I stare at him. That’s his lead? NotI’m sorryorI was a complete coward? Just an update about hoodies?
“I figured I’d just…drop this off and let you get on with your day,” he says, like he’s doing me a favor.
I nod once. “That would be great.”
But of course, he lingers. Hands shoved in his pockets, rocking on his heels.
“Look, Juliette…” he starts, and my stomach sinks. Here it comes. “I never meant for things to get so complicated.”
A bitter laugh bubbles in my throat, but I keep it down. “Complicated? That’s what we’re calling it now?”
His jaw tightens. “You know what I mean.”
“Oh, I do. I remember hearing that same line when your mom first met me and couldn’t hide the fact that I wasn’t up to par with the Montgomery pedigree.”
Color rises in his cheeks. “That’s not fair.”
“Not fair?” My voice stays calm. “James, I didn’t even meet your parents until a year in. And when I finally did, your mother opened the door to her mansion—sorry,estate—wearing pearls while judging my department store flats before I even said hello.”
The thing about anger is that I don’t wear it well. Anger is messy and unproductive, and I’m really not the yelling type.
But this anger feels earned, even though I hate that I’m feeling it. Hate that Ihaveto feel it. Confrontation has never been my weapon of choice. I’d rather retreat, fold myself into pieces and let things pass like weather.
But not this time.
He flinches, most likely surprised by my directness, but I’m not done.
“You stood there and let me walk into that house completely unprepared. No warning, no heads-up. Just a polite, ‘My mom has certain expectations,’afterwards.”
There was always going to be a chasm between us. His world was one of horse farms and country clubs, soft linens, and crystal glassware. Mine was peanut butter sandwiches and thrift store finds. And the truth is, I spent more time trying to blend into his life than I ever did feeling like I belonged in it.
The first time I stepped into his family’s sprawling mansion, it was like walking onto a movie set. Everything was polished to a shine. Marble floors. Art probably costing more than my college tuition. His mother’s perfectly clipped voice floating through the air like she owned every ounce of oxygen in the room.
I should’ve realized then that I didn’t fit in and was never going to.
But I loved him.
“I was trying to protect you,” he mutters.
I blink. “By what? Keeping me in the dark? Making me feel small so I wouldn’t realize how much I was giving up just to stand beside you?”
The words spill out before I can stop them, not in rage, but exhaustion. A bone-deep weariness from pretending for too long. The worst part isn’t even the cheating. It’s that I bent myself backward for someone who never reached out a hand to meet me halfway.
“I changed everything for you, James. I lost pieces of myself trying to fit into a life that never really had room for me. And you still cheated.”
He looks away.
“Wasn’t I already miserable enough for you?” I say with a sad, humorless laugh. “Or was that the problem?”
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
“Juliette…”
“Don’t.” I lift a hand. “I really don’t want an explanation. I just want you to leave.”
He’s already taken enough of me, and I’m finally starting to realize how much I want it back.
He stands there, blinking at me like I’ve spoken in a language he can’t understand. His mouth opens then closes. For once in our relationship, James Montgomery is speechless.
