Chapter Thirty

Kaelani stirred in her sleep, lashes fluttering as the haze of sleep thinned. Something warm and heavy pressed against her, and for a heartbeat she didn’t move—caught between waking and dreaming, unable to trust either.

A familiar scent clung to the air—cedarwood and faint spice, the kind of scent that haunted her dreams too vividly to be dreams at all. Her fingers flexed against the sheets. She blinked, disoriented. Did he…? No. He couldn’t have.

She’d fallen asleep by the window—she knew that much.

She remembered the sound of rain, the hum of her heartbeat slowing as exhaustion finally claimed her. Then warmth, strong arms—the feeling of being lifted, weightless.

She’d thought that part was a dream.

Turning her head just enough to look over her shoulder, her heart stopped.

Julian.

His arm was draped over her waist, heavy and sure, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm against her back. Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, tracing the slope of his shoulder, the sharp edge of his jaw, the faint scruff shadowing his skin.

He looked peaceful, almost boyish—as if the world had finally stopped demanding things from him. Her heart stumbled painfully against her ribs.

Is this real?

She lay still, afraid to breathe too hard, afraid the smallest movement might break the illusion. Her gaze swept over him—the dark lashes, the way the light caught in his hair, the sound of each quiet breath. Everything about him seemed tangible. Solid.

But dreams had fooled her before.

Her hand moved before her thoughts caught up. She reached back slowly, fingertips brushing the line of his cheek. Warm. Rough with stubble. Real.

Her throat tightened.

Julian stirred at her touch. A soft sound escaped him, low and human, before his eyes blinked open—gold meeting gray.

He looked at her like she was something sacred, and the world seemed to still between them.

“You’re… still here?” She whispered, voice small and uncertain, as if afraid to believe it.

His voice came rough with sleep, deep and quiet. “Of course.”

A look flickered across her face—disbelief, fragile and aching. She’d heard promises before. She’d watched them break. Even now, with him lying right beside her, part of her refused to believe he could stay.

He saw it in her eyes—that quiet wall she kept even in her gentleness—and something inside him fractured.

“I mean it,” he said softly. His hand rose, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His thumb caught the tear that slipped free before she even knew it had fallen. “Kaelani… I will never leave you again.”

The words cracked something open inside her. The room felt smaller, the air between them charged and delicate all at once.

He leaned closer, his gaze falling to her lips.

Slow. Careful.

Like he was asking permission with every inch.

Kaelani’s heart pounded in her chest. She didn’t move at first—then she did, drawn to him by some invisible gravity that made refusal impossible. Their breaths mingled, uneven. Her fingers curled against the sheet.

Closer.

His lips brushed hers, soft as a heartbeat—

—and then the world vanished.

The bed dissolved. The warmth disappeared. She was falling—

A sharp gasp tore from her throat as she hit the cold floor, the jolt shocking her fully awake.

Kaelani’s eyes flew open. The world was bleak again. Her pulse raced as she pushed herself upright, the hard wood pressing against her palms. Her body was stiff from having slept curled up all night.

The box with the red dress sat where she’d left it. Outside, dawn crept pale and indifferent across her garden.

She was alone.

Her hand trembled as she touched her lips. They still tingled—the ghost of a kiss that hadn’t quite happened.

She swallowed hard, a bitter laugh breaking the still air around her. “Of course it was just a dream…”

Simultaneously, across the quiet street, Julian woke with a jolt. His breath hitched—sharp, disoriented—as the world snapped back into focus.

The driver’s seat creaked beneath him, leather cool against his back. His head rested against the window, arms draped loosely across his chest—as if he were still holding her. For a moment, he just sat there, staring at nothing.

Her scent still lingered—honey, cinnamon, her—so vivid it clawed at his sanity. It filled the car, the air, his lungs. His pulse drummed as fragments of the dream—her body against his, the sound of her breathing, the brush of her lips—broke over him in relentless waves.

He dragged a hand down his face, fingertips pressing hard into his eyes as if he could scrub the images away. As if he wanted to.

“What the hell is happening to me?” he muttered, voice rough and strained.

The dreams were becoming too real—the warmth of her skin, the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d felt. The line between dream and reality was blurring, and he didn’t know where they began—or where she ended.

The sky outside was still painted in pre-dawn gray, the first hints of sunrise bleeding across the horizon. A cluster of missed notifications glared back at him—eight missed calls: two from his father, one from Jace, and five from Elara.

The last message blinked at the top of the screen, sharp and venomous:

Elara: You better have a damn good excuse for missing the rehearsal dinner.

Julian stared at it, jaw tightening as the illusion of that dream—of her—crumbled beneath the weight of reality slamming back into place.

He exhaled, long and low, and muttered under his breath, “Fuck.”

Julian looked toward the house across the street. The curtains were still drawn, a sliver of early light slipping between them. No movement. No sound. Just stillness.

It looked peaceful—quiet and untouched by the chaos that lived inside his head. For a fleeting moment, he wished he could stay like this, parked in silence with no one expecting anything from him.

He let his head fall back against the seat, eyes shutting as a heavy sigh escaped him. Everything felt tangled beyond repair—the ceremony, Elara, the lies, the dreams that bled into waking. He’d lost control somewhere along the way, and now he was caught between two worlds, neither one offering a way out.

The shrill vibration of his phone shattered the moment. He winced, jaw tightening, the sound grating through his skull. The last thing he wanted was conversation—or worse, confrontation.

He cracked one eye open and glanced at the glowing screen.

Jace.

Julian exhaled and swiped to answer. “Yeah.”

There was a beat of silence before Jace’s dry voice came through the line. “Don’t tell me you’re where I think you are.”

Julian’s eyes flicked back toward Kaelani’s house. The curtains remained still. “How bad is it?” he asked, his voice low, resigned.

“Bad,” Jace said flatly. “Your father’s furious. Elara’s worse. The staff’s been walking on eggshells since last night. You missed the rehearsal dinner, Julian. I don’t have to tell you what kind of shitstorm that caused.”

Julian pinched the bridge of his nose, a tired sound escaping him. “No… you don’t.”

“Yeah, I got the fallout firsthand,” Jace continued. “Your old man’s pacing the council hall like he’s about to declare war, and Elara’s convinced you’re sleeping around with someone outside the pack. Practically interrogated me all night for answers that I know damn well aren’t mine to give.”

Julian ran a hand through his hair, his tone remaining calm. “Elara can think whatever she wants.”

“Yeah, well, your father can’t,” Jace said. “He’s expecting you back now.”

Julian stared at the quiet house one last time before shifting the car into gear. “I’m on my way,” he said quietly. “I’ll deal with the mess.”

“Good,” Jace replied, though his voice softened slightly. “And Julian… try not to make it worse. And I don’t just mean for yourself.”

The line clicked dead.

Julian sat there for one more heartbeat, the engine idling, his pulse thrumming in sync with it—then he pulled away from the curb, the distance between him and her stretching wider with every turn of the wheel.