He didn’t even have the decency to look contrite. He just shrugged. “I have a copy of every key you have. Apartment, office, safety deposit box. I had them made three years ago, after the third time you fell asleep in my bed and muttered about ‘needing to leave before sunrise.’ I wanted to make sure I could always find you if you tried to disappear.”
The casual admission stole my breath. It was a staggering violation. “That’s—that’s breaking and entering! I could call the police!”
“You won’t,” he said, certain. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’d have to explain why the heir of Esmé Group has a key to your condo. I don’t mind, but your husband might. It could get messy for your precious ‘family’ brand.”
He had me in checkmate. I should have been furious, but I was stuck on the fact that he’d wanted me enough three years ago to plan for my escape.
“You know…” he said, his voice low, “three years ago wasn’t the first time we met.”
I tilted my head, waiting.
“You came to my school,” he continued, his eyes following my shape beneath the blanket. “The Accelerated Learning program. You and a bunch of other alumni came to talk to us. You stood on that stage so confident. So sure of who you were. You were beautiful.”
A beat passed.
“And I thought you were smart,” he went on, his voice tightening. “So capable. Untouchable. Then I grow up and find out you let people walk all over you. That you’re just…”
“Stop.” My voice was softer than I intended. I didn't want to hear the truth. “You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me,” he snapped. “Because I need to hear you say something that makes sense. Give me a reason that isn’t pathetic.”
I pulled the blanket around my shoulders. “I’m not like you, Julian. I don’t get to exist in a world of absolutes. I exist in the quagmire. You see a door and you kick it down. I have to calculate if the wall will collapse on me.”
“So you just live in misery? You’re not happy,” he shot back, his voice pained.
“Are you?” I asked quietly.
His eyes turned blazing. He looked away, his jaw working. “No.”
“Why not?”
He dragged a hand over his face. “Because you won’t fucking do what I want.”
A laugh escaped me. “Do you hear yourself? You sound like a toddler. ‘You won’t do what I want.’ That’s your grand tragedy?”
He glared at me, but there was no heat behind it. “When it comes to you, yes. It is.”
“That’s childish, Julian.”
“Don’t do that. Don’t infantilize me because you don't want to deal with what I'm actually saying.” He leaned closer. “I want you. You're not with me. Therefore, I am unhappy. It's logic. You're the one wrapping your misery in layers of obligation anddebt, trying to make it seem noble. Don't dress your misery up and call mine immature.”
He had a brutal, infuriating point.
“I've put you first,” he continued. “Before my pride. Before my instincts. For three years, I put what you needed ahead of what I wanted. I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. My father bought me a hundred-thousand-dollar car when I was four because I said I wanted it. I’ve always been the first option. But for you, I learned how to be second. I let you walk away. I swallowed every single thing I am for you. So don't you dare call me childish. A child takes. I gave. And now I'm done giving on your terms.”
I rolled my eyes. He saw it.
“Elara.” My name was a warning. “Stop playing with me.”
“Baby, I’m not. I swear. I couldn’t help it because that was the most spoiled-rich-boy pivot ever. You basically told me, ‘My pain is more valid because I am unaccustomed to it.’”
His jaw ticked. His eyes went sharp and glassy—a warning sign I knew too well.
“I’m not belittling you,” I said carefully. “I understand. You bent in ways nobody ever asked you to before. I see that.”
He was waiting for thebut.
“But... when my parents died, I had nothing. The Ashworths opened their door. They fed me, educated me. They didn’t have to do that. My momma loved and trusted Mr. Ashworth—he was her best friend. I can’t just randomly walk away.”
