Chapter 42 - Lucy
A week of distance feels longer than it should.
Not dramatic distance. Not slammed doors or raised voices or cruel words. Just… absence. The kind that makes you question your own memory. The kind that leaves you replaying moments over and over, searching for where you mis stepped.
Julian leaves before I wake, and he comes home late into the night after I’m asleep. I don’t hear his voice anymore. I don’t get his check-ins. I don’t get his quiet Home late texts or the Did you eat? messages that used to arrive right when I needed them most.
I get Claire.
Julian is tied up today, Mrs. North.
He asked me to let you know he’ll be working late again.
Everything is under control.
The whiplash is physical.
Because everything was so good. Because Paris happened. Because I believed, really believed, that we’d crossed some invisible line together.
And then… cold. Back to the before Julian. Back to the man who didn’t touch me unless it was required. Back to the distance that felt intentional instead of protective.
I haven’t seen him in a week.
Not since I fell asleep on that car ride home and made the mistake of letting the truth slip out of my mouth.
I love you.
Did it make it too real?
Did I?
Saturday comes and goes like a slap. For the first time since we settled into this strange, beautiful rhythm, Julian doesn’t come with me to see my mother. No text explaining. No apology. Just Claire again, telling me there’s an acquisition, and everyone’s working around the clock.
Everyone.
Except it doesn’t take everyone to send a text. Even if he is busy, even if they are swamped. It takes seconds to text me, a minute to make a phone call. But in the time from the airport to the penthouse, I went from worthy of his time and attention to not.
I tell myself not to spiral. I tell myself this is temporary. That work has always been his pressure point. That this is what he warned me about.
But by Sunday morning, the quiet feels deliberate.
So on Monday morning, I decided I’m done waiting.
I go to Northwell with his favourite lunch in my hands because if I’m standing in front of him, he can’t disappear. He can’t avoid me if I’m real and present and breathing the same air.
His floor smells like leather and cologne and ambition. Nothing has changed, and somehow everything has.
Claire looks surprised to see me.
“Julians in a meeting,” she says carefully. “He should be finished soon.”
I nod and take a seat, trying to keep my breathing steady.
The office door opens before I can overthink it, and a woman steps out.
She’s not dressed for business. She is in a bodycon dress that looks painted on, sky-high heels that enhance her long, lean legs, and her black, glossy hair falling perfectly down her back.
She is absolutely stunning, young and confident in the way she moves, the way she takes up time and space.
Confident, how women are when they know they're wanted.
Claire mutters something under her breath. “This is what happens when Richard North gets involved.”
Richard.
My stomach drops because I didn’t know Julian was working with his father again.
The woman’s gaze lifts and locks onto mine, and recognition flashes through my mind.
She’s the one, the woman from the first gala. The one Richard had introduced. The one he’d baited Julian into dancing with while I sat at the table feeling invisible.
She smirks as she passes me, and my skin crawls.
Claire clears her throat and gestures toward Julian’s office. “You can follow me in.”
Julian doesn’t look up when I enter. He says something sharp to Claire, clipped and annoyed, and when she clears her throat and tells him I’m here to see him, he doesn’t even turn his head.
“Tell her I’m in a meeting.”
That’s it... That’s the moment something inside me snaps. I don’t wait for permission. I step forward and drop the bag of food directly onto the stack of papers on his desk. The sound is louder than it should be.
He finally looks up.
I don’t give him time to speak; I turn and walk out.
I hear voices behind me, his and Claire’s, but I don’t listen. I can’t. If I stop moving, I might break completely.
I run straight into Caleb at the elevators.
He takes one look at my face and stills. “Lucy,” he says quietly.
I’m holding myself together by force of habit alone. By muscle memory. Through years of practice.
“He’s just busy right now,” Caleb adds gently. “This acquisition...”
The look I give him and the shouting coming from Julian's office cut off his words.
I give him a small, sad smile that feels like an apology I shouldn’t be making, and step into the elevator.
At work, Graham brings lunch like he somehow knew I didn't get to eat and pretends not to notice how little I eat.
After work, I don’t go home. I don't get into the car waiting for me.
The penthouse, our penthouse, doesn’t feel like home anymore. It feels staged. Like a set built around a lie I was too eager to believe.
I walk, breathing in the spring air and giving myself time to think. Then, like muscle memory, I let my feet lead me to the closest CTA entrance, and I go to my old apartment instead.
Emily doesn’t ask questions at first. She just hands me tea and sits beside me on the couch like she knows better than to rush whatever it is I am working through.
She laughs, asking if wine is more appropriate than tea for this visit, and I try my best to give her a smile that she doesn't believe.
I check my phone more than I would like to admit. No messages from Julian.
So, I stay.
Two days pass.
Then my phone buzzes.
Julian: Where are you?
Julian: We share a room. A bed. That’s the arrangement.
The word hits like a bruise.
Arrangement.
Of course, that's his concern. Not if I am ok. Not if something happened to mom. Not how I have been feeling after over a week of silence and neglect.
Emily looks at my face and frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say too quickly.
She studies me. Knows better.
“Lucy.”
I swallow. “Julian’s just busy with work. I wanted to spend time with you.”
It’s a lie, and we both know it.
But I can’t say the truth out loud. I can’t say I thought he loved me. Because if I say it, it becomes real. And if it’s real… then so is the loss. If it's real, the hope I have been clinging to will slip away.
So, I sit there, holding my phone like a lifeline, and let the silence settle where love used to be. And somewhere deep down, something fragile starts to fracture.