Chapter 49 - Julian #2
Lucy’s gaze drops, jaw tightening.
“Then what do you want?” she asks, voice sharp now because she’s fighting for her footing.
I inhale slowly.
“The truth,” I say. “And then… your choice.”
Her laugh is small and broken. “My choice. That’s rich.”
“I’m serious,” I say. “I’m done doing this the way I was taught.”
Her eyes flicker at that. “And how were you taught?”
I step closer to her and tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, desperate for more, “Dinner,” I say quietly. “Not tonight. You’re exhausted. Tomorrow. Here. No staff. No noise. Just us.”
Lucy’s expression shifts like she expects a trap.
“It’s time we talk, Lucy,” I say. “It’s… me asking for a chance to tell you the whole truth. You can leave after if you want.”
Her eyes narrow. “I can leave now.”
“Yes,” I say, voice rough. “You can.”
That stops her.
Because I mean it.
For the first time, I mean it without a clause hidden behind my teeth.
Lucy doesn’t answer.
She just nods once, like she’s agreeing to hear me out, not agreeing to stay.
It’s enough.
For now.
The next night, I cook. Not because I think it will win her back. Not because I’m trying to prove domestic devotion. Because I need to do something that isn’t power, isn’t money, isn’t strategy. Something Lucy would do.
She comes in wearing a wrap dress that clings to her every curve, her hair loose in waves. She looks stunning, and that brings both relief and fear.
She sits at the island and watches me with guarded eyes.
I plate the food and set it down in front of her.
She stares at it.
“You did this?” she asks, like she doesn’t trust the evidence.
“Yes.”
She takes a bite slowly.
Doesn’t praise it. Doesn’t smile.
But she eats.
I sit across from her, hands flat on the counter, and wait until she’s ready.
It takes fifteen minutes of quiet before she finally speaks.
“The folder,” she says.
My stomach knots.
Lucy’s eyes darken. “Tell me the truth.”
I nod once. “It wasn’t mine.”
The look on her face tells me she thinks I am lying. “It was in your office.”
“I know,” I say. “And it shouldn’t have been. Richard had it prepared when he decided it was time I get married and continue our legacy. But Lucy, I barely looked at it. I had it locked away.”
She swallows. “And my folder?”
My throat goes tight.
“That was in my office too,” I admit. “Locked. Rowan did a background check because… because I asked him to.”
Her eyes flare. “You asked him to investigate me.”
“Yes.” I don’t lie. “Because I didn’t trust anything in my life. I was raised to believe everyone has a price and everyone has an angle.”
Lucy’s breath catches, and pain flashes across her face so quickly it looks like rage.
“And then you married me anyway,” she says. “With all that in your hands.”
I close my eyes for a second. “I married you because I couldn’t stand the idea of not having you.”
Her laugh is harsh. “And then you treated me like I was disposable.”
I flinch like she struck me, because she’s right.
I open my eyes again.
“My father got into my office,” I say. “And into the penthouse. He stole that folder. He faked those photos. He staged everything. Simone was part of it... Whether she knew the full scope or not, she was used against me, against us.”
Lucy’s face turns pale at the name.
“I didn’t touch her,” I say fiercely. “Not once. I never cheated on you. I never wanted anyone else.”
Lucy’s eyes narrow, and I know she’s studying me, trying to decide what to believe.
So, I do the only thing I can do.
I give her what I’ve never given anyone.
My vulnerability.
“The reason I pulled away wasn’t Simone,” I say, voice low. “It was you.”
Lucy goes still.
“Paris,” I continue, my throat tight. “When you said… when you said you loved me...”
Her jaw clenches like she’s bracing for impact.
“I froze,” I say. “Not because I didn’t feel it. Not because it wasn’t real. But because…” I swallow hard. “Because no one had ever said that to me before. Not once.”
Silence slams into the room.
Lucy’s face shifts, confusion flickering through her anger.
“What?” she whispers.
“I have never heard the words ‘I love you’ spoken to me in my life,” I say, forcing the truth out even though it tastes like ash. “Not from my parents. Not from anyone.”
Lucy blinks, stunned.
I keep going, because if I stop now, I’ll lose my nerve.
“My father taught me control,” I say. “He taught me power. He taught me how to win and how to punish and how to never need anyone.”
I swallow hard.
“You were the first person who ever made me want to be… better. Softer. Real.”
Lucy’s hands tremble slightly on the counter.
“And the second you said you loved me,” I say, voice cracking, “I realized what that meant.”
Her eyes are wide now. “What did it mean?”
“It meant loss was possible,” I say. “It meant you could destroy me.”
Lucy’s breath catches.
“I didn’t pull away because I didn’t love you,” I say, the words scraping out of me. “I pulled away because loving you meant you could destroy me.”
Lucy’s lips part slightly, like she wants to speak and can’t find the words.
I lean forward, not touching her, not daring to.
“I panicked,” I say. “And I did what I’ve always done when I panic: I buried myself in work. I tried to control the outcome by controlling the distance.”
Lucy’s eyes glisten, but she holds it back with sheer force.
“And you left me,” she says, voice raw. “You left me to deal with your father. You left me to...”
“I know,” I say immediately. “I know. And I will regret that for the rest of my life.”
She swallows hard.
“I can’t do this again,” she whispers. “I can’t love someone who disappears the second it gets hard.”
“Then don’t,” I say again, softer this time. “Don’t be bound. Don’t be trapped.”
Lucy’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
I stand, and I walk to my office.
I return with the stack of folders, hers on top.
Lucy’s body stiffens so hard it’s like she’s turned to stone.
I set it on the island between us.
She stares at it like it’s a ticking bomb.
I don’t open it.
I don’t explain it.
I just meet her eyes.
“I’m done with contracts,” I say quietly.
Then I take the folders and carry it to the fireplace.
Lucy stands too, instinctively, like she needs to watch.
I kneel, open the grate, and place the folder inside.
Then I light the fire.
My hands don’t shake.
Not because I’m calm.
Because I need this to be a choice. A decision. A line in the sand.
The flame catches.
Paper curls, blackened edges folding inward.
The folder burns slowly, deliberately, turning to ash.
Lucy’s breath is shallow.
“You’re burning it,” she whispers, like she can’t believe it’s real.
“Yes,” I say. “All of it.”
She watches until there’s nothing left but embers.
Then I stand and walk back to her.
“I called my lawyer,” I say.
Lucy’s face hardens immediately. I am sure she is confused. Thinking I am fighting to stay married, but then I am bringing in my lawyer. She thinks it’s a divorce.
I can see it in her eyes.
I don’t blame her.
“He is coming this week,” I say. “With one document.”
Lucy’s voice is cold. “I’ll have my lawyer review it.”
“You can,” I say. “You should.”
Lucy’s eyes flicker.
“And what is it?” she asks, voice tight.
“It dissolves the agreement,” I say. “Not the marriage.”
She stills.
“What?”
“There’s no contract anymore,” I say, voice firm. “No penalties. No clauses. No cages.”
Lucy swallows hard.
“If you stay,” I say, “it’s because you want me.”
Her eyes glisten now, tears finally showing.
“And if you leave,” I continue, “nothing will stop you.”
Lucy’s breath shakes.
I step closer, not touching, letting her decide if she wants space.
“I don’t want a marriage you’re bound to,” I say, the words heavy with truth. “I want one you choose every day.”
Lucy’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment, like the emotion is too much.
When she opens them again, her gaze is shattered and fierce.
“You hurt me,” she whispers.
“I know,” I say. “And I’m sorry doesn’t fix it.”
She shakes her head slightly. “I thought I was safe. I thought… I thought you were choosing me.”
“I was,” I say immediately. “I am.”
She laughs again, broken. “Then why did it feel like you were punishing me for loving you?”
The question kills me.
I inhale slowly.
“I didn’t know how to hold it,” I admit. “I didn’t know what to do with being loved.”
Lucy’s tears finally spill, silent, furious. She wipes them away like she hates them.
I don’t move. I don’t grab. I don’t demand.
I let her be.
Because this isn’t about my comfort.
It’s about our truth.
When she finally speaks again, her voice is quiet, wrecked.
“What are you asking me for, Julian?”
I swallow hard.
Not a demand.
Not a plea.
Just the truth.
“I’m asking you to stay married to me,” I say, voice low. “Not because you signed an agreement when you felt like you had no other choice.”
Lucy’s breath catches.
“Stay,” I say, pleading, “because we’re better together. Because I love you and you love me.”
Silence stretches.
Lucy looks at me like she’s trying to decide whether I’m real or just another version she can’t trust.
I hold her gaze.
I don’t flinch.
I don’t offer a bargain.
I just stand there, stripped down, waiting for her choice.
Because that’s what love is.
Not a contract.
Not a clause.
A choice.
Every day.