I’ve got you.”
Carefully, gently, I shifted him, lifting him up bridal style. He didn’t stir—too worn down, too exhausted. My chest ached just looking at him: the dark smudges under his eyes, the fading flush of tear-streaked cheeks, and most of all—the faint, angry handprint blooming purple around his throat.
It made my stomach twist and burn.
I laid him down in his bed, pulling the comforter up to his chin, brushing stray hair from his face. He looked so small like this. Too small.
I lingered for a moment, then turned away—clenching my jaw hard as I stepped into the kitchen, pulling my phone out. My thumb hovered over Renee’s name.
Call. Now.
The line barely rang twice before she picked up.
“Miles?” Renee’s voice was alert, sharp—like she already knew this wasn’t going to be casual.
I didn’t bother with hello.
“There’s a fucking handprint on his throat.” My voice was low, seething. “Victor put his hands on him again. Hard enough to bruise.”
Silence on her end. A sharp intake of breath.
“Jesus Christ,” she muttered. “Miles... I was afraid of this. Is Julian—?”
“He’s asleep. Finally.” I raked a hand through my hair, forcing down the urge to put my fist through something. “He broke down, Renee. Told me everything. Everything you were worried about—it’s worse. He thinks he’s protecting me by pushing me away. He’s terrified.”
A pause. Then her voice came back, brisk, professional—but tight with anger.
“I’ve already set things in motion. My lawyer’s drawing up papers now—we’re setting up a meeting. You, me, Julian, and the legal team. Tomorrow, if possible. First thing in the morning. We’ll lay out exactly how we’re pulling him from this contract and filing for breach and abuse.”
I closed my eyes, breathing out slowly.
“What about proof?” I muttered. “He took pictures of the bruises tonight. But is that enough? We can get messages. Records. Hell, I’ll record Victor myself if I have to—”
“Miles, we’ll need everything,” Renee cut in gently but firmly.
“Photos. The texts he’s gotten. Any voicemails.
Eyewitness statements—if you have any from set, from staff, anyone who saw how Victor treats him.
The more, the better. My team will make sure he’s protected legally. But Miles...” She hesitated.
“What?”
“I need him there. Fully there. He has to want this. I can’t do this unless Julian’s ready to fight this himself.”
My jaw tightened. My eyes drifted toward the bedroom door, soft breathing still audible from inside.
“He is,” I said quietly. “He’s scared shitless. But he wants out. I know it. He wouldn’t have broken like this if he didn’t. You’ll see tomorrow. I’ll make sure he comes.”
“Good.” Her tone softened just slightly. “You did the right thing by calling me. I’m going to make sure Victor’s career burns for this.”
I exhaled sharply, the knot in my chest loosening a fraction.
“Renee.”
“Yeah?”
“If Victor even looks at him again, I swear to God—”
“Miles,” she warned gently. “Don’t do something stupid. Stay smart. Stay calm. Help him out of this the right way. And then we can burn Victor legally, the way that matters.”
A muscle ticked in my jaw.
“Fine. But tomorrow. First thing.”
“Tomorrow. I’ll text the time and place.”
I hung up, letting my phone fall onto the counter. My palms pressed hard against the cold surface, my head lowering between my shoulders.
Just one more day, Jules. One more. And we’ll get you out.
I turned my head, glancing back at the bedroom where he slept curled tight in the sheets.
“Hang on, baby,” I murmured softly. “I’ve got you.”