His eyes, so much like mine but darker and steadier, linger on my face.
“You okay?” he asks.
I shrug. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He doesn’t press. Julian’s never been the type to interrogate. But he doesn’t look away, either.
“I just…” He scratches at the scar on his eyebrow. “I’m glad you’re getting better. It’s just—I don’t know. You’ve been off.”
I freeze, then try to hide it by fixing the blanket near my ankles. “Off how?”
“You’re good at pretending,” he says simply. “You always were. But I know what it looks like when you’re trying too hard. You’ve been doing that since Mom and Dad died.”
The air thins a little.
“I had to,” I whisper. “I had to be okay. For you. For Lila.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “I just think… maybe they’d want you to be happy, too.”
That does it. I almost lose it right there—like something sharp has been lodged in my throat for weeks, and he just knocked it loose.
He nudges my arm. “So… is your mystery husband, like, amafia bossor something?”
My head snaps to him.
He smirks. “What? Belov owns half the coast. Including my new school, by the way. You think I didn’t Google the guy?”
Heat shoots straight up my spine.
Julian leans in slightly. “He’s dangerous, isn’t he?”
I don’t answer. Ican’t. Not without unraveling everything.
There’s so much I want to say—about the contract, the threat, the way Konstantin makes my chest ache even when he’s nowhere near. But how do I explain any of that without destroying Julian’s sense of safety?
“I just want you to be safe,” he says. “And honest. With me, at least.”
Before I can respond—footsteps.
Heavy. Unhurried. Controlled.
Julian sits up straighter.
And then Konstantin steps onto the rooftop, all crisp lines and quiet authority.
He doesn’t speak at first—just takes in the scene, the telescope still aimed at Betelgeuse, the scattered mugs of tea, the blanket around my knees.
Then he lifts a hand. Not casual.Respectful.
Julian rises to his feet.
They shake hands—firm, steady. Man to man.
“Julian Marquez,” he says, “We haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Konstantin Belov. Bella’s husband.” A pause, then with the faintest hint of a smile: “And yes, to answer your question—this is indeed a crime family.”
His eyes flick briefly to mine—just a heartbeat of contact—but it’s enough to send my pulse racing like I’ve run a marathon.
Just like that, eleven days of absence collapse into nothingness, and I’m back where I started—drowning in blue.
