Falling for My Stepmother's Brother

I held my stepmother's mocking gaze, my lips curving into a deliberate, razor-sharp smirk.

That's right, I'm pregnant, I drawled, tossing the words right at her face. With your stepbrother's baby. Julian is the father. You're going to be an aunt. Thrilled?

Click.

The front door unlatched.

Julian stood in the doorway.

Chapter 1

The moment the words left my mouth, regret hit me. Hearing my declaration, one corner of his mouth ticked up into a cold, mocking smirk.

"You!" My stepmother slammed her manicured hands onto the table, shooting to her feet. "Celine, have you no shame?! You dumped him! You dumped him because he was broke!"

"So what if you're throwing yourself at him now that he's made it? You really think he wants your bastard?!"

Her hysterical meltdown didn't surprise me. I knew exactly what kind of sick, twisted crush she harbored for Julian. But right now, the ticking time bomb was the man standing at the door.

Our eyes locked.

I wanted the floorboards to swallow me whole. Instead, Julian leaned against the doorframe and let out a slow, deliberate drawl. "The blizzard has the roads completely blocked off. Things like birth control pills delivery drivers aren't risking it, and you can't exactly borrow them from the neighbors."

I choked on my own spit. My stepmother's jaw practically unhinged. She whipped her head toward Julian, then back to me, her mouth opening and closing like a dying fish.

The silence in the room grew thick enough to cut with a knife.

"If we're done here, you should head back," Julian said, his tone flat. "I left your groceries by your door." He shrugged off his coat, hanging it on the rack with one hand. The eviction notice in his voice was clear.

"The blizzard warnings are already in effect. Even if you live right next door, don't just use my keycard to let yourself in."

My stepmother pinched her brows together, feigning a pathetic, injured look. "Julian, we're family."

"I'm an only child." He paused, letting the ice in his words settle before driving the final nail in the coffin. "I'm just your landlord."

Suffocated by his bluntness, she grabbed her designer bag and stormed out, shooting me a venomous glare before slamming the door behind her.

Honestly? I couldn't even process the absurdity of it all. My first love was my stepmother's stepbrother. It was straight out of a trashy soap opera.

The kind of toxic, twisted trope I'd write into one of my own novels.

With her gone, a dead, suffocating silence hijacked the room. I practically glued myself to the wall, inching my way toward the hallway to make a break for it.

"Stop." Julian's voice dropped an octave, gravelly and low. It was the first time he'd spoken directly to me since we signed the lease.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I scrambled for words, babbling. "Uh, the food is still hot. There's fresh water in the kettle"

"You're pregnant?" he cut me off. He arched a dark brow, closing the distance between us with slow, predatory strides.

"What? No." My pulse scrambled. I stumbled backward on instinct, only for my lower back to hit the hard edge of the dining table. Trapped.

How the hell could I be pregnant? I hadn't even slept with anyone. I just threw that out there to piss off my stepmother.

Julian didn't stop. He planted both hands firmly on the edge of the table, caging me in. His pitch-black eyes locked onto mine, swallowing me whole. The clean, sharp scent of his cologne invaded my space.

Even though the man standing in front of me had changed, the violent kick of my heart against my ribs hadn't.

"Look" My mind went blank under his gaze. "You know how I get. I get totally nauseous when I'm stressed out."

"Tsk." A dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. He ripped open an alcohol wipe from the table, finally straightening up to step back. He wiped down his long fingers with agonizing slowness.

"I wouldn't know."

I clamped my mouth shut, the sting of his words hitting its mark. Our breakup had been anything but pretty. Back then, I was fresh out of high school. After spending my entire life playing the perfect, obedient daughter, hitting college was like uncaging a wild animal.

I threw all caution to the wind and went after Julian, the untouchable god of the campus.

In the end, my control-freak of a father slapped me across the face and forced me to end it, threatening to freeze every last dime of my trust funds.

"End it! Now!"

"I'm legally an adult" I clutched my stinging cheek, fighting back tears.

But there was no reasoning with him. He raised his hand, ready to strike again, his voice cracking like a whip. "Break it off immediately! Or I'll cut off every single one of your credit cards and freeze your accounts!"

To some extent, whether it was out of fear of his violent temper or the sheer panic of being financially cut off, I caved. I compromised. At least, until my new stepmother moved in. She married my father, yet kept a stash of Julian's photos hidden in the back of her closet, pulling them out to obsess over when she thought no one was looking.

That was when the sick, twisted reality finally clicked into place.

Chapter 2

But it was too late. I had already burned that bridge with Julian to the ground.

"I just don't think we're a match, genius," I had told him back then. "Yeah, I want to break up. Is that so hard to understand? You're suffocating me."

"Can you just stop stalking me? You're just a broke kid living off financial aid. I drop more on a single purse than your entire four-year tuition. Do you really think we live in the same universe? Read the room."

The second those words left my mouth, all the air vanished from my lungs. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms I almost drew blood.

Julian came from a broken home. His dad walked away with nothing in the divorce, and to make it easier for his mom to remarry, Julian stayed with his father. Every single gift he'd ever bought me was paid for with blood, sweat, and minimum-wage campus jobs.

I could have given him a clean break. But if I hadn't been ruthless, Julian would have kept fighting for us. He would have kept coming back.

And every time I saw him, my resolve crumbled a little more, so I turned my words into jagged glass, slashing at him just to keep him away.

It worked too well. Julian transferred to an Ivy League school overseas and never looked back.

Meanwhile, I finally escaped that toxic house. I escaped my father and the back of his heavy hand. I clawed my way to financial independence. I wasn't that pathetic, crying little girl anymore.

But the sick twist of fate? I could never bring myself to fall for anyone else.

I still see it when I close my eyes. Julian standing outside my dorm in the freezing rain, his eyes rimmed with red, just staring at me in dead silence.

That look. It was a rusted blade twisted right into my ribs, and it had stayed there for six years.

[Riley: Babe! Breaking news. Julian is back in the States, and he's literally right here in the city!]

I stared at the screen. Yeah, I knew. Not only did I know, but I had somehow blindly signed a lease, only to discover I was now rooming with the ghost of my past.

[Riley: Go find him! Lock that down ASAP!]

I bit down on my lower lip and typed out the miserable, humiliating reality of my current living situation. A second later, my phone blew up. Riley fired off a frantic voice memo.

[Riley: "Holy shit! Get out there and jump his bones! Hahaha, I swear to God, I'm too hyped to sleep right now!"]

"With what nerve?" I muttered to the empty room, dropping my phone onto the mattress. My stomach plummeted to my knees. It wasn't that I didn't want to make it up to him. I just had zero clue where to even start.

Honestly? The thought of getting too close to him terrified me.

Eighteen-year-old Julian and twenty-four-year-old Julian were two entirely different species. The old Julian was almost innocentthe kind of guy whose ears burned red if I just teased him. The man pacing around this apartment now? He wore a mask of polite sophistication, but he radiated an absolute, freezing hostility that kept everyone ten feet away.

[108 Ways to Win Your Ex Back.pdf]

The file popped up on my screen. I choked on a breath, staring at it for a solid minute before my thumb betrayed me. I clicked the download button and started scrolling through the ridiculous bullet points.

[Me: Isn't this a little too desperate? I look like a stage-five clinger.]

[Riley: Oh, so you want to just roll over and let your psycho stepmother get her claws into him?]

I gripped the phone tight. Hell no. I would rather die than let that woman near him. But I was flying blind with this new, upgraded version of Julian. I had to take it slow. Test the waters.

They say the quickest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. It's a total clich, but I was desperate enough to buy it. To create more excuses to bump into him, I went into a frenzy hoarding blizzard survival groceries online. I even spent an entire afternoon barricaded in the kitchen, baking a massive batch of his favorite cinnamon rolls from scratch.

"Dammit, Celine! If you baked for him, why didn't you hand-deliver them instead of leaving them outside his door like a coward?" Riley practically yelled through the speakerphone.

I pressed my back against the wall of the hallway, staring at his heavy, unyielding bedroom door. I was just about to raise my fist to knock again when the lock clicked. Through the narrow gap of a few yards, I watched Julian's face transition from mild surprise to utter, icy disgust.

"Hey, did he take it?" Riley whispered through the line.

I squeezed the phone. It felt like someone had driven a dull knife straight through my sternum. I watched in dead silence as Julian turned his back, stepping into his room and shutting the door. The plate of warm cinnamon rolls sat on the hallway table, completely untouched.

"Well? Did he?"

"No," I rasped out, my throat tight with humiliation.

Riley let out a heavy sigh. "Just march in there and force-feed him!"

I didn't answer. Swallowing the hard lump of rejection in my throat, I walked over, picked up the plate, and brought it back to my side of the apartment to eat by myself.

For an entire week, Julian and I circled each other in the shared spaces like strangers. Neither of us brought up the rejected food. Or maybe, he just couldn't be bothered to care.

But day after day, I stubbornly kept trying.

Chapter 3

Until one day, Julian leaned casually against the kitchen doorframe, watching me aggressively chop vegetables.

"Am I your lab rat?" he asked, his voice deadpan.

"Huh?" I caught sight of him in my peripheral vision, a sudden, ridiculous thrill skipping through my chest. "No. I tasted everything first. I followed the recipe exactly It shouldn't be terrible."

Julian arched an eyebrow. Without a word, he closed the distance between us, picked up a pair of chopsticks, and calmly tasted the stir-fry I'd just finished. In that moment, the relentless drumming of the blizzard outside faded into the background.

I watched him chew, my voice dropping to a nervous murmur. "Is it good?"

"Mm." He lowered his eyes, the sound barely more than a vibration.

I bit my lip, a pathetic wave of relief washing over me. But his next words hit like a bucket of ice water.

"You put a lot of effort into your scams, Miss Celine."

My hand froze over the cutting board. I turned my head to look at him, my voice barely a whisper. "Did it work? Did I scam you?"

Julian didn't answer. He just leaned his weight against the counter, turning his head to hold my gaze. We hadn't been this close, looking at each other like this, since the day he grabbed my arm and begged me not to end it.

"The food isn't bad. I'll knock half a month off your rent," he finally said, completely ignoring my question before turning on his heel and walking away.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Just as I was about to plate the food, a frantic, aggressive pounding erupted on the front door. I didn't even have to guess. I knew exactly who it was. I wanted to ignore it, but the pounding only grew louder. Terrified she would disturb Julian, I dragged my feet to the entryway and pulled the door open.

The moment the door swung wide, my brain flatlined.

My stepmother was standing there in a sheer, paper-thin slip dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. The cheap fabric clung to her like a second skin, the flesh color practically glowing underneath. If I didn't know we were standing in an apartment hallway, I would have thought she was headlining a tacky lingerie show.

The sheer desperation of it was nauseating. Her smug smile vanished the second she saw me.

"What are you doing answering his door?" she demanded, trying to push past me. "Where is Julian?"

I immediately tightened my grip on the door handle, blocking her path with my body.

"Listen here, Celine," she sneered, her eyes narrowing into venomous slits. "You'd better learn your place. I knew Julian way before you even existed."

I stared her down, my stomach churning at her blatant attempt at seduction. I mirrored her mocking tone, dragging out my words. "Julian is exhausted from last night. I seriously doubt he has the energy to entertain you right now."

"You little tramp!" Her eyes practically bulged out of her head.

Watching her completely lose it, my survival instincts kicked in. I took a step back, but she lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of my shirt, her other hand raising high to deliver a slap.

Having a stepmother like her meant having a father who enabled it. Backed by my father's authority, her physical and verbal abuse had always been a "natural" part of my life in that house.

"Let go," I warned, my voice dropping to a dangerous low.

She didn't stop. She aimed her lacquered nails right for my face.

I didn't hesitate. I grabbed the heavy glass of ice water I'd left on the entryway table and threw it straight at her cheap, see-through dress. Using her shock to my advantage, I planted my foot squarely in her stomach and kicked her backward out the door.

"Youyou dare hit me?! You little bit!" she shrieked, staggering back.

But before the rest of the profanity could leave her mouth, her eyes darted to something behind me. She collapsed onto the hallway floor, bursting into dramatic, hysterical tears. The whiplash of her personality change was jarring.

Frowning, I took a step back, only to collide with a solid, unyielding chest. The sharp, intoxicating scent of Julian's cologne flooded my senses.

I froze instantly, a cold sweat breaking across my spine, unable to even turn my head. Over the deafening pound of my own heartbeat, my stepmother's pathetic wails echoed through the hall.

"Julian I just came over to check on you, and she just attacked me for no reason"

I ground my teeth together. I opened my mouth to defend myself, but the paralyzing image of my father's rage-contorted face flashed through my mind. Men always fall for the weeping victim act. No exceptions. It was a card I never learned how to play.

My tears always burned hot behind my eyes, and I swallowed them down every single time.

After a suffocating silence, Julian stepped around me and walked over to where she sat sobbing on the floor.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

She sniffled, forcing a single tear to roll down her cheek. "It hurts so much," she whimpered softly.

I pressed my back hard against the doorframe, bracing myself.

Chapter 4

Right then, the hallway morphed into my stepmother's personal, twisted stage, and Julian was the one escorting her off it.

Click.

As the heavy door latched shut, my stomach plummeted.

"Julian" I muttered his name to the empty room, the pathetic sound fading into dead air.

Reality snapped back. My half-cooked food. I scrambled back into the kitchen, grabbing a pair of chopsticks to taste the stir-fry. But as the food hit my tongue, my throat instantly tightened. It tasted like ash.

Hours bled by. Julian didn't come back. I paced the floor, my mind spinning out of control. What was she telling him? What kind of toxic garbage was she feeding him to ruin whatever pathetic image he still had of me?

Then again, I let out a dry, self-mocking breath. Who was I kidding? I had probably been erased from his mind years ago.

By early afternoon, I was curled up under my duvet. Every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was the broad line of Julian's back walking away with her. Sleep was impossible.

Then, the bedroom door clicked open.

"Hey." Julian's voice was a low rumble.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I froze, keeping my eyes glued shut, too terrified to make a sound. The crisp, freezing scent of cedar and rain drifted closer.

"Hey," he repeated, his tone deliberate, testing the waters.

I played dead, holding my breath until the edge of the mattress dipped. And then, his fingers grazed the side of my neck. Ice-cold. The contrast against my flushed skin was staggering.

An electric shiver ripped down my spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He was checking my injuries. That psycho's manicured claws had raked three raw, burning scratches right into my flesh.

"Besides writing novels, what else are you actually good for?" he deadpanned.

The words hit me like a physical blow. It was the exact same mocking, arrogant tone he used to use. Back then, I built fictional worlds, and he handled the real one for me.

The back of my eyes burned fiercely. I squeezed them tighter, digging my nails into my palms so I wouldn't ruin this fleeting, stolen second of intimacy. But the knot of anxiety in my chest twisted too tight.

A few seconds later, my stomach revolted. A violent wave of nausea hit me.

I bolted upright, scrambling out of bed and throwing myself into the bathroom.

The faucet blasted cold water. I rinsed my mouth, my hands gripping the porcelain sink, only to catch a glimpse of Julian leaning against the bathroom doorframe. His gaze had darkened. The way he was looking at me the misunderstanding had just cemented itself into a permanent concrete wall.

"I'm really not preg"

"The ointment is pregnancy-safe." Julian cut me off, casually rolling the small tube between his long fingers. He lifted his gaze, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

For a split second, the air vanished. We were standing three feet apart, but a bottomless canyon separated us.

A desperate urge to apologize clawed at my throat. I wanted to vomit up every single excuse, every piece of the broken past. But then I saw the absolute, freezing indifference in his eyes.

Fear spiked my veins. The damage was done. Ripping open old wounds now wouldn't change a damn thing.

I stared at him, my chest aching so badly it felt bruised. "I'm not pregnant," I pushed the words out, my voice barely a rasp. "And I I haven't dated anyone else."

"Your business." His face turned into a mask of pure ice. A sharp, hollow smile curved his lips. "I have absolutely zero interest in knowing."

I stood there, paralyzed. "Right. My bad for oversharing." I forced a bitter smile. When I looked up, the doorway was empty. He was already gone.

Dragging my feet out of the bathroom, I stared blankly around my hollow bedroom. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the small tube of ointment left squarely in the middle of my desk. My laptop was open. I hadn't updated my novel in days.

But instead of typing, I sank into the chair and just stared at the medical tube until my vision blurred.

My mind dragged me back to college. Around everyone else, I was the quiet, untouchable art major. But the second I was alone with Julian, I turned into the clingiest, whiniest velcro girlfriend on the planet.

"Ugh, I pinched my hand in the locker. It hurts so bad. I literally can't type today," I would complain.

The truth? The sting faded in five seconds. But I was addicted to the way he pampered me. He would let out a soft chuckle, lean down, and pull me right onto his lap. His large, strong hands would gently cradle mine. "Mm. Let me see. Which finger hurts the most?"

We were sickeningly sweet. So toxic in our obsession that Riley used to roll her eyes and groan.

[Riley: Gag! You nauseating couple! Flex the PDA now, crash and burn later!]

A self-fulfilling prophecy.

Chapter 5

Julian and I were really over. Just thinking about it triggered a complete physical spiral. My chest tightened so hard I couldn't pull in a full breath. Bleeding my reality into my fiction, I sat in front of my laptop clutching a pillow, hammering out a tragic romance while hot tears blurred the screen.

I burned through half a box of tissues in an hour.

The apartment was dead quiet. My throat felt like sandpaper from the crying, so I slipped out of my room to grab a glass of ice water in the dark. I didn't expect Julian to be in the living room. I instinctively shrank back into the shadows of the hallway.

The living room was pitched in heavy darkness. The dull thud of a glass bottle rolling across the hardwood floor echoed through the space. Julian was slumped deep into the couch, motionless.

"Julian?" I whispered.

I flicked on the dim ambient lamp. The top three buttons of Julian's crisp dress shirt were ripped open. A dark flush painted his sharp cheekbones, the alcohol stripping away his icy armor and leaving behind a raw, devastatingly vulnerable magnetism that hitched my breath.

"Why did you drink so much" Seeing the empty liquor bottles littering the coffee table made my chest squeeze. I crouched down to gather them up.

As I stepped closer, reaching out to pull him up, a large hand suddenly clamped around my wrist. Before I could even gasp, he yanked me down, pinning me flat against the cushions. The intoxicating scent of expensive scotch and sharp cedar swallowed me whole.

The air left my lungs as my mind went blank. I curled into the fabric, completely trapped beneath his heavy shadow. His dilated pupils locked onto minedark, predatory, and suffocatingly dangerous.

"You actually dare to show your face?" he sneered, a dark, hollow sound vibrating in his chest as his eyes traced my features.

"The past" Panic spiked in my veins. My breath hitched. "I can explain."

"Explain?" Julian's eyes burned a furious, bloodshot red. He leaned in so close his ragged breaths ghosted across my lips. "I looked for you. I waited for an explanation until I was half-dead. And what did you give me? I wasn't worthy. I wasn't in the same tax bracket as the almighty Celine. So I deserved to be played like a cheap toy, right?"

He invaded my space completely. The sharp burn of alcohol on his breath practically paralyzed my nervous system. All the oxygen evaporated from the room.

Pure, visceral terror hijacked my brain. I didn't dare make a sound. The sickening flashback of my father, reeking of liquor, raising his heavy fist to strike, slammed violently into my mind.

"Right, Celine?" Julian glared down at me, the dark fire in his eyes burning hotter.

Looking up at him, a cold sweat broke out across my spine. The fear swallowed me alive. Hot tears spilled over my lashes. I shoved both hands against his chest, desperate to push him off, but he instantly clamped his fingers around my wrists.

His grip was iron-tight.

That was the detonator. Fight-or-flight kicked in.

Operating on pure instinct, I twisted my arm, reversed the grip, and locked his wrist into a brutal defensive hold. Before he could react, a sickening crack echoed through the dead-silent living room.

"Fuck Celine!" Julian hissed, his voice rough with sudden agony.

Reality crashed down on me. Gasping for air like I'd just survived a car wreck, I snatched my hands back in absolute horror. Julian collapsed against the base of the sofa, clutching his arm. Cold sweat beaded along his clenched jawline as he looked up at me.

"I'mI'm so sorry!" I scrambled to my knees, reaching out to help him up.

Julian flinched away from my touch. Without a single word, he pushed himself off the floor.

I bit down hard on my lip, trailing a few steps behind him like a ghost. "Does it does it still hurt?"

He completely iced me out. He stalked straight into his bedroom and slammed the door shut, leaving me shivering alone in the dark living room.

Maybe it was the heavy drinking, but Julian didn't leave his room early the next morning. I had no idea how bad his wrist was, but after tearing the apartment apart, I couldn't find a single tube of muscle rub or painkillers. I had to ask around. Thank God the luxury building's neighbor group chat was highly active.

I quickly got in touch with a senior pharmacist who lived in the penthouse.

[Penthouse Pharmacist: What floor are you on? I'm still distributing blizzard emergency supplies, I'll drop it off to you a bit later.]

I quickly typed out a massive thank you and shot over our apartment number. Just as I was about to ask about the cost, another message popped up.

[Penthouse Pharmacist: Hey, wait. Do you still need the pregnancy-safe kind?]

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. Before I could reply, the pharmacist sent another text.

[Penthouse Pharmacist: You have to be careful when there's an expectant mother in the house. That scar-fading ointment you guys ordered just came in stock too. Still want it?]

A heavy realization slammed into my chest. Later, when the pharmacist finally knocked on the door and handed over the small pharmacy bag, he flashed me a friendly grin. "Oh, your husband isn't the one picking up the meds today?"

"Uh" I choked out a stiff, incredibly awkward laugh. Just as I was scrambling for a response, the pharmacist's eyes lit up. He waved his hand toward the end of the hallway. "Hey! Your wife is right here."

Chapter 6

I whipped my head around. In my peripheral vision, Julian paused for a fraction of a second before walking straight toward us.

"How many months along is she?" the pharmacist asked cheerfully, completely oblivious to the radioactive tension, just making casual neighborly small talk.

Julian's gaze slid toward me. A sharp, cynical smile ghosted across his lips. "We haven't been to the hospital to check yet."

"Man, who knows when this blizzard is going to let up. When it gets close to her due date, you guys definitely need to contact a private doctor in advance." The pharmacist nodded knowingly, rambling on about emergency contacts and VIP hospital wards. But I couldn't process a single word. My knees felt like jelly.

I was suffocating under the heavy, predatory weight of Julian's proximity.

"Right. I'll keep that in mind," Julian replied, his voice terrifyingly smooth.

The pharmacist seemed convinced. He gave me a warm, reassuring smile before turning to leave. "Wishing you a safe and easy delivery!"

I felt my soul leave my body. "Yeah. Thank you," I choked out, forcing my facial muscles into something resembling a smile.

A low, mocking scoff vibrated in the air. I bit down on my lip, daring to glance in Julian's direction, but he had already spun on his heel, walking away.

"Julian, thank you for coming down for the medicine," I said, practically jogging to keep up with his long, effortless strides.

The Julian of today could flip a switch from civil to absolute ice faster than a loaded gun. He let out a cold, hollow laugh. "Miss Celine, I'm just looking after my tenant out of basic humanitarian obligation."

My chest tightened. I froze mid-step, swallowing the bitter pill of his words before forcing my legs to move, rushing to catch up.

"Julian, wait for me," I called out frantically as the elevator doors began to part. But as he stepped inside and turned around, his face was an impenetrable mask of absolute indifference. He just stood there, watching me run, and let the steel doors begin to close right in my face.

Even though they opened again almost immediately on the sensor, that one split-second of rejection it was like a rusty nail driven straight into my ribs.

"Are you getting in or not?" he demanded, his voice slicing through the cold air.

I stared at the floor, my shoulders hunched as I stepped inside. I practically shoved the small bag containing his muscle rub into his hands, then immediately retreated to the furthest corner of the elevator, keeping my head down. Ding.

The second the doors opened, I bolted out first.

Back in the apartment, I walked in dead silence toward the kitchen. I unscrewed the orange prescription bottle, tipping out a few antidepressants, and swallowed them dryly with a mouthful of cold water.

"What kind of pills are those?" Julian's voice suddenly cut through the silence from the doorway.

I kept my head down, ignoring him. It wasn't until I felt his shadow looming over me that I finally murmured, "I thought you had absolutely zero interest in knowing my business."

The sharp slam of his bedroom door was my only answer. Expected. But the drop in my stomach was impossible to hide. I've always known one brutal truth: you can never stop someone who is determined to leave.

Not my mother. And certainly not Julian.

The pill caught in my throat, leaving a bitter, sickening taste. I swallowed hard without flinching. Ripping the pharmacy label bearing the psychiatrist's name off the orange bottle, I crushed the plastic violently in my fist and tossed it into the trash can.

[Riley: Dammit, Celine, I swear to God! You go full Mike Tyson on your stepmom, but the second you're around Julian, you turn into a trembling little mouse. This is real life, not one of your slow-burn novels. The pacing of your actual love life is killing me.]

Riley's voice crackled endlessly through my AirPods. Her relentless nagging actually managed to ease the suffocating tightness in my chest. "A broken mirror can't be put back together perfectly," I replied casually, staring out the window at the snow. "It's fine. I've accepted it."

[Riley: Accepted my ass! Look, chasing the 'beautiful tragedy' aesthetic in fiction is fine. But chasing a tragic ending in real life? Are you psychotic? Who actually wants to live their entire life full of regret? Because I sure as hell wouldn't.]

I let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. "It doesn't matter what I want. You can't force someone to care."

[Riley: Listen, aren't you a black belt in Taekwondo? Just physically pin him down and force him to submit.]

"You read way too much fanfiction." I chuckled, but the sound died quickly in my throat.

My goal in learning self-defense was never about picking fights or showing off. It was purely survival. I just never wanted to be completely defenseless the next time someone tried to beat me. But even with all the training, the visceral memory of being slapped hard across the face, forced to my knees, and pushed face-first onto the cold marble floor refused to fade.

Just thinking about it triggered the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. My vision blurring while I begged for mercy. The maids terrified to intervene. My stepmother standing in the corner, covering her mouth to hide her sick, triumphant smile.

It's all in the past now.

Chapter 7

But just catching the scent of liquor triggered a violent reflex in me. The sheer, suffocating terror of it was wired directly into my central nervous system. That night, my adrenaline had completely hijacked my brain. I didn't even know if Julian's wrist could handle the brutal hold I had forced him into.

Around 2:00 AM, after tossing and turning for hours, I finally grabbed my empty water glass and slipped out of my room. I glanced toward Julian's door, heading for the kitchen, fully expecting pitch blackness. But the overhead light was still blazing. Julian was crouched by the kitchen trash can, methodically digging through it.

He had dug out the crushed prescription bottle I threw away. His long fingers were piecing together the torn remnants of the antidepressant label, his jawline locked so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. It took less than two seconds for him to spot me.

I didn't even have time to duck back into the shadows. The glass in my hand violently clattered against the wall, startling me so badly I jumped. My knuckles immediately turned white as I gripped the glass, freezing in place.

Our eyes locked. The dead silence in the room was deafening.

Julian instantly dropped the crushed plastic back into the trash and shot up to his full height. "Are you trying to give someone a freaking heart attack sneaking around in the dark?"

"Are you having fun dumpster diving at two in the morning?" The sass slipped past my lips before my brain could stop it.

Julian's face instantly darkened. Getting caught digging for my medication was clearly a massive hit to his massive ego. A second later, he turned to the sink and cranked the faucet, aggressively scrubbing his hands with soap as if he had just found his perfect alibi. "I was just looking for my flash drive."

I stared at his broad back. "Did you find it?" I wasn't going to expose his terrible lie. I caught a glimpse of the ruined plastic bottle buried deep in the trash, and the frantic hammering against my ribs finally slowed to a dull thud.

Julian turned off the water, leaning against the counter. "Is it any of your business?"

He was acting like a defensive, stubborn child. I knew damn well I didn't have the right or the ability to coax him anymore. I just rolled with it. "Nope. Not my business."

Maybe Julian's sudden midnight curiosity terrified me. First thing the next morning, I pulled up the penthouse pharmacist's contact in my phone, carefully typing out a text to fish out whether Julian had gone to him asking questions. While I waited for his reply, I paced the floor, my anxiety spiking so hard my stomach churned. The memory of my first humiliating psychiatrist appointment flashed violently behind my eyes.

[Penthouse Pharmacist: No, he didn't reach out.]

[Penthouse Pharmacist: Mrs. Julian, a pregnant woman absolutely cannot take these strong prescription antidepressants. These drugs severely impact fetal neurological development.]

[Penthouse Pharmacist: Prenatal depression is tough, especially being cooped up during this blizzard. But try not to rely solely on the meds. Open some windows, get some exercise, listen to music.]

Prenatal depression. Those two words felt like a physical blow to the throat. I stared at the screen, completely paralyzed on how to correct him without digging a deeper hole.

[Me: Got it. Thank you so much.]

The moment I locked my phone, a massive weight dropped off my chest. I let out a heavy breath. I was definitely overthinking things. Julian was probably really just looking for a lost flash drive last night. Digging out my shredded pill bottle was probably just a coincidence.

Over the next few days, I made a point to wake up early to take my antidepressants in peace, desperately trying to avoid any collision with Julian. But out of nowhere, he started waking up at the exact same time, constantly pacing past me in the shared space. It made my skin crawl with this bizarre, irrational guilt, like I was a thief trying to hide stolen goods.

"Want one?" I asked dryly one morning. I had just shaken a pill out of the bottle, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught him staring intensely at me. I held the orange bottle out toward him.

We hadn't spoken a single word in days. I was just tossing out a sarcastic lifeline to cut the suffocating tension, but Julian actually pushed off the wall and walked straight toward me.

"II was joking." I yanked the bottle back against my chest, my pulse spiking. Desperate to change the subject, I blurted out, "Um does your wrist still hurt?"

The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to bite my tongue off. Literally the worst possible topic I could have picked.

"Celine," Julian's voice dropped, laced with absolute frost. He stepped into my space, his dark eyes pinning me down. "Let me make this perfectly clear. I don't give a damn about you. So stop constantly testing my boundaries. Understood?"

I flinched. I hadn't expected him to completely snap. A sudden flare of defensiveness shot through me. "Did I force you to wake up at the crack of dawn and stand right here?"

I admit it. Deep down, a pathetic, desperate part of me wanted to dig for some tiny shred of proof that he still cared. But every single time, his freezing hostility slapped me right back into reality. I had already given up any delusional hope. Right now, I was literally just trying to exist in the same room and make basic human conversation.

"My sleep schedule is my own damn business."

Chapter 8

Julian's jaw locked tight. His gaze pinned me down, heavy and dead. "I don't know what kind of sickness you have that requires popping pills every single day. Let me just say thisdon't die in my apartment. I have zero interest in turning my property into a crime scene."

A hot, stinging sensation flooded behind my eyes. I never thought the day would come when he would hurl words that vicious at my face. I looked up at him, my throat constricting like someone had a brutal grip on my windpipe.

"Drop the waterworks. I'm not buying it," Julian cut in, his voice pure ice.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing the tears back down. "As soon as the blizzard stops and the roads are cleared, I'll move out"

"Perfect." Julian tossed the word over his shoulder without missing a beat, leaving me with nothing but the broad line of his back.

Karma is a ruthless bitch. Finally, I was the one left standing in the dust.

Before the blizzard stopped and the snowplows cleared the roads, I pulled a few all-nighters, banking a stack of draft chapters for my novel.

[Riley: Oh my god. How the hell did things blow up this badly? I seriously thought you guys would be communicating horizontally by now.]

I rubbed my temples. I was genuinely miserable, but reading that text actually dragged a choked, pathetic laugh out of me. When the laugh faded, a crushing wave of exhaustion took its place. Julian was probably sick of me by now. He had reverted back to living at his corporate office, practically a ghost in the apartment.

Maybe we were just meant to be collateral damage in each other's lives.

Out in the hallway. I was carrying a fresh bag of groceries from the lobby when I froze. A terribly familiar figure was standing right outside my door.

"You lying bitch, you playing me?! Where the fuck is Celine?!"

"Ah! No!" My stepmother shrieked in agony as a heavy fist twisted into her hair. "Why would I lie to you?! Celine is loaded! You find her, you drain her accounts, and you can cover your bankrupt company's massive debt! I did this for you!"

"Then where the hell is she?! The damn place is empty!"

"II don't know!" She thrashed wildly, trying to break his grip, but my father brutally slammed her face against the heavy oak door. Her set of spare keys clattered onto the floor.

Her blood-curdling screams echoed down the corridor. I coldly watched the two rabid dogs tear each other apart in the hallway, and without a single ounce of hesitation, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Ten minutes later, standing safely behind the lobby security desk, I watched the NYPD drag my living nightmare out in handcuffs.

My stepmother trailed behind them, her face a bruised, bloody mess, frantically trying to hide behind a surgical mask as she sobbed.

By the time Julian finally came back, a locksmith was drilling a heavy-duty deadbolt into the front door. I was curled up on the sofa, staring blankly at the wall. The second he walked in, a desperate, pathetic urge to sprint over and bury my face in his chest hit me. I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself.

"Who the hell are you?" Julian demanded, his chest heaving slightly as he glared at the locksmith.

The locksmith jumped. "Hey man, your family hired me to install a deadbolt! I ain't the burglar. The cops already hauled the trash out of the building."

"I hired him." I pushed off the sofa and walked over. "I texted you, but you didn't reply, so I just"

"Fine. Install it." Julian's face incrementally lost its deadly edge. He stepped inside, tossing a glance at the locksmith. "While you're at it, change out the main lock completely."

"You got it, boss. But the premium hardware is gonna run you"

"Just do it." Julian strode over to the kitchen island, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in three brutal swallows. He braced both hands against the marble countertop, looking utterly exhausted.

The locksmith's eyes lit up with dollar signs.

I stood to the side, completely out of my depth. It took me a solid minute to force out a pathetic question. "Are you hungry?"

Julian turned his head away. He didn't even acknowledge the sound of my voice. His eyes never once landed on me as he walked straight past and headed for his room. Unlike his previous coldness, he had officially downgraded me to invisible.

"Lover's spat?" the locksmith muttered, drilling into the wood.

Chapter 9

The locksmith suddenly spoke up.

I froze, glancing over.

He chuckled. "Lover's spat, huh? You guys will be making up in bed by tonight."

I forced a tight smile, completely at a loss for words. If only it were that easy. Ever since my father showed up, just seeing a man with a similar build sent a violent spike of panic through my chest. Now, whether it was for Julian's sake or my own survival, I had to move out immediately.

"Why don't you just leave a letter and explain everything from back then?" Riley strongly suggested over the phone.

I stood by the stairwell, watching the movers cart away my boxes. "No," I replied flatly. "Dragging up the past is just going to inflict more damage. I'm not ripping his scabs open again."

"Ugh, fine. I have a meeting, so my phone is going off. Babe, FaceTime me the second you get to the new place."

"Mm," I murmured in agreement.

But the second I hung up the call, the heavy stairwell door ripped open.

"Go to hell!" My stepmother lunged at me like a rabid dog. I lost my footing. I tumbled down the concrete stairs, my skull slamming hard against the wall. Before I could even push myself up, the sharp point of a stiletto viciously kicked into my stomach.

"That's enough! You're gonna kill her!"

"I don't see any blood! How else am I supposed to know if the bastard is dead?! I'm not stopping" my stepmother shrieked.

A second set of hands grabbed her arm. "Stop it! Let's go before someone sees us."

A high-pitched ringing pierced my eardrums. I curled into a tight ball on the freezing floor, my skull throbbing violently. It felt like hours before the muffled voice of the mover filtered through the ringing. The massive hospital waiting room was freezing. The industrial AC blasted over me, leaving me shivering violently. I stared blankly at the mover.

"Miss Celine, I have another job lined up um, do you want to call a family member to come get you?"

Pain locked my jaw tight. I just waved my hand weakly, signaling him to go. I clutched my paper ticket, continuing to wait in line. The corridor was packed. The relentless wailing of a toddler echoed down the hall, followed by the soft, comforting hushes of their parents.

I sat there, just watching them. Tears spilled over my lashes without warning. I looked down at my shattered phone screen, my thumb tracing the cracked glass. My finger hovered for a long time before finally pressing Julian's number. No surprise. The call was rejected.

But what I didn't expect was the dial tone getting cut off in less than three seconds. The oxygen evaporated from the room. Violent tremors racked my body. I sobbed uncontrollably until my stomach revolted. I collapsed forward, dry-heaving violently onto the sterile tiles. Nurses rushed over. Crouched on the floor, I looked up at the swarm of strangers crowding around me.

My vision went completely black.

It was humiliating. But the tears wouldn't stop sliding down my face. A twisted stroke of luckit was just a mild concussion and deep tissue bruising.

By the time I stumbled out of the ER, the sky was pitch black. The city skyline lit up with millions of lights. Not a single one of them belonged to me.

"Babe, you at the new place?" Riley's voice came through the line.

My body felt like lead. I staggered toward a nearby diner, my voice a hollow rasp. "Yeah. On my way."

"Hey, what's wrong with your voice?" Riley asked, instantly on alert.

I looked up at the glowing window of a high-end restaurant, desperately trying to pull myself together to answer her. But then I saw Julian. He was sitting at a corner booth. A gorgeous, elegant woman sat across from him. They looked completely engrossed in conversation.

"Oh my god, the guy by the window is ridiculously hot."

"Look at the quality of her blind date compared to ours. Seriously, reality is so cruel."

Two girls walked out of the restaurant doors, giggling and glancing back over their shoulders. The freezing night wind slapped my face. I stood frozen on the sidewalk. My tear ducts were completely tapped out. I heard my own voice filter through the phone, flat and dead.

"Nothing. Just the dry air."

I found a random fast-food joint down the block. I ordered a bowl of soup. Staring at the couples and groups laughing around me, a hollow, biting loneliness settled deep into my bones. Eating alone. Bleeding alone.

Chapter 10

I had survived all of this before. Being alone. Being hurt. But this time, the weight of it felt absolutely suffocating. My phone buzzed against the table. Julian's name flashed across the cracked screen. I lowered my eyes and hit decline.

[Me: Sorry, misdialed.]

[Julian: Celine, can you stop playing the victim? I am so sick of this act.]

[Me: I'm sorry.]

[Julian: Your apologies are completely worthless.]

I stared at the screen, a sharp burn pricking the back of my eyes. I opened my banking app, transferred the month's rent to his account via Zelle, and silently hit block. All I wanted was to bleed out in peace, but my father wasn't done hunting me.

It didn't take long. A few days later, scrolling through Twitter, a local trending video popped up. It was my father. He had tracked down Julian's apartment, physically assaulted someone on camera, and then stared straight into the lens, claiming he did it all to protect his precious daughter.

He spun a masterful sob story. He claimed he was just a desperate father terrified for his mentally ill daughter, forced to resort to violence out of sheer panic. To build his bulletproof alibi, he held up a piece of paper to the camerasmy official psychiatric diagnosis that I had left behind in that house years ago. In front of the reporters, he squeezed out fake tears. "Celine, Daddy hasn't seen you in so long. I miss you so much. I'm so worried about you. Please, just come home."

"Do you have a recent photo of your daughter? The public could help locate her," a reporter asked off-camera.

My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit. My hands shook so hard I could barely hold the phone. But on the screen, my father froze. He blanked for two full seconds before letting out a heavy, tragic sigh. "There was a fire at the house a while back. All her photos burned."

What a devoted, heartbroken father. The comment section was a flood of sympathy. Everyone was praising his unconditional love. Not a single person stopped to ask why it took him six years to start looking for his so-called daughter.

Through the screen, his face looked gentle. Harmless. But the second his eyes met the camera lens, the visceral, paralyzing terror of him standing over me with a belt violently cracked through my chest.

A week passed. The viral hype around the video finally died down. Bundled up to the point of being unrecognizable, I ventured out, desperately hitting up different pharmacies for a better prescription. But nothing worked as well as the pills the penthouse pharmacist had given me.

My sanity was fraying at the edges. The windows in my new apartment were bolted shut, physically barricading me from my own darkest, most suffocating impulses. But I knew I was losing my grip. It felt like I was being skinned alive, an inch at a time. I logged back into the old neighborhood group chat app to contact the pharmacist.

Before I could even type a message, my screen was flooded with missed voice calls and frantic texts from him, all asking for my new address.

We agreed to meet at a nearby street corner.

"Mrs. Julian, did you and your husband have a fight?" That was the first thing the pharmacist asked the second he saw me.

My face burned. Just as I opened my mouth to correct him, he cut me off. "You should head home soon. Mr. Julian has been looking everywhere for you."

Excuse me? Julian was looking for me? The blood drained from my face. I reached out to take the white pharmacy bag from him. But before my fingers could even graze the paper, a large, familiar hand snatched it out of the air.

"Hey, that's my prescription," I blurted out, a pathetic whine slipping out before I realized who was standing right next to me.

Julian.

"I'll just let you two talk. Catch you later!" The pharmacist chuckled, instantly turning on his heel and bolting down the street.

I stared up at Julian's face, completely frozen. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Dark, bruised shadows dragged down the skin under his eyes, stripping away his usual polished, untouchable armor.

"Please give that back" I pushed the words out, desperately trying to keep my voice from trembling.

"You blocked my number?" Julian cut me off. His dark eyes dropped to mine, a dangerous chill radiating from his gaze. "You seem to really enjoy using the block button as a weapon against me."

It wasn't a question. It was an interrogation.

I lowered my head, staring at his expensive shoes. "I just didn't want to bother you anymore," I whispered.

A dark, hollow chuckle vibrated in his chest. The tension between us thickened, heavy enough to choke on. I forced my eyes up from his chest, locking onto the white bag in his hand. "That's my medication. Hand it over, Julian."

"Take it." Two flat, arrogant syllables.

I reached out to grab the bag. In a flash, he smoothly lifted his arm high above his head, holding it completely out of my reach. I glared at him. He was six-foot-three. Even in boots, I barely scraped five-foot-seven. He was absolutely doing this on purpose.

Chapter 11

I tilted my head back, watching the white pharmacy bag dangling high above me. I reached out in a dead silence, trying to snatch it back. But it felt exactly like the rest of my pathetic life. No matter how hard I scrambled, I always came up empty-handed.

My chest tightened until it was hard to breathe. The familiar, suffocating weight of my own broken nervous system pinned me down. I dropped my hand. Without making a sound, I pushed past him and walked down the street as fast as my legs could carry me. It was not until I reached my apartment door that I realized his heavy footsteps had followed me all the way back.

Before I could even swing the door shut, a massive hand slammed flat against the wood. The sheer force behind it made the frame shudder.

"Let me in." It wasn't a request. It was an absolute command.

I shoved my shoulder against the heavy wood, fighting his weight. "This is breaking and entering."

Julian shifted his dark gaze to me. For a split second, the crushing pressure on his end vanished. My momentum carried forward, and the heavy door violently slammed shut right on his hand. A sickening thud echoed through the hall. But he didn't pull back. He just flipped his grip, wrapping his long fingers directly around the doorframe.

"You" Panic spiked in my throat. I immediately yanked the door wide open.

The corner of Julian's mouth twitched from the raw pain. The second the path cleared, he stepped straight into my apartment. His pitch-black eyes immediately dropped to the empty shoe rack by the entrance.

"You don't own any men's house slippers?" he demanded.

I ignored his ridiculous question, rushing to the kitchen to rip a gel ice pack out of the freezer. I practically shoved it into his uninjured hand. "Why the hell would I have men's slippers? Just wait here. I need to find the first aid kit."

Ever since I moved in, everything besides my absolute bare essentials was still buried at the bottom of moving boxes. Digging through them was a complete nightmare.

"Julian" I finally grabbed a tube of medical ointment. But the second I stepped back into the living room, the words died in my throat.

Julian had collapsed onto my small sofa, the ice pack resting against his chest. He was way too big for the cheap furniture. His incredibly long legs had absolutely nowhere to go, hanging awkwardly over the armrest. The sofa that fit me perfectly looked like a miniature dollhouse bed under his massive frame. He was completely out cold. The last time I saw him pass out from sheer exhaustion like this, we were still in college, pulling an all-nighter for a group project.

I pulled a thin throw blanket over his chest. Grabbing a cotton swab, I squeezed a drop of cooling ointment onto it. I carefully picked up his large, bruised hand, gently treating his knuckles inch by inch, terrified my erratic breathing would wake him up.

A harsh buzzing shattered the silence. I glanced down at Julian's phone resting on the coffee table. An incoming call lit up the screen. There was no saved contact name, but the string of digits looked sickeningly familiar. I swiped to answer.

"Julian, what have you been up to lately? When are you going to come visit me at the hospital?" My stepmother's voice dripped with sickening sweetness, completely stripping away the vicious, murderous tone she used when she kicked me down the stairs. "Julian, why aren't you saying anything?"

My face turned to absolute ice. "What exactly do you want him to say?" I asked, my voice deadly soft.

The second the words left my mouth, the fake sweetness on the other end of the line evaporated. "Why the hell is it you?!" she screeched.

"What's wrong? Are you disappointed?" I sneered. "You should be on your knees thanking God I'm still breathing. Otherwise, you'd be looking at a life sentence for murder."

"Tsk." She let out a vile, arrogant laugh, like I had just told the funniest joke in the world. "Do you have any proof? Go ahead, call the cops! You really think I'm scared of a pathetic little rat like you? You didn't die. The worst that happens is I pay a little civil settlement. I have more than enough cash to cover it."

I lowered my eyes, staring out the window into the pitch-black night. "I just wanted to remind you," I said, my tone completely dead. "If you can afford to pay for damages, so can I."

Dead silence choked the line. A few seconds later, she completely lost her mind.

"Youyou wouldn't dare! You owe me this! If it weren't for you constantly seducing Julian, you little bitch, I would have been Mrs. Julian a long time ago! I wouldn't have had to degrade myself by marrying your bankrupt, wife-beating bastard of a father!"

"You know exactly what I dare to do." I dropped my voice to a lethal whisper. "Stop pushing the blame onto me. Nobody held a gun to your head and forced you to marry him. You know exactly what kind of payout you were expecting to get out of that marriage. You're just choking on your own karma."

Her twisted marriage was the exact graveyard where Julian and I buried our relationship. Sometimes, I almost admired her complete lack of a moral compass. But even with all her vicious scheming, Julian still treated her like absolute trash. He didn't even bother to save her number in his phone.

My words must have hit a nerve. She practically snarled into the receiver.

"Don't get too arrogant, Celine! Even if Julian is hanging around you right now, it's just out of pity for your pathetic mental breakdowns. That old hag controlling the family trust fund is already arranging a high-society business marriage for him. You're on your own, bitch."

Then, the line went dead.

Chapter 12

The line went dead with a sharp click. I stared at the darkened phone screen in total silence, swiping left to permanently delete the call record from his history. What did I really have to be so smug about?

My life had derailed into a complete trainwreck a long time ago, leaving absolutely nothing worth bragging about. I didn't need pity, and I definitely didn't want to drag Julian back into my mess