Chapter 11 11
“Julian,”
The door shut behind us before I could finish, cutting off the noise from outside. My back hit the wall lightly, not rough, it stopped me from moving away, and when I looked up, he was already staring intensely.
“You left early.” His voice was low,
I pulled my wrist free. I let out a small breath, shaking my head. “I wasn't allowed to leave or what?”
His jaw tightened just slightly. “Are you okay?”
The question caught me off guard, not because of what he asked, but because of how he said it. It was certain he wasn’t sure what answer he’d get.
“I’m fine.”
He didn’t believe me. It was obvious in the way his eyes searched my face, like he was looking for something I wasn’t giving him. “You don’t look fine.”
“Good looks can be deceiving.”
“Kimberly.”
“What?” I snapped, sharper than I meant to. “You asked, I answered.”
A pause settled between us, He didn’t move away, didn’t try to close the distance either. Just stood there, and I wondered if I was the one being difficult.
“Is something wrong?” he asked again.
I almost laughed. “Nothing’s wrong,” I said, my voice flatter now. “Everything’s perfectly normal.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, like he caught the edge in that. “You’re lying.”
“And you’re one to talk.”
That landed. I saw it in the slight shift of his expression, the way his shoulders tensed just enough to give it away. For a second, neither of us said anything, and the silence that followed was full of everything we weren’t saying.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair like he was trying to steady something inside himself. “Last night…” he started, then stopped, like he was choosing his words carefully. “I might have made a mistake.”
The words hit before I could stop them from settling.
I blinked once. “A mistake?”
He didn’t respond immediately, and that was all it took.
I let out a quiet laugh, stepping away from the wall just enough to put space between us. “So that’s what we’re calling it now?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh?” I tilted my head slightly, my chest tightening in a way I refused to acknowledge. “Because it sounded pretty clear.”
“Kimberly—”
“No, it’s fine,” I cut in, the calm in my voice sharper than anything else. “Really. Makes things easier.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?” I asked, my patience slipping faster now. “Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you did exactly what you accuse London of doing.”
That got his attention.
His expression hardened instantly. “Don’t compare me to him.”
“Why not?” I shot back. “You both use people when it suits you, then act like it didn’t mean anything after.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” I stepped closer this time, not backing down. “You call what happened a mistake, then expect me to what? just stand here and nod like it doesn’t matter?”
“I didn’t say it didn’t matter.” He took a step forward, his voice lower now. “You’re twisting what I said.”
“Explain it in a way that doesn’t make you sound exactly like him.”
“That wasn’t a mistake,” he said, his tone shifting, frustration breaking through. “Last night wasn’t the mistake.”
I frowned slightly. “Then what is?”
His jaw clenched, like whatever he was about to say wasn’t something he wanted to say at all.
“That was the most…” he stopped, exhaling sharply before finishing, “the most real thing I’ve had in a long time.”
The words hit differently than I expected. For a second, it threw me off.
But not enough.
“Then why say it like that?” I pressed.
“Because I’m not talking about that,” he said, running a hand through his hair again, clearly frustrated now. “I’m talking about something else.”
“Like what?” Another pause.
“I might have…” he hesitated, like even saying it out loud was a problem, “done something I shouldn’t have.”
I frowned. “That’s vague. Try again.”
His eyes met mine, and for the first time since I’d known him, there was something there that wasn’t fully controlled.
“I might have marked you.”
The words sat between us, unfamiliar and wrong.
I blinked. “Marked me?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Marked me how?” I asked, my voice slower now, confusion replacing the anger.
“I don’t know for sure,” he admitted. That didn’t help.
“You don’t know?” I repeated. “You’re telling me you did something to me and you don’t even know what it is?”
“I said I’m not sure,” he corrected, tension creeping into his tone. “It’s not something that was supposed to happen.”
I let out a breath, stepping back again, my mind trying to catch up with something that didn’t make sense. “You keep doing this,” I said, quieter now but no less sharp. “You say just enough to make things worse, then stop.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“From what?” I snapped, frustration flaring again. “From you? From London? From whatever this ‘marking’ thing is?”
“Yes.” That answer came too fast.
I stared at him, something in my chest tightening again, but this time it wasn’t anger—it was something closer to realization.
“You don’t even trust me enough to tell me what’s going on,” I said slowly. “But you expect me to just stand here and believe you’re protecting me?”
“It’s about what happens if you know.” That was the line that broke whatever patience I had left.
I shook my head, letting out a short breath. “No. We’re not doing this again.”
“Kimberly—”
His expression tightened. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
I held his gaze, refusing to look away this time, refusi
ng to let him dodge it again.
“One last time,” I said, my voice steady despite everything twisting underneath it. “What are you?”