Page 18

I wake with a start.

For a moment, I don’t move, lingering in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, my body still warm from the memories of last night.

Julie. The way she had felt beneath me, soft but unyielding, fire and defiance wrapped in silk. The sounds she had made, the way she had touched me, the way she had given herself to me, not just in surrender but in equal hunger.

I exhale slowly, running a hand over my face before reaching out toward her side of the bed—only to find it cold. Empty.

A flicker of irritation cuts through my lingering satisfaction. I prop myself up on one elbow, scanning the dimly lit room. The sheets are slightly rumpled, proof that she had been here not long ago. But now, she’s gone.

She wouldn’t have run. Not after last night. Still, a part of me tightens at the thought.

I throw the blankets off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes before pushing myself up. She’s probably in the kitchen or maybe entertaining that damn kitten again.

Shaking off my irritation, I make my way to the bathroom. The water is scalding as I step into the shower, but I welcome it. I let the heat wash over me, washing away the remnants of sleep, but it does nothing to rid me of the phantom sensation of her skin against mine.

By the time I step out, towel wrapped around my waist, I feel more like myself again. I dress quickly, sliding into my usual tailored suit—black, sharp, and perfectly fitted. There’s business to handle today, a meeting that requires my full attention.

Something feels… off. The house is too quiet. Even in the mornings, there’s usually some movement—guards outside, maids shuffling around, Julie’s hesitant presence as she tiptoes through a world she still doesn’t fully belong to.

Today? Nothing.

I adjust my cuff links, eyes narrowing slightly as I step into the hallway. Silence presses down around me, and I don’t like it.

The moment I step into the kitchen, the tension in my gut coils tighter. Empty. The counters are pristine, undisturbed. No sign of Julie.

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders back, forcing away the unease threatening to take root. This isn’t unusual. She has more freedom now—she could be anywhere within the estate. Maybe she’s in the sitting room, wrapped up in a book, or taking another one of her walks around the gardens.

Yet, something about the silence gnaws at me.

I move through the house, my steps measured but quick. The sitting room is untouched, the cushions neatly arranged, not a single book out of place. The dining hall is the same—untouched, lifeless. I rake a hand through my hair, irritation mounting.

“Where did she go?” I mutter, feeling the sharp edge of frustration digging in.

She wouldn’t have run. Would she?

My jaw clenches. The thought shouldn’t bother me this much. If she was foolish enough to try and leave, I’d find her. I always find what belongs to me.

The tightness in my chest has nothing to do with ownership.

I turn sharply on my heel, my gaze sweeping the vast space of the estate. The maids are off today. The guards remain stationed outside as usual. Nothing seems amiss, but the absence of Julie unsettles me.

She’s been adjusting, softening. Last night had changed something between us. I had felt it in the way she had reached for me, the way she had let herself want me.

Now, she’s nowhere to be found. A flicker of something unfamiliar stirs beneath my ribs, something dangerously close to concern.

I move with more purpose now, stalking through the halls and toward the glass doors leading to the garden. If she’s anywhere, she’s outside.

The moment I step onto the stone path, the breeze cool against my skin, my eyes sweep over the stretch of green.

Then, I see her.

She’s kneeling in the grass, her back turned, hunched over something in her lap.

I don’t think. I move. My voice is sharp, cutting through the quiet. “Julie? You think you can just—”

She turns before I can finish. I stop cold.

Her face is streaked with tears, her expression one of pure anguish. But it isn’t me she’s afraid of.

It’s the kitten she’s cradling in her lap. The small, frail thing barely moves, its tiny body weak and limp. A weak mew escapes its throat, barely a sound at all.

Julie looks up at me, her lip trembling. “She’s sick,” she whispers, her voice breaking.

I watch as she clutches the kitten closer, desperation thick in her tone. “I found her like this here… something could happen to her.”

The fury simmering inside me vanishes the second I see her face. I hesitate.

The logical part of me—the ruthless side that sees vulnerabilities as weaknesses—tells me to brush this off. It’s a kitten. It doesn’t matter. The other part, the part I don’t like acknowledging, knows I can’t allow Julie to be upset.

Now, Julie holds it like the most precious thing in the world, her desperation digging under my skin in a way I can’t shake.

Her lip trembles. “Please,” she whispers, lifting her gaze to mine.

Something stirs inside me. Damn her. I don’t like this feeling.

The weight of her plea settles in my chest, pressing against the barriers I’ve spent years building. I should say no. I should shut this down before it turns into something more.

I don’t. Instead, I let out a slow breath and mutter, “Fine.”

Julie’s eyes widen slightly, but I hold up a hand before she can say anything else. “Don’t try anything funny.” My voice is sharp, but the threat lacks its usual bite.

She nods quickly, pressing her cheek against the kitten’s fur in silent gratitude. I watch her a moment longer, my jaw clenching as I wrestle with the unfamiliar sensation creeping through me.

Julie isn’t manipulating me. She isn’t playing a game. She’s just… Julie.

I cringe, but say, “Luka will be fine, you know.”

Julie sniffles, her grip on the kitten tightening. She looks up at me, blue eyes glassy with tears, her lip trembling as she strokes its tiny head.

“You don’t know if she’ll be okay,” she whispers, voice unsteady.

I exhale through my nose, jaw tightening. She’s right. I don’t. I can’t have her falling apart like this.

I shift slightly, glancing away before looking back at her. “She’ll be fine,” I repeat, my voice gruff.

Julie sniffles again, pressing her lips together, unconvinced. “You don’t know that.”

I resist the urge to sigh. Comfort isn’t something I do, and yet, here I am, kneeling in the grass, trying to ease the worry of the woman I married by force.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.” My tone is sharper than I intend, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she wipes at her tears and stares at me as if trying to decide whether she believes me or not.

Finally, she sighs and loosens her hold, her fingers trembling as she lets me take the kitten from her.

I cradle the small, frail creature in my hands. It barely stirs, its breath shallow but still there.

Julie watches me, her gaze still pleading.

I don’t give her more false reassurances. Instead, I pull out my phone, pressing a number. “Get a car, we’re going to the vet.”

Julie exhales shakily, nodding, as if my command is the only thing keeping her upright.

I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but it does.