Chapter 49 Julian Roman's Demise
To say that I wasn't shocked to see that Conrad had called me severally, would be an understatement.
I only wondered why he did, but didn't return his calls. I just decided to forget for a moment that he exists.
After Jack and I returned home that night, we didn’t really talk.
Jack moved through the apartment like someone trying not to disturb something fragile, like grief was already in the air, invisible but waiting, and if he breathed too hard it might crack open.
I stayed close without hovering because I didn’t know what the right distance was; too far felt like abandonment and too near felt like pressure. So I just lingered in the in-between.
Jack sat on the edge of the couch for a long time with elbows resting on his knees, and his hands loosely clasped like he was holding himself together piece by piece.
I watched him from the kitchen doorway, a glass of water forgotten in my hand.
“You should lie down,” I told him softly.
He didn’t look at me right away. “I’m not tired,” he murmured.
It wasn’t true. He looked exhausted in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
So I walked over anyway, sitting beside him carefully, as if sudden movement might startle him. “You don’t have to be tired to rest,” I said.
His jaw flexed. “I don’t know how to rest when everything feels…” He trailed off, searching for the word.
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. His skin was warm, but there was tension beneath it, a tightness like a wire pulled too far.
“You did what you could today,” I whispered.
Jack let out a humorless breath. “Did I?”
I nodded slightly. “Yes.”
His eyes flickered to mine, dark and unreadable.
“I spent most of my life trying not to need him,” he said quietly. “I stood before him today, looking at him like…” His voice cracked slightly. “Like I’m still that kid waiting for him to look at me.”
My chest tightened but I didn’t know what to say further to make him feel better, so I did what I’d learned mattered more. I stayed.
Eventually, we moved to my bed.
Jack lay beside me, staring up at the ceiling.
I turned toward him. “Jack…”
His voice came instantly, like he’d been waiting. “Don’t,” he murmured.
I swallowed the lump at the back of my throat. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t try to make it better,” he said, softer now. “Just stay here with me.”
So I stayed—and listened to the rhythm of his breathing, uneven at first, then slowly settling into something that felt like relief.
Sleep came in fragments.
And then—
The sharp ring of the phone shattered the stillness of the night like glass breaking against stone.
I jolted awake, my heart slammed in my chest and for a second I didn’t know where I was.
Then I heard it again—the phone.
Jack sat upright beside me instantly, faster than thought, reaching for the buzzing device on the nightstand.
“Hello?” His voice was hoarse, edged with sleep.
I pushed myself up and heard Jack murmur something... before I saw his face change and his eyes sharpened into something grave.
“No…” Jack said quietly. “I’m on my way.”
He threw off the covers like they were nothing. I didn't ask because I had the idea...
“It’s your father,” I whispered.
Jack didn’t answer, his silence was confirmation enough.
Then I moved quickly, grabbed a coat with trembling fingers, slipping on shoes that didn’t feel real beneath my feet. My hands shook as I brushed my hair back, trying to make myself presentable for something I already feared was beyond presentation.
Jack was already at the door.
“Jack,” I said, breathless. “Wait—”
He paused just long enough for me to catch up.
His jaw was locked so tightly it looked painful. “I thought we had more time,” he muttered more to himself.
I reached for his arm. “You don’t know what it is yet,” I said softly, though we both knew.
Jack’s eyes flicked to mine. “I do.”
The drive was silent.
But I needed him to talk because I thought he'd make him feel less anxious.
“Talk to me,” I whispered.
Then his voice came out rough. “If I talk, I won’t be able to stop.”
My throat tightened, but I stayed quiet.
When we arrived, the sterile brightness of the corridor was suffocating. A nurse looked up as we entered.
Her expression changed immediately as she gave a slow nod.
My stomach dropped and Jack’s steps faltered for the first time. He stared at her like he was waiting for her to correct herself.
“I’m sorry, he didn't make it.” She said quietly and that was all it took for Jack's hopeful expression to fade.
Julian Roman was gone.
Jack moved before I could speak, his strides long and purposeful, like motion alone could undo reality. When we reached the room—he stopped frozen in the doorway.
Julian lay still, wrapped in white and quietness. The machines were gone, the steady rhythm, the blinking lights, the artificial insistence of life—was absent; now replaced by a haunting stillness that filled the room like fog.
Jack’s breath hitched once and then his hands clenched into fists so tightly his knuckles went pale.
I stepped forward slowly placing a hand on his shoulder as his body went rigid beneath my touch.
“He’s really gone,” Jack said like the words scraped his throat on the way out.
I swallowed hard, speechless. There seemed to be no words good enough to fill the space his father had just left behind. So I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pulling him into the warmth of my body. Offering comfort where language would fail.
Jack stayed stiff for a moment before he leaned back into me. I felt him tremble but I held him tighter.
“I’m here,” I whispered to him.
Jack’s voice was barely audible.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel.”
My heart broke at that. “You don’t have to know,” I murmured.
He let out a shaky breath. “I spent so long being angry at him,” he whispered. “And now he’s just… gone.”
I pressed my forehead against his shoulder.
“I believe that anger doesn’t disappear when someone dies,” I said softly. “Neither does love. It all stays but it changes shape.”
Jack’s eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, like he was trying to find steadiness in my embrace.
"It seemed like he tried to be a perfect man in his own way..." He mumbled.
“I know,” I whispered. “But he loved you, Jack. I’m sure he did.”
Jack nodded as if acknowledging that made the loss cut deeper.
Back at the penthouse, it felt like time had pressed pause.
Jack hadn’t said much since we returned from the hospital in the dead of night. Grief, when it wasn’t loud, could be isolating—and Jack’s version was the kind that coiled inward.
It scared me more than anger would have.
He sat on the edge of the couch, hunched slightly forward, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the black screen of the television as if he was daring it to speak first.
But it had already spoken because all morning, the news had bled through every channel and every headline.
I’d turned it off hours ago, but the words stayed anyway, stamped behind my eyes:
BUSINESS MOGUL JULIAN ROMAN WHO WAS ALLEGEDLY REPORTED MISSING SEVERAL YEARS AGO, PASSES AWAY AT 66 AFTER COMPLICATIONS FROM STROKE.
MYSTERY STILL SURROUNDS ROMAN LEGACY FOLLOWING SUDDEN DEMISE.
The way they said it so professionally as if Jack’s grief was just a subplot in a financial story.
My phone vibrated yet again with Conrad's name flashing defiantly on the screen but I swiped on the red button and immediately turned my phone off deciding that whatever he wanted from me could wait...