Chapter Forty
Julian
We were back at Miles’s house.
I thought the lightness I’d felt at the hot springs would carry over. Maybe it’d settle somewhere in my chest and make room for breathing again.
I was wrong.
Miles sat beside me on the couch, his expression tight, worried. His thumb hovered over his phone, his leg bouncing slightly like he was holding something in. Something bad.
“Jules...” he said softly, carefully, like I was glass thin and already cracking. “I need to show you something.”
My stomach twisted, a cold, sinking weight spreading through my chest.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice small.
Miles hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek, before gently turning the phone toward me.
It hit me like a punch.
There—plastered on Victor’s account—was a photo of me. Or at least... what was supposed to be me.
But my body was blown out, grotesque and bloated, like someone had stretched me wide as a cruel joke. My face rounder, my stomach hanging, my frame thickened unnaturally until I was unrecognizable.
I stared.
My mouth went dry.
No.
No.
It didn’t look like me. But there I was. My name tagged. My body twisted into some disgusting caricature.
A soft ringing filled my ears as I slowly, stupidly, started to scroll. I shouldn’t have. But my fingers moved on their own.
“He really let himself go.”
“Guess that’s what happens when you leave your sugar daddy.”
“No wonder Victor dumped him.”
“Did he eat the whole set or what?”
Laughter. Mocking. Disgust.
I couldn’t breathe.
A sharp sting pricked the back of my throat. My vision blurred.
“Stop,” Miles said, reaching gently but firmly for the phone. I felt him pull it away from my trembling hands. “No more, Jules. Don’t do this to yourself.”
I blinked hard, the tears slipping free anyway.
“It’s not even me,” I whispered. My voice broke around the edges. “I don’t look like that. Why would he—why would he—”
Miles leaned in, cupping the side of my face, brushing his thumb under my eye. “Because he’s desperate. And pathetic. And cruel,” he murmured. “And this is the only card he has left to play. You know none of that’s real, baby. None of it.”
But it felt real.
It felt real because people were laughing. Pointing. Agreeing.
Even if my body didn’t look like that—what if they thought it did? What if they believed him?
I pressed my face into my palms, heart hammering, throat closing tight. “I can’t escape him, can I?” I croaked. “Even now... he’s still ruining me.”
Miles shook his head fiercely, slipping his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest. “No, Jules. He’s ruining himself. You’re free. We’ll keep showing everyone the truth. You tell your story. You clear your name. You take your life back. He’s done.”
I wiped at my eyes with the sleeve of Miles’s hoodie—the one I’d stolen from his closet this morning—trying to clear the blur of tears that wouldn’t stop stinging.
“What do I do now, Miles?” I whispered, my throat raw, chest tight. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for his phone.
“I’m calling Renee.”
My heart jumped. My stomach knotted tighter.
She picked up after two rings. Her voice was firm, focused on speaker. “I’ve seen it,” she said without preamble. “That photoshopped garbage Victor posted. I figured you’d be calling.”
I gulped, curling into myself. Miles kept a hand on my knee—his thumb rubbing slow circles, grounding me, keeping me from falling apart again.
Renee sighed through the speaker. “Julian... I have an idea. It’s big. But I think it’s time.”
I stared at Miles. He gave me a small nod. “Go on,” he said for me.
“A press conference.”
The words hung heavy in the room.
“We go public. You go public. The whole truth—every part of your story. You tell the world what Victor did to you. The manipulation. The threats. The abuse. And you bring the real photo—the untouched one from that day—to show the world exactly what he did to smear you. No more secrets. No more hiding. No more letting him control the narrative.”
My heart pounded hard in my chest.
A press conference.
My story.
Everything laid bare for the world to see.
“I...” My voice wavered. My fingers curled tighter into the fabric of Miles’s hoodie. “I don’t know if I can... It’s the whole world, Renee. Everyone will know. They’ll see how pathetic I was. How weak I let myself be.”
“You weren’t weak, Julian.” Her voice was gentle but sure. “You were surviving. And you’re not just surviving anymore. You’re fighting. You want to end this, really end it? This is how.”
I shook my head, panicking. “I can’t—”
“Hey. Jules.”
Miles’s voice cut in, warm and firm in my ear. He leaned closer, his breath soft against my cheek. “You don’t have to decide right now. You can breathe. But... this is your way out. For good. And no matter what you choose... I’m right here. Every step. You won’t stand up there alone.”
I closed my eyes, breathing slowly, shaky.
Renee’s voice softened. “This could be the last time you ever have to speak his name, Julian. The last time he ever has a hold on you. But only if you’re ready. Only if you want this.”
Silence stretched between us.
I opened my eyes slowly, glancing down at Miles’s hand wrapped around mine. His thumb brushed over my knuckles like he could keep me steady forever if I let him.
“I...” My voice broke. I gulped and tried again. “I want him to pay. I want him to lose everything like he made me lose everything.”
A quiet pause.
“Then let’s make that happen,” Renee said simply. “I’ll set the press conference. Bring the real photo. Every receipt. Every truth. No more hiding.”
I exhaled shakily.
No more hiding.
“I’ll do it,” I whispered. My voice trembled, but I meant it. “I’ll tell them everything.”
Miles kissed my temple, whispering gently, “I’m so proud of you, pretty boy.”
Renee’s smile echoed in her voice. “Good. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details. Get some rest tonight, Julian. You’re going to take your life back.”
She hung up.
I stared at the silent phone in Miles’s hand.
A press conference.
The truth.
Everything... finally out.
And for the first time... I wasn’t completely terrified.
Just... almost.
But Miles’s arm around my shoulders made it bearable.
I sat on the floor of Miles’s living room, my back pressed against the couch, surrounded by chaos. My phone lay in my lap, screen glowing bright against the dark room, filled with open messages, photo folders, and voice memos.
God. How the hell did it come to this?
Every ugly thing Victor ever texted me... every cruel, venom-laced word he spat behind the safety of a private message... they were all there. Proof. Evidence. I’d spent the last hour screenshotting every single one. My hands were trembling.
Next were the photos.
The ones I took myself. Bruises on my ribs. My wrist, swollen and purple. The faint outline of his handprint bruised into my throat. I’d tried not to look at them closely when I saved them. But now? Now I had to. I stared hard at every mark like they weren’t on my own body. Like they weren’t mine.
“Julian?” Miles’s voice came gently from the couch. He hadn’t left my side once. “Baby, you okay?”
I gulped, biting the inside of my cheek. “No. But I have to do this.”
Miles shifted, leaning over the armrest, fingers brushing lightly down my back. A comfort. A silent I’ve got you.
I pulled up the video next. The one Miles recorded when Victor had grabbed me last week. The audio was clear—Victor’s snarl, the threat in his voice as he spat venom about Miles and my career. My stomach twisted hearing it again.
I paused the video. Took a breath. Closed my eyes.
I could still feel Victor’s hand on my throat. His thumb pressing against my windpipe. My chest tightened. My fingers twitched like they wanted to claw that memory away.
“Julian.”
Miles was crouched in front of me now, cupping my cheek gently. “You don’t have to do this all tonight. You can rest.”
I shook my head. “No. If I stop now... I’ll never want to start again. I need to finish this. I need to make sure I have everything ready for the press conference.”
God, even saying those words made my stomach drop. The whole world would know.
The press. My fans. The industry. Everyone would finally see the broken parts of me I spent years hiding under smiles and perfect poses.
What if they hated me for it?
What if they thought I was weak?
What if this ruined me anyway?
“Hey.” Miles caught my gaze like he could see every storm I was drowning in. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll be right beside you. Every step. No matter what.”
I gave a small, broken smile. “You’re annoyingly good at this supportive boyfriend thing.”
“Damn right.” He grinned, then softly kissed my temple.
I stared back at the screen. Then I opened my notes app. A blank page.
The speech. I needed to write the speech.
My fingers hovered above the keyboard. I wanted to pour it all out. The truth. The anger. The pain. But it stuck in my throat like broken glass. My chest was tight. My hands shaking again.
Miles nudged a warm mug of tea next to me. “Start small,” he said softly. “One sentence. One truth. Then the rest will come.”
I glanced up at him, then down. My fingers tapped the screen. I froze. My heart pounded so loud I thought I’d pass out.
Miles squeezed my shoulder gently. “Good. Keep going. You can do this.”
I bit my lip, hard, fighting tears. My jaw clenched. You can do this, Julian. You have to.
I started typing more. About the food. The punishments. The throwing up. The bruises.
Miles shifted next to me, quietly reading as I wrote, his thumb tracing circles on the small of my back. He didn’t rush me. Didn’t speak. He let me break, and heal, and break again in my own time.
But I knew. I knew this wasn’t over. Not yet.
Victor wasn’t going to let this happen without a fight.
I finished the first paragraph, breathing heavily like I’d run a mile. “God,” I muttered, rubbing my face. “This is real now, isn’t it?”
Miles nodded. “Yeah, baby. It’s real. But you’re stronger than him now. You’re doing this. We’re doing this.”
His words settled in me like a quiet warmth, steadying my shaking hands.
I wasn’t doing this alone.
Not anymore.