Chapter 7

Crossed Wires

The silence in Julian’s penthouse stretched like glass—clear, cold, and on the verge of shattering.

Camille sat curled up on the velvet armchair, her phone dark in her hand. She hadn’t touched it since she returned hours ago. No texts. No calls. No explanations.

Not even from him.

Julian.

He hadn’t screamed when she walked out last night.

He hadn’t chased her.

And that, somehow, scared her more.

The door finally clicked open.

Camille rose instinctively. She hated how her heart still stuttered at the sound of his footsteps. As if her body hadn’t gotten the memo: He’s danger, not safety.

Julian stepped in, shedding his coat. The cold wind followed him in, clinging to his tailored suit and shadowing his sharp cheekbones. His eyes met hers across the room—bloodshot, unreadable.

“You left,” he said quietly.

“You let me.”

His mouth twitched. “Did you expect chains, Camille?”

“No,” she replied, voice trembling. “I expected… anything.”

He stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing whether she could handle what he wanted to say. Then, unexpectedly, he walked past her—not toward the bar, or the bedroom, but to the floor-to-ceiling window. The skyline flickered against his silhouette like a heartbeat.

“I used to think people left because they were weak,” he said finally. “Now I wonder if maybe… they left to breathe.”

Camille blinked. That wasn’t what she expected. “Julian—”

“My mother used to lock me in closets,” he said, voice low and even. “Sometimes for hours. Sometimes for days.”

The words were plain. Unemotional. But something about how he said it—like he was describing someone else’s story—sent a chill down Camille’s spine.

“She called it quiet time,” he continued. “Said boys with loud feelings were ugly. That crying was useless. That loving someone only gave them power to ruin you.”

Camille slowly approached, unsure if she was walking toward danger—or a confession.

“My father was worse,” Julian added. “He taught me how to lie with a smile. Said love was a performance. You act it out until they believe it.”

He turned then, eyes landing on her like a blow.

“That’s what I learned, Camille. That control is safer than chaos. That possession is cleaner than love.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“And then I met you.”

He took a step forward. “And you didn’t beg for me. You didn’t worship me. You challenged me. You saw me.”

She shook her head slowly. “Julian, I don’t think you know how to be seen.”

He laughed—a soft, bitter sound. “Maybe not. But I know what it feels like when you’re not here. And I hate it.”

Camille’s heart twisted.

There it was: the monster, shedding its skin. For once, no mask. No game.

Just a man standing in the wreckage of himself.

“I don’t want to be your prisoner,” she whispered.

“Then don’t be.” His voice cracked. “But stay anyway.”

That line—Stay anyway—hit her harder than any demand.

For a long time, neither of them moved. The space between them pulsed like a wound.

Then, slowly, cautiously, Camille crossed it.

She reached for his hand.

And to her surprise—he didn’t pull away.

They ended up on the couch.

Not the bed.

Not the marble counter.

Not the cold, mechanical places they’d used each other before.

The couch, worn from sleepless nights and soft with the scent of cinnamon and cedar.

Julian’s jacket was gone, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the curve of his collarbone. His walls were crumbling, and she felt it—not just in the way he looked at her, but in how he didn’t touch her first.

He waited.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

Camille shook her head. “I don’t want to.”

He kissed her then.

Not with dominance. Not like she was a prize.

But like she was a lifeline.

Their lips met slowly—almost shyly. The kind of kiss that asked for permission and offered a hundred apologies in return.

Camille slid onto his lap, fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

Julian’s hands cupped her waist gently, reverently. Like he didn’t want to break her. Like he knew he already had.

Their breath mingled, warm and desperate, as clothes came off—not torn, but peeled away like secrets.

He whispered her name between kisses.

She whispered his with forgiveness.

And for the first time, their bodies didn’t collide out of control.

They found each other.

Real.

Raw.

Willing.

After, they lay tangled on the couch, the city glowing beyond the window like a quiet witness.

Camille rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

It wasn’t a victory. It wasn’t surrender.

It was something else entirely.

Something terrifying.

Something beautiful.

She looked up at him, her voice barely a breath. “What happens now?”

Julian didn’t answer.

Because he was already asleep.

The man who never slept near anyone.

The man who ruled the world with walls and warnings.

He had fallen asleep with his arm around her, face soft and unguarded, lips parted like a boy who never got to dream.

Camille stared at him, stunned.

And for the first time…

She was afraid of her own heart.

Because she didn’t just pity him.

She was starting to fall for him.

She came into his life to survive him.

Now she wasn’t sure she could survive loving him.