Chapter 182
Elara
So I did. I worked as carefully as I could, dabbing the ointment around each sutured wound with the lightest touch I could manage. Every time the cotton made contact with his damaged skin, I felt him tense, felt the tremor that ran through his muscles, but he never made a sound. Just sat there and endured it with that same terrible silence he'd maintained through the suturing.
The room was so quiet I could hear both of our breathing—his controlled and measured, mine slightly too fast. Could hear the soft sound of cotton against skin, the faint rustle of my clothes as I moved, the almost imperceptible creak of the examination table when Julian shifted his weight.
My mind was racing even as my hands moved with careful precision. This man had hurt me so badly, had made choices that had shattered my heart into pieces I was still trying to put back together. Had stood by while his family treated me like garbage, had chosen Sloane over me again and again, had made me feel small and worthless and stupid for ever believing he could love me.
But now he'd taken thirty lashes for the right to choose me. Had bled for me. Had walked away from everything his family had planned for him because I'd told him that was the price of having me in his life.
Was it real this time? Or was this just another manipulation, another way to control me, to make me feel like I owed him something?
I didn't know. God help me, I didn't know.
But looking at these wounds, at the physical evidence of what he'd endured, it was getting harder and harder to maintain my certainty that nothing had changed.
I finished with the ointment and reached for the gauze pads, my hands still trembling slightly. The pads were soft and sterile, wrapped in individual packets that I had to tear open. I placed them carefully over each treated wound, trying to cover as much of the damaged area as possible without pressing too hard.
Julian was watching me in the reflection of the glass cabinet across the room. I could see his eyes tracking my movements, could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were still gripping the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
When our eyes met in the reflection, something passed between us—something I didn't have words for, something that made my chest feel tight and my throat ache.
I looked away first, focusing on the task of securing the gauze with medical tape. My fingers brushed against his skin as I worked, and I felt him shiver at the contact. Not from pain this time, I thought. From something else.
When I finally finished, I stepped back, my hands falling to my sides. The bandaging wasn't as neat as a professional would have done, but it covered all the wounds and would hold until the doctor could do a proper job.
"Done," I said quietly.
Julian turned his head to look at me over his shoulder, and the expression on his face made something in my chest crack open. Gratitude, yes, but also something deeper. Something that looked like the kind of hope that hurt to hold onto.
"Thank you," he said, and his voice was so raw it made my eyes sting.
I swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions that were threatening to overflow. This was too much.
I needed to say something. Needed to establish some kind of boundary before I completely lost myself in this moment. But the words I'd been rehearsing in my head for days—the speech about maintaining distance, about not letting this change anything—they all felt hollow now.
Instead, I heard myself say something I hadn't planned, something that came from a part of me I'd been trying to ignore. "Julian." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "I've been thinking. About what you said. About what you did."
He went very still, like he was afraid any movement might make me stop talking.
I took a breath, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "I can't—I'm not ready to say yes to being with you. Not after everything that's happened. Not when there's still so much that's broken between us."
I saw something flicker in his expression—disappointment, maybe, or pain—but he didn't interrupt. Just waited for me to continue.
"But," I said, and the word felt heavy on my tongue, "you're right about one thing. You and I—we're on the same side now. Whether I like it or not, we have common enemies. Common goals." I paused, gathering my courage. "Sloane has been stealing credit for work that isn't hers. She's been building her entire reputation on lies, and one of those lies involves my teacher—Elena Castellano. A woman who died alone and forgotten while Sloane wore her genius like a costume."
Julian's eyes sharpened, and I could see his mind already working, already strategizing.
"I need help exposing her," I continued, forcing the words out even though they felt like admitting defeat. "I need someone with resources, with connections, with the kind of power that can make people listen. I need—" I stopped, hating how this sounded, hating that I had to ask. "I need you to help me bring her down. To prove that she's a fraud. To give Elena the recognition she deserved."
The silence that followed felt like it lasted forever. Julian just stared at me, his expression unreadable, and I felt my stomach twist with anxiety. Maybe I'd miscalculated. Maybe he wasn't actually willing to go against Sloane, despite everything he'd said. Maybe—
"Yes."
The word was simple, definitive, and it cut through all my spiraling thoughts like a knife.
"Yes?" I repeated, not quite believing it.
"Yes," he said again, and now there was something fierce in his eyes, something that looked like the Julian I'd fallen for years ago—the one who faced challenges head-on, who didn't back down from a fight. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to help. And I'll do it."