Chapter Forty-One
Julian
The smell of eggs and toast filled Miles’s kitchen, warm and familiar—like him. Like safety.
I sat at the counter, hands wrapped tight around a coffee mug, staring into the dark swirl of it like it could somehow ground me. Like it could stop the pounding of my heart or the way my mind kept racing, spinning, dragging me to every awful what-if.
What if they didn’t believe me?
What if Victor won?
What if this ruined everything?
Miles was doing everything he could to distract me—dancing stupidly as he flipped a pancake, humming some ridiculous pop song off-key just to make me smile.
“You know,” he said, sliding the plate toward me, “I think I might’ve found my true calling. Professional chef-slash-backup dancer. Bet the Food Network’s dying for someone like me.”
A small, broken laugh pushed out of me. I knew he was trying. I loved him for trying. But I couldn’t get my brain to stop.
They’re going to see you.
All of you.
The bruises. The pictures. The video. Your voice cracking while you tell the world how pathetic you were under Victor’s hand.
The coffee in my stomach turned. My throat tightened. A cold sweat broke out along my neck.
I dropped the fork. “Miles—”
And then I was running.
I barely made it to the bathroom before I collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving, emptying everything, shaking so hard my teeth clacked together. My whole body felt like it was folding in on itself, breaking apart.
I heard him behind me. Kneeling. His hand warm against my back, rubbing slow, steady circles.
“I got you, pretty boy,” Miles murmured softly, like his voice could hold me together. “You’re okay. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”
I gasped for air between the waves of nausea, my forehead pressing against my arm that was on the cool porcelain. I wanted to disappear. To sink into the floor and vanish before the world could watch me fall apart.
When the retching finally stopped, I slumped back against the wall, trembling, legs sprawled weakly in front of me. My head throbbed. My eyes burned.
Miles sat down beside me without a word, his knee brushing mine, his hand sliding into mine like it belonged there.
“I...” My voice cracked. “I can’t do this.” I gulped, shaking my head, fresh tears pricking my eyes. “God, I’m so stupid. What made me think I could do this? That I could stand up there and tell everyone—”
The words broke apart on my tongue. I buried my face in my hands, trying to muffle the sob that clawed its way up my throat.
“Hey. Hey...”
Miles gently pried my hands away, cradling my face in his palms, forcing me to look at him. His eyes—steady, certain, soft in that way that made my heart ache.
“Listen to me, Julian,” he said in a low voice.
“You are not stupid. You are the bravest person I have ever met. You’re terrified and you’re still doing it.
That’s what courage is. You don’t have to be perfect.
You don’t have to have it all together. You just have to keep going.
And I’ll be right here with you. Every step. Every second. Got it?”
His thumb brushed the tear off my cheek.
“You’re not alone anymore, pretty boy.”
I let out a broken breath. My chest still hurt. My stomach still twisted. But the world didn’t feel like it was collapsing anymore.
Because Miles was here. Holding me together.
And maybe—just maybe—I could do this.
The cool water of the sink felt like a balm as Miles helped me wash the last remnants of panic off my face and hands. His touch was gentle, patient—every movement saying without words, I’m here. You’re safe.
He pulled out a fresh shirt and soft pants for me, the fabric warm and comforting against my skin. “Here,” he said softly, holding them out. “You’re going to knock ‘em dead.”
I forced a shaky smile, fumbling as I slipped into the clothes. Miles didn’t let go of my hand once, anchoring me in the present.
“Remember,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from my forehead, “you’re not alone in this. We’re a team. Whatever happens, I’m right beside you.”
I nodded, swallowing down the tight lump in my throat. I can do this. I have to.
The drive to the venue was quiet but safe. Miles’s steady presence beside me was the only thing keeping the chaotic thoughts at bay. But the moment we pulled up and parked, my heart kicked into overdrive—drumming in my ears like a warning bell.
My palms went clammy as we stepped out of the car. The world felt sharper, louder, and I could feel every eye on me already, even before I’d crossed the threshold.
Miles squeezed my hand gently. “You ready?”
I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t sure I was.
But as I looked up at him—at his steady gaze and unwavering confidence—I knew I wouldn’t have to be strong alone.
I drew a shaky breath, trying to steel myself for what was to come.
“Let’s do this,” I whispered.
And together, we walked inside.
Backstage was a whirlwind of muted voices, bright lights, and the faint scent of polished wood and makeup. I gripped Miles’s hand like a lifeline as we walked toward the meeting spot Renee had arranged.
Renee was already there, calm and composed as ever, with a reassuring smile that made my chest loosen just a little.
And then—Lena appeared, as if on cue. Her grin was wide and mischievous, eyes sparkling with that familiar warmth.
“Well, well, look who finally looks like he’s having fun,” she teased softly, elbowing me playfully. “I’m really glad Miles has you smiling more these days, Julian. About time someone did.”
I blinked, a faint blush creeping up my neck. “Thanks, Lena. Means a lot.”
Miles chuckled beside me, his grip tightening in quiet support.
Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of someone standing near the edge of the backstage crowd—Victor. His presence sent a sharp chill down my spine, and I froze, heart pounding like a drum.
Before I could fully process, I felt hands on my shoulders—Miles’s firm touch, Renee’s calm voice, and Lena’s steady presence—pulling me gently but firmly away from his cold stare.
Victor was pushed back, his glare lingering a moment longer before he disappeared into the shadows behind the curtain.
Miles leaned in close, his voice low and steady. “You’re not alone. We’ve got you. Every step.”
Renee nodded, her eyes fierce. “We’ll handle him. This is your moment, Julian.”
Lena gave my hand a quick squeeze. “You’re stronger than you know.”
I took a deep breath, feeling the tight knot in my stomach ease just a bit. Surrounded by these people who truly cared, I knew I could face whatever came next.
Renee’s voice cut through the noise like a calm in the storm.
“It’s time, Julian.”
Miles squeezed my hand once more, then leaned in, pressing a soft, grounding kiss to my temple.
“Good luck, pretty boy. You’ve got this.”
My heart hammered in my chest, adrenaline prickling every nerve as I forced my legs forward, toward the stage.
The moment the curtains parted, it was like stepping into a storm. Cameras flashed like lightning, voices buzzed in a chaotic hum, and dozens of eyes fixed on me—waiting, hungry, watching.
The heat of the lights was suffocating. I could feel every breath I took echo in my ears, every heartbeat thumping in my throat.
But then I reached the podium. The world narrowed to this single point—this moment where I could finally speak.
Hands gripping the sides, I inhaled deeply, bracing myself. The room fell into a hush, expectant and electric.
This was it. No more hiding. No more silence.
My fingers curled tight around the podium, knuckles turning white. I could feel every camera pointed straight at me, every flash, every click—like needles against my skin. My chest was tight. My throat burned. Miles was right behind the curtain. So close. But right now, I was alone.
I gulped, forcing the air into my lungs.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
“I... for years, I’ve stood in front of cameras and pretended to be perfect.”
My voice cracked on the first word. God, I could barely breathe.
“Smiling. Posing. Looking like someone who had it all together. Someone you could admire.”
I let out a small, humorless laugh. There was nothing admirable about the wreck I’d become behind closed doors.
“But it was a lie.”
I gripped the podium tighter. My palms were sweating.
“The truth is... off-camera, I was breaking.”
I blinked fast, trying to clear the blur in my eyes. They were all staring at me. Waiting. Expecting.
“Victor...” My stomach turned just saying his name out loud. “My former photographer. My abuser... made sure of that.”
The words sat heavy on my tongue, sour and bitter.
“He controlled everything about me. My face. My body. My weight. My food. Even my thoughts. If I so much as touched a granola bar on set...”
I sucked in a sharp breath, chest hitching.
“...he’d hiss in my ear, ‘Put that down, you pig. You’re paid to be beautiful, not to get fat.’”
The memory hit hard—his voice, that grip on my wrist, the humiliation burning in my stomach.
“He never let me eat on set. Never.”
A tear slipped down my cheek before I could stop it. I wiped it away quickly.
“And if I did—if he caught me sneaking even a piece of fruit—he made sure I regretted it.” My throat tightened. My voice cracked again. “His hand would clamp around my wrist so tight I’d bruise for days. I’d cover it up with makeup, long sleeves... but the marks were always there. Always.”
My heart pounded hard against my ribs. I could feel it vibrating in my chest.
“He would hit me. Push me into walls. Slap me if I talked back.”
A soft gasp echoed somewhere in the crowd.
“But the worst... the worst was what he did when no one was watching.”
My stomach churned. My mouth tasted like ash. I wanted to stop. I wanted to run—but I couldn’t. Not now.
“There was a day I’ll never forget...”
My eyes burned hot. My fingers curled tighter against the wood.
“...he called me fat, noticing I was eating more. He didn’t like that. ” My voice broke into a bitter, disbelieving laugh.