Chapter 134
Evelyn's POV
I found Julian in the observation room, exactly where he'd said he'd be.
He was standing at the window. His back to me. His posture rigid with carefully controlled tension.
A half-empty tumbler of whiskey sat on the desk beside him. His phone lay face-down next to it, silent and dark.
He didn't turn when I entered, but I saw his shoulders tense. Saw the way his hands clenched briefly before he forced them to relax.
Listening. Waiting.
Giving me the chance to speak first or walk away—whichever I chose.
I closed the door behind me with a soft click and leaned against it.
My heart was in my throat. I had no idea how to begin.
"He's okay," I said finally. It seemed like the safest place to start. "A little banged up, but he'll heal. He wanted me to thank you. For—"
"I don't want his thanks," Julian interrupted. His voice was flat. Emotionless. "And I don't want yours either. I did what needed to be done. That's all."
The coldness in his tone made something in my chest crack.
Because this was what I'd done to him. This was the result of my fear, my refusal to be vulnerable, my deliberate cruelty when he'd tried to help me.
I'd taken someone who'd looked at me with warmth and desire and something deeper, and I'd turned him into this—distant, guarded, unwilling to let me close enough to hurt him again.
"Julian—"
"Don't." He finally turned to face me.
The look in his gray eyes was devastating. Not anger. Not hurt. Just a kind of weary resignation that suggested he'd already accepted that whatever we'd had was over.
"Whatever you're about to say—whatever explanation or apology you think you owe me—I don't want to hear it. We both know what this is. What it was. You made that very clear that night."
"I was wrong," I said. The words tumbled out in a rush before I could stop them. "Everything I said that night—about us being nothing, about it just being physical—I was wrong. I was scared and I lashed out and I said things I didn't mean because I didn't know how else to—"
"To what?" Julian's voice turned sharp, cutting through my explanation like a knife. "To protect yourself? To keep me at arm's length so you could go off and get yourself killed pursuing some revenge fantasy without anyone to stop you?"
He took a step toward me. His gray eyes blazed with barely controlled emotion.
"You think I don't know what you were doing? You think I couldn't see through that bullshit attempt to push me away?"
I stared at him. My breath caught in my throat. Unable to form words.
"I know you, Evelyn," Julian continued. His voice was rough with suppressed feeling. "I know what you do when you're scared. You run. You hide. You push away anyone who gets too close because you're terrified of what it means to need someone."
He paused. His jaw clenched.
"And I've been patient. God knows I've been patient. I've given you space and time and every fucking chance to let me in. But that night—"
He stopped.
"You didn't just push me away. You tried to destroy what we had. Tried to make me believe that everything between us was meaningless so I'd leave and you could go back to drowning in your revenge without anyone to pull you out."
The accuracy of his assessment hit like a physical blow.
Because he was right. That was exactly what I'd been doing.
And the fact that he'd seen through it—that he'd recognized my fear for what it was—somehow made it worse.
"I'm sorry," I said. My voice broke on the words. "Julian, I'm so sorry. You're right. About all of it. I was scared and I didn't know how to—I've never had someone who—"
I stopped, trying to find words for something I'd never articulated before.
"No one's ever looked at me the way you do. No one's ever seen all the broken, fucked-up parts of me and chosen to stay anyway. And that terrifies me. Because I don't know how to be that vulnerable. Don't know how to let someone in that deep without losing myself completely."
Julian was quiet for a long moment. His gray eyes searched my face with an intensity that made me want to look away.
Then he crossed the distance between us in two strides and cupped my face in his hands. His touch was gentle despite the tension radiating through his body.
"You think I don't know what it costs you to let me close?" he said quietly. "You think I can't see how hard you're fighting against this—against us—because you're convinced that needing someone makes you weak?"
His thumb brushed across my cheekbone. The gesture was achingly tender.
"Evelyn, you're the strongest person I know. And that strength doesn't come from being alone. It comes from surviving everything that should have broken you and still finding the courage to let someone in."
Tears burned behind my eyes, threatening to spill over.
"I don't know how," I admitted. My voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to do this. How to be with someone without—"
"Without what?" Julian prompted gently.
"Without destroying them," I finished. "Without dragging them down into the darkness with me. Julian, I'm not—I'm not good for you. I'm broken and violent and there are things about me that you don't know, things I've done that would make you—"
"I know about your mother," Julian interrupted quietly.
I froze.
"I know what happened to her. What they did to her. And I know you've been hunting the men responsible."
His hands tightened slightly on my face, keeping me from pulling away.
"I've known since the beginning, Evelyn. Since that first night when I saw you take down Morrison in the alley. I had my people dig into your past, find out who you really were. And when I learned what they'd done to her—what you'd survived—"
His voice turned rough with emotion.
"It didn't make me want you less. It made me understand why you are the way you are. Why you push people away. Why you're so fucking terrified of letting anyone see the real you."
I stared at him. My mind reeling.
"You knew? This whole time, you knew and you didn't—"
"Didn't what? Didn't judge you for wanting revenge? Didn't try to stop you from going after the men who tortured and killed your mother?"