Chapter 24 - Julian
Hospitals strip people down to their truth.
No velvet or silk. No opulence or people vying to show their worth with a donation.
No champagne or curated lighting or flattering shadows.
Just fluorescent glare and the low, relentless hum of machines that don’t care how much money you have.
Rowan’s text directs me to the ICU waiting area. I follow it through corridors that smell stale and yet somehow sharp, past families huddled together with coffee cups clutched like talismans, past nurses moving with the kind of efficiency that comes from seeing too much of this.
Every step feels wrong.
Not physically, but... emotionally.
Like I’ve walked out of my own world and into someone else’s.
And then I see him, and my whole body goes tense.
Graham Whitaker is pacing in the waiting area, jacket off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, phone pressed to his ear. He doesn’t look like a billionaire right now. He looks like a man who is worried. A man who is worried about someone he cares about.
And he is here for Lucy.
He ends his call and turns, sensing me.
We stare at each other, and I have the sudden urge to hit something or ... someone.
“What are you doing here, North?” he asks, tone clipped.
I step closer. “I could ask you the same thing. Or are you so desperate now you’re poaching dates?”
A corner of his mouth lifts. Not amused. Not offended. Just… aware.
“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he says. “But you made it very easy for me to be here for her.”
A low, unfamiliar heat rolls through me. I clench and unclench my fists to try and ease this unfamiliar need to punch something or... someone.
Then Lucy steps out of the ICU hallway, and everything in me shifts.
The first thing I notice is not her beauty.
It’s what’s missing.
The light in her, the warmth, the spark, it’s gone. Not extinguished, just… dimmed. Like a candle fighting a draft. She looks smaller, yet heavier somehow. As if the weight she carries is finally visible on the outside.
She’s still stunning.
But she doesn’t look like herself.
And the realization that I might have something to do with that hits harder than anything Whitaker could have said.
Then I see it.
His jacket on her body.
Graham’s tuxedo jacket is draped around her, soft against the blue of her dress, so close in tone it almost looks intentional.
Possessiveness flares so sharply that it nearly knocks me over.
I don’t want him touching her.
I don’t want him near her.
I don’t want him to be the one she leans on when something breaks.
And the worst part?
I know I put him there.
I step toward her.
“Lucy,” I say, voice careful. “Are you...”
“I’m fine,” she cuts in. “As fine as anyone can be when their mother is in the ICU.”
The words slice with surgical precision.
“I know you’re not happy with me.”
Her eyes hold mine, flat and tired and too honest.
“You left me at a table full of strangers,” she says quietly. “So you could dance with other women.”
There’s no accusation in her voice.
Just fact and it guts me. Because it is true. I let pride and my father win tonight.
“I will make it up to you,” I say, because I don’t know how else to answer something that feels so deeply true. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
She goes to tell me there won't be another time, but she stops short when I step aside, hoping I made the right choice. That this will bring her closer to me and not push her away.
“Lucy, this is Dr. Teller.”
I feel the impact ripple through her before she even processes the name.
“Dr. Teller?” she breathes.
“You must be Lucy. I’ve heard quite a bit about your mother. I’d like to review her file and ask you a few questions, if that’s all right.” What he doesn't say is that I promised millions to his cause to get him here tonight says.
“Yes,” Lucy whispers. “Of course.”
She moves forward on instinct, like someone who’s been waiting years for this door to finally open.
“Wait.”
I reach for Whitaker’s jacket and lift it from her shoulders.
Her skin is warm beneath my fingers, and I have a sudden urge to draw my hand down her spine and rest it at the curve of her lower back.
The air touches her bare skin, and she inhales sharply.
I replace it with mine.
The weight of it settles over her.
And something happens that she doesn’t even notice.
Her body relaxes.
Her breath eases.
Her face turns slightly, just barely, into the lapel.
She inhales.
It’s unconscious.
But I see it.
She’s comforted by me.
The realization hits somewhere deep and strange and unguarded.
She walks away with Teller wrapped in my jacket, and for the first time tonight, something inside me steadies.
I turn back to Whitaker.
“Here,” I say, holding out his jacket. “You can leave now.”
He takes it slowly, eyes never leaving mine.
“You know she’s too good for you,” he says quietly. “I don’t know what your plan is here, but you’re not the only man in this city who can move mountains for her.”
His blue eyes have more bite in them than usual. His cavalier, charming personality sharpened in defence of Lucy.
“I’m leaving,” he continues. “Not because you told me to. Because she doesn’t need more stress. But I’m not done.”
He steps past me, towards Lucy.
She looks up when he approaches.
He hugs her, murmuring something into her hair that I can’t hear.
My fists clench, and I have to remind myself why he is here right now.
Finally, he leaves.
I walk to the ICU window.
A woman who looks like a younger version of Lucy is asleep in the chair, curled into herself, wrapped in Lucy's jacket. This must be Emily.
Lucy’s mother lies pale and fragile in the bed.
Something in me fractures.
I step back and pull out my phone.
I make three calls.
No hesitation.
No negotiation.
Because whatever I thought this arrangement was going to be…
It was never supposed to feel like this.
Now it does, I don't know what to do with it, but I know how to be me, and I can help her.
And then I can go back to feeling like myself again.