Chapter 7
1299words
Why can't you see?
See what?
What am I supposed to see?
Chloe's heart twisted at that look. Grief and confusion wrapped around her like strangling vines, making it nearly impossible to breathe.
She yanked her hand, desperate to break free from his grip.
This time, he let her go, releasing his hold as she pulled away.
The moment she was free, Chloe jumped back as if scalded, putting safe distance between them. She lifted her chin, her red-rimmed eyes blazing with wariness and accusation.
"What the hell do you want from me?" Her voice shook with five years of confusion and three days of fresh humiliation. "Why did you do that to me? At the hotel… was it pity? Or did you think a drunk, betrayed woman would be easy prey? Or was I just another conquest to feed your ego?"
Her words struck him like poison darts, each one finding its mark.
Julian's face showed no anger at her accusations—only a pain she'd never witnessed before, raw and deep. He stared at her, his eyes filled with disappointment and disbelief.
"After everything," his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper, carrying the anguish of being misunderstood by the one person who mattered, "do you really think that's who I am?"
To Chloe, blinded by hurt, his wounded look seemed like just another performance—more sophisticated, more manipulative. Her bottled-up rage finally exploded.
"What else should I think?!" she cried, her voice raw with fear and humiliation. "How are you any different from him? One trapped me in a sham marriage with lies, the other used 'sympathy' as an excuse to get me into bed! You're cut from the same cloth—just different methods of toying with me!"
"Don't compare me to him!"
His words exploded like thunder in the hallway. Julian was nearly roaring—she'd never seen him lose control like this. Her comparison to Daniel cut through his last shred of dignity like a rusty blade.
"I am NOT him!" He surged forward, backing her against the door, his hands slamming against the wood on either side of her, caging her in. His eyes were bloodshot as he loomed over her, like a cornered wolf about to strike—
But just before he could speak, he truly saw her eyes.
Those beautiful eyes—once clear as mountain streams—now swam with unshed tears. They gathered like storm clouds, threatening to spill over but stubbornly held back by her last thread of pride. She bit down hard on her lower lip, refusing to make even the slightest sound of weakness. She looked like a butterfly with rain-soaked wings still desperately trying to fly.
That look in her eyes…
Julian's rage vanished as if someone had doused a flame.
Without warning, his mind flashed back twenty years. Eight-year-old Chloe, fallen from a tree in the garden, her knee scraped and bleeding. He'd rushed to her side, and she'd looked exactly like this—face tight with pain, tears welling, stubbornly biting her lip to keep from crying, looking up at him with those same red-rimmed eyes full of hurt and absolute trust.
He'd been ten then, swearing to himself he would never let those eyes show such pain again.
But now, twenty years later…
The person who had put that pain in her eyes was him.
All his anger, all his pride, all his defensive armor suddenly seemed pathetic and useless. His rage, faced with her tears, extinguished like a match in rain.
All that remained was crushing, breathless guilt.
He slowly dropped his arms, strength draining from his body, and slumped against the opposite wall.
"I'm sorry, Chloe," he whispered, his voice no longer angry but broken and exhausted.
"You're right. I am a jerk."
He closed his eyes, his face contorted with unbearable guilt.
"Back then… I was nothing but a coward ruled by my pride."
He told her about the "Child Groom" whispers that had eaten away at his young ego. "I hated that nickname. Hated being the 'adopted son.' Hated that no matter what I achieved, everyone saw me as just your future husband. So when you confessed to me, I…" his voice cracked, "I chose the cruelest way to prove them wrong. I hurt you just to save my damn pride."
The mystery was solved. The answer was absurd, yet somehow… heartbreaking.
Chloe stared at his tortured face, and the hatred in her heart evaporated. All that remained was emptiness—a hollow ache with nowhere to go.
The room fell into heavy, suffocating silence.
Just when she thought he'd finished, Julian spoke again, his voice dropping even lower, as if confessing something even more painful.
"But it wasn't just pride, Chloe." He raised his head, his gaze almost reverent in its brokenness. "Before you turned eighteen… long before you confessed… I was already damned."
Chloe froze.
"That summer when you were sixteen," he spoke as if recalling a dream, his eyes distant and haunted, "you wore a white dress, chasing butterflies in the garden. The sunlight caught in your hair, and you smiled… God, you looked like an angel."
"I watched you from the study window. And I realized the way I was looking at you wasn't brotherly." His voice filled with self-loathing. "It was wrong, Chloe. It was… possessive. Like I wanted to lock you away where no one else could see you."
"After that day, seeing you around the house was torture. I hated myself. I felt like I'd betrayed Father's trust, betrayed my own dead parents. I felt like the worst kind of monster—wanting my own sister."
At his words, the tear Chloe had been fighting finally spilled down her cheek.
And like a breaking dam, everything she'd held back came rushing out.
But this time, it wasn't from hurt or anger.
She cried because for the first time, she saw beneath his hard shell a soul just like hers—lonely and tormented for years by the same forbidden feelings.
She cried because she finally understood—they were accomplices.
"Do you really think…" her voice barely audible, "you're the only one who felt guilty?"
The words came out broken, thick with tears.
Julian's head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock.
Under his stunned gaze, Chloe wiped her tears and, in a whisper so faint he had to strain to hear, revealed her own secret from that same summer.
"That summer when I was sixteen… I accidentally… saw you…"
She told him everything—stumbling upon him shirtless after a workout, fleeing in panic at the sight of his muscled torso, the crushing guilt she'd carried ever since for desiring her "brother."
"After that day, I convinced myself that desire was dirty—something that would damn me. So when Daniel said I didn't enjoy intimacy… he wasn't wrong. I couldn't let myself feel pleasure without thinking of you—and that felt like the worst kind of sin."
When she finished, she sagged against the door, as if the confession had drained her last ounce of strength.
Julian stood frozen, utterly stunned by her confession.
He'd thought he alone suffered in his private hell, never realizing he'd unwittingly trapped her in a prison of shame about her own desires.
They'd been accomplices in their shared tragedy, hurting each other while desperately craving the very connection they denied themselves.
He couldn't hold back anymore. In two strides, he crossed to her and gathered her in his arms with a gentleness he'd never shown before, holding close the woman he'd loved and hurt for a decade.
This embrace wasn't about possession or desire.
It was two broken souls, finally finding shelter in each other amid the wreckage of their past.
