All Chapters of He is.... Not Him: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The next morning was awkward in a way I’d never felt before. Walking into the office felt like stepping onto a frozen lake, unsure when the ice might crack.I kept my head down, my eyes firmly glued to the floor or my computer screen—anywhere but on Julian Thorne. I could feel his presence from across the room, a cold spot in the already chilly office air.If he looked my way, I didn't see it. He was quieter than usual, his orders more clipped, his demeanor more closed off than ever. The easy, almost comfortable tension from our phone call had been replaced by something brittle and fragile. The air between us wasn't just cold; it was ice.Our morning meeting did nothing to thaw it. We were finalizing details for the upcoming investor event, and everything was running smoothly until we hit the problem of the photographer.Victoria, ever efficient, had a list of three big-name professionals ready."Alexander West is available. His work with luxury brands is exceptional," she suggested,

The office, usually so quiet and controlled at night, was in a state of shock. The silence was broken by the sound of security's heavy footsteps and Samuel's quiet, hiccupping sobs as they led him away. His shoulders were slumped, and he looked younger than ever, just a scared kid who made a terrible mistake.Julian was already on his phone with the legal team, his voice a low, cold blade, giving sharp, clear orders. The peaceful night had been completely shattered.I stood next to Victoria, both of us shaking slightly from the adrenaline crash. It was over, but it didn't feel like a victory. Seeing the raw fear on the intern's face made my stomach hurt.Later, after the main chaos had died down and it was just the two of us left by the coffee machine, Victoria finally spoke. She was still pale, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug."Triple my salary..." she mumbled, almost to herself, not looking at me. "He pays me triple the market rate. He knows. He knows my family needs it. My

The question hung between us, sharp and still. The sweet taste of the chocolate turned to dust in my mouth.I couldn't lie to him. Not when he was looking at me like that, like he could see the ghost of another man standing between us on this dark balcony.“For a second,” I whispered, my voice barely there. “I’m sorry. It was just… a memory. It’s gone now.”He didn’t look away. The softness from before was gone, replaced by that familiar, impenetrable mask. But his eyes were still fixed on me, and I saw something flicker in their dark depth—something that looked a lot like hurt.“Memories are persistent things,” he said, his voice flat and controlled again, all business. “We should return. My father is watching.”He offered his arm again, the gesture formal and cold. The moment of quiet kindness was over, locked away behind his walls. As I took his arm, the distance between us felt wider than it had all night.He led me back into the glittering noise of the gala, but the silence that

"Don't worry..." I whispered, my voice soft in the quiet dimness of the penthouse.His fever had finally broken, and his breathing had evened out into what I hoped was a healing sleep. His hand still held mine, his grip loose but present, a warm, heavy weight.I thought he was asleep. But then, in a low, raspy voice that was barely more than a breath, he spoke."I was always close with my father..."I stayed perfectly still, not wanting to break the fragile spell of his confession. He’d never spoken like this, walls down, defenses vanished with the fever."We always exchanged gifts. Spent holidays together. When I was a boy, I felt... everyone else liked me because of my name. Because of who my family was. But my father... I thought he liked me because I was his son."His voice hitched, thick with a pain that had nothing to do with physical illness."He seemed to understand me. I was... glad for that."My heart ached for him. The powerful, untouchable Julian Thorne was, at his core, j

I didn't know where I was going. I just ran, blind with tears and shame, the walls of the hallway a blur. I pushed through the first door I found, stumbling out onto a deserted balcony on the other side of the floor.The cool morning air hit my feverish skin. I collapsed, falling to my knees and then curling into a tight ball, hiding my face between my knees, my arms wrapped over my head. The sobs wracked my body.I was so stupid. So unbelievably stupid. I had poured my soul out to Liam himself, confessing my inability to forget him, while mistaking him for his brother. The humiliation was a physical burn. How could I not have seen it? The familiar curve of his smile, the warmth in his eyes that was uniquely his—not Julian's sharp intensity.Leon T. Liam Thorne. The similarity of the names now seemed like a cruel joke.The sound of the balcony door opening softly was barely audible over the sound of my own ragged breathing. I didn't need to look up. I knew who it was. The frantic foot