Chapter Thirty-Six
Julian
I woke slowly, blinking against the soft morning light slipping in through the cracks of the curtains. The first thing I saw was Miles.
He was still asleep beside me, breathing deep and steady, his chest rising and falling in rhythm. His hair was messy, a few strands falling into his eyes, his lips parted ever so slightly. Like he didn’t have a single worry in the world.
I wished I could feel that way. Even for a moment.
But the weight of yesterday hit me hard, pressing down like lead in my chest.
Victor’s hand. The way his fingers wrapped around my throat—tight, angry, bruising. The panic. The fear. The suffocation.
And then Miles.
Miles calling me. Miles knowing. Miles showing up no matter how many times I begged him not to. He saw me—all of me—the bruises, the cracks, the damage. And he didn’t run.
And then he said it.
“I love you.”
My chest tightened. I curled my fingers in the sheets, holding my breath as if that would somehow make the memory slip away. But it didn’t. It was there. Stuck. Tangled in my thoughts.
He loved me.
Why? How could he?
I’m nothing but a mess. Broken. Weak. Pathetic. A walking disaster of anxiety and shame.
Victor’s words echoed in my head like poison:
No one will want you if you keep looking like this. No one will stay if you keep falling apart.
I gulped, shifting carefully so I wouldn’t wake him. My throat ached—a quiet, constant reminder of Victor’s threat. Of what could happen if I didn’t obey. Of what he said about Miles.
End it, Julian. Or you’ll watch me ruin him.
My stomach twisted.
I hated that Miles knew now. I hated that he saw me this broken, this weak. He deserved better. Someone whole. Someone who could say I love you back without the word getting stuck in their chest like glass.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown them out. But they clung to me. Heavy. Cold. Familiar.
And yet...
Miles did stay.
He held me when I broke. He carried me to bed. He touched me like I wasn’t something ruined. He kissed me like I mattered.
I wanted to say it back. God, I wanted to say it back so badly it hurt.
I loved him. I knew that now, clear as day, burning in my chest like a secret I couldn’t hold in.
But the fear, it was louder... it dug its claws deep.
What if saying it out loud made it real? What if it cursed everything?
What if he regretted it? What if he woke up and realized what I really was? What if I said the words and he left?
I turned my head, eyes tracing his peaceful face. How could someone like him want someone like me?
I gulped, reaching up to touch the faint ache at my throat where Victor’s hand had been. The bruise would darken by tonight. A mark of what I was. A reminder.
He deserves someone whole, I thought bitterly. Not this broken thing.
And yet here he was. Sleeping beside me like this was normal. Like this was home.
A shaky breath left me.
I wanted to believe in it. In him. In us.
But for now... I kept the words inside.
Safe. Silent. Buried.
Just for a little longer.
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Miles murmured something and turned onto his side, still sound asleep, hair messy against the pillow. His face was soft in the early light.
He looked peaceful. Like I hadn’t shattered in his arms last night. Like the world hadn’t cracked open around us. I owe him so much.
The thought lodged itself deep.
Miles had held me through everything—through the worst. And I’d done nothing for him. Not really. Maybe... maybe I could do something now. Something simple. Something normal.
I could make him breakfast.
The idea was ridiculous. I never cooked, we both knew that. That’s why Miles was the designated chef and not me. But maybe just this once... toast. Eggs. Something easy.
He deserves it.
I moved carefully, slipping out of bed. Taking one more glance at him sound asleep, feeling warmth bloom inside me.
In the kitchen, I stared at the counter. Okay. Toast first. Easy. Bread. Toaster. Even I couldn’t screw that up. I pushed two slices in and turned to the fridge. Eggs. Miles made them look so simple. I could do this. I cracked one clumsily into a bowl—shell pieces immediately sinking into the yolk.
“Shit.”
I tried again. This time, less shell. Kind of.
And the toast... the toast smelled...burnt.
Shit, shit, shit.
Smoke curled lazily from the toaster. I yanked the slices out—both blackened to cardboard. “It’s fine, I’m sure Miles will appreciate hardened burnt toast,” I muttered.
I grabbed the eggs, poured them into a pan—and immediately the sizzle turned too loud, too fast. Was it too hot? Was this what Miles meant by medium heat? The edges crisped like paper. I scrambled to grab a spatula, trying to save them.
The smoke alarm chirped weakly above me.
“Perfect,” I muttered.
And then I heard it.
Barefoot steps behind me. A familiar sleepy groan.
“Julian?”
I froze.
Miles stood in the doorway, hair a mess, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“What...are you doing?” he asked, voice thick with sleep.
I stiffened. “I, uh. I made you breakfast. Or...tried to.” I held up the pan, where something vaguely resembling eggs stuck stubbornly to the metal. The smell of burnt toast still lingered.
Miles blinked.
Then he smiled.
God, he smiled—wide and real, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Trying to steal my job as house chef, huh?”
I flushed hot. “I—I just thought I’d make you something. You deserve it after...after everything.”
Miles padded over, wrapping his arms gently around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. His warmth pressed against my back.
“Burning your kitchen down for me? I’m honored.”
I let out a breathy laugh despite myself. “Shut up.”
His chuckle rumbled in my ear. “You’re cute when you try to cook. This is totally going on the ‘reasons why I love Julian Vale’ list.”
I stared at the ruined eggs. “At least lie to me and say it looks edible.”
He grinned against my neck. “It’s perfect. But only because you made it.”
I felt my chest tighten—too full, too warm.
He meant it.
For the first time in what felt like days, the fear in my chest loosened—just a little.
“Come on, pretty boy,” Miles said softly, pulling me toward the table. “Let’s eat your disaster breakfast. But...maybe I’ll make us some backup toast. You know. Just in case.”
I chuckled as he kissed my cheek and moved to the fridge.
For a moment—just a small, quiet moment—I let myself feel it.
Normal. Safe. Loved.
And I wanted more.
We sat at the kitchen table, plates in front of us—one with my sad, overcooked eggs and blackened toast, the other with perfectly golden scrambled eggs Miles whipped up in five minutes flat. Because of course he did.
He took a bite of my “creation,” chewing slowly, expression unreadable.
I stared, chewing my lip. “Well?”
Miles set the fork down, gulping dramatically.
“You’re not allowed in any kitchen unsupervised ever again.”
I groaned. “You said it was perfect five minutes ago.”
“That was because you were pouting and I’m weak when you pout.” He leaned back in his chair, grinning. “But now that you’re smiling again? No holding back. This toast could break a tooth, and I think the eggs are...well. They’re something.”
I tossed a balled napkin at him. “Jerk.”
He caught it mid-air, laughing. “Hey, you’re the one who tried to steal my job. I’m just protecting my title as head chef of this relationship.”
Relationship.
The word stuck in my chest for a second. Heavy. Real.
But before I could spiral—before my thoughts could slide back into panic and fear—Miles leaned forward, the playful glint in his eyes softening into something more serious.
“Jules.” His voice dropped low. Gentle. Careful. Like he knew the next thing would make my stomach twist.
I set my fork down, my pulse skipping.
“We’re meeting with Renee and her lawyer today. To go over your contract.” He reached across the table, sliding his fingers over mine. “It’s happening. You’re getting out of this.”
My chest tightened. The room seemed smaller.
Today.
It was real now. No more hiding. No more stalling.
A thousand things raced through my head at once—Victor’s threats, the bruises darkening my throat, the way his hand had squeezed until I couldn’t breathe. His voice in my ear.
“End it. Or I’ll ruin him.”
I gulped. My fingers curled instinctively against the table.
“Julian?” Miles squeezed my hand gently, pulling me out of my head. “Breathe, baby. You don’t have to be scared. I’ll be with you. The whole time.”
I forced air into my lungs, nodding shakily. My stomach churned, panic bubbling beneath the surface.
What if Victor finds out? What if Renee can’t get me out? What if I make it worse?
But then I glanced at Miles.
Steady. Warm. Certain.
Like he believed, without question, that I could do this.
And maybe...maybe he was right. Maybe with him there, I could be brave enough.
“I...okay.” My voice cracked, but I made myself nod again. “I’ll do it.”
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, gentle. Reassuring. “That’s my brave boy.”
I flushed, looking down at our hands. The fear was still there—sharp and awful—but it felt less heavy with him holding me together.
“Finish your eggs, chef,” Miles teased softly, bumping my foot under the table.
“We’ve got a big day. And I need you fed so you don’t faint on me halfway through this meeting. ”
I let out a shaky laugh. Small. But real. “Only if you promise to never let me near the stove again.”
“Deal.”
He grinned—warm and golden like morning light—and for the first time since Victor’s threats, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could make it to the other side.
I stared at my reflection, trying to adjust the collar of Miles’s oversized hoodie to hide the bruising on my throat. The faint, ugly outline of Victor’s hand was still there. A sick reminder of yesterday. No amount of foundation could fully erase it.
I tugged the fabric higher, gulped, and gave up. It didn’t matter how much I covered—I felt see-through. Like everyone would look at me today and know.
Behind me, soft footsteps padded closer.
“You okay, pretty boy?” Miles’s voice was gentle, quiet, and careful. Like if he spoke too loud, I’d shatter.
I hated that. Hated that I needed it.
I glanced at him in the mirror. His hair was tousled, and his sleepy smile made my chest ache. God, how could he still look at me like that after everything?
“I’m fine,” I muttered, adjusting the hoodie again.
He stepped behind me, his hands settling at my hips, grounding me. “Liar,” he said softly, with no heat. “But that’s okay. You don’t have to be fine. Not yet.”
I sighed, lowering my eyes. My fingers fidgeted with the hem of the hoodie. My stomach twisted so tightly I thought I’d throw up. “Julian,” Miles said, turning me gently to face him. His palms cupped my jaw. “It’s just Renee and her lawyer. You trust Renee, right?”
I nodded.
“And me?”
I struggled. “I... yeah. I trust you.”
“Then breathe, pretty boy. We’re just going to talk. That’s all.” He leaned forward, brushing a soft kiss to my temple. “I’m not letting you face this alone. You’ve been doing that for far too long.”
His quiet certainty made my chest squeeze. I didn’t deserve this. But God, I wanted to believe him.
Miles laced our fingers together. “Ready?”
No.
Yes.
I didn’t know.
But I forced my head to nod.
The car ride felt like being trapped underwater.
My head swam with thoughts—what if this didn’t work? What if there wasn’t really a loophole? What if Victor found out and made everything worse? What if this plan got Miles hurt?
I clenched my fists in my lap.
Miles’s free hand reached across the console, giving my knee a gentle squeeze. “We’re almost there. You’re doing good.”
His thumb rubbed little circles on my thigh. I focused on that. On the warmth. On him. “You’re not alone, Julian,” he said softly. “Whatever happens in there—we face it together.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
I wanted to believe him.
God, I want to believe him.
Miles held my hand as we walked into the sleek office building. His presence was steady beside me—like an anchor.
Renee greeted us in the small meeting room, her usual warmth replaced with sharp focus. Beside her sat a man in a dark suit—her lawyer. Calm. Professional. Like this was just another day.
“Julian,” Renee said softly, motioning for me to sit. “We’re going to fix this. I promise. But I need you to listen carefully.”
I eased into the chair, my heart hammering.
Miles squeezed my shoulder, sitting beside me.
“We reviewed your contract,” the lawyer began gently. “And Renee was right—Victor’s violated multiple clauses. Repeatedly. Physical assault is an immediate breach. Emotional manipulation and threats of bodily harm—there’s wording in here that protects you from all of that.”
I blinked. The words weren’t sinking in.
“W-we can use that?” I whispered.
The lawyer nodded. “We can. We will. And the photos you took yesterday—of the bruises—are critical evidence. We’ll document everything. We’ll also file for a cease-and-desist. You won’t have to be alone with him again.”
My breath caught. Miles reached for my hand again under the table, giving it a small squeeze.
Renee leaned forward. “Julian... you’re getting out. I need you to believe that. We just need a little more. Messages. Voice recordings. Anything that shows the pattern of abuse. But we’re building the case. You are going to walk away from him.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
“I...” My voice broke. “I can really leave? I can really be... free?”
Renee’s smile softened. “Yes, Julian. You can. And you will.”
A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it.
I felt Miles lean closer, whispering, “Told you, pretty boy. You’re not stuck anymore.”
I wiped my cheek quickly, embarrassed by the tears but unable to stop them. My whole body shook—shock, relief, fear, hope. All tangled. “What happens next?” I asked, my voice small.
The lawyer smiled gently. “We gather everything. Then we terminate the contract. And he can’t touch you again.”
I let out a shaky laugh. It didn’t feel real.
Miles squeezed my hand again. “It’s happening, Julian. One step closer.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing it in.
Maybe—just maybe—this nightmare was finally ending.