Chapter 14
Chapter 14
+ 5 Points.
I didn’t respond to Julian’s messages. Not the calls. Not the texts. I just lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it held the answers | couldn’t find anywhere else.
I felt heavy. Too heavy to move, too tired to cry again.
And the worst part?
I missed him.
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Not in the way you miss a friend or a coworker–but the kind of ache that settled somewhere deep, somewhere dangerous. I missed his voice. His presence. The way he made work feel lighter. The way he paid attention–how he remembered my coffee order or left notes on my sketches that made me smile.
I remembered one afternoon, not long ago. I had stayed late to finish a design for the upcoming presentation. The office had emptied out, but I was still sketching under the yellow desk lamp, my back aching and
Julian appeared out of nowhere with takeout and a bottle of sparkling water.
“Dinner,” he said simply, placing the food beside me.
“I didn’t ask-”
“You didn’t have to.” He sat across from me and smiled. “You work like you’re on a mission.”
I didn’t know how to answer him then. But the truth was, he made me feel seen. Not just like a name on a roster. Not like someone who had outlived her prime. He made me feel… alive.
But now, I wasn’t so sure.
Maybe they were right.
Maybe he was just using me.
That thought dug into me like a splinter. It
That thought dug into me like a splinter. It festered the more I sat in silence. So finally, I grabbed my laptop and started searching.
Julian Wilde past life. Julian Wilde wife.
It didn’t take long.
There she was. Isabelle M. Wilde. His late wife. She passed five years ago from a terminal illness. There was a photo–one taken during their anniversary, I guessed. She was smiling beside him in a cream silk dress, her head tilted in the way I always did when someone took my picture from the side.
And I saw it.
The resemblance.
We shared similar features–soft jawline, almond eyes, dark hair, and even the way we smiled. It was eerie. I stared at that photo for
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What if they were right?
What if I wasn’t anything special?
What if I was just a shadow of a woman he once loved?
A placeholder? My eyes burned. I shut the laptop. I wanted to scream, but the ache was too silent, too old, too familiar.
Just as I was trying to push away the thoughts, the doorbell rang.
I frowned, glancing at the clock. It was nearly 9 PM.
Cautiously, I stepped to the door, peeked through the peephole–and froze.
Julian. He was standing there, holding a bouquet of soft yellow flowers and a bag of takeout. His face looked tired, but concerned.
I opened the door slowly.
“Julian?”
“I’ve been calling you all day,” he said, voice laced with worry. “You didn’t show up at the office. You didn’t answer anything. I got worried.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” I replied, my voice lower than usual. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine,” I snapped.
He blinked, caught off guard.
I softened immediately. “I’m sorry. I just… I can handle myself.”
“I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to do it alone.”
CI
He held out the flowers. “I didn’t come to invade your space. I just wanted to bring you dinner. Make sure you’re okay.”
I looked at him, and I couldn’t bring myself to turn him away.
So I stepped aside and opened the door wider.
“Come in.”
He smiled gently and entered, placing the food on the table.
The silence between us was thick. I busied myself with plates while he looked around the small apartment. “It’s cozy here,” he said, eyes landing on the sketchpad on my couch.
“I like the quiet, I muttered.
He nodded. “I figured.”
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He nodded. “I figured.”
We ate in relative silence, save for the occasional clink of utensils. He didn’t push. Didn’t ask me what was wrong. But I could feel it in the way he watched me–carefully, kindly, like I was made of glass.
After dinner, he helped clean up, and I walked him to the door.
“Thanks,” I said softly. “For checking up on me.”
“I’ll always check on you, Penelope,” he replied.
I paused. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because they confuse me.”
He didn’t press.
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He just nodded, offered a tired smile, and left.
I closed the door behind him and leaned against it, breathing out slowly.
Tomorrow, I would return to the office.
And tomorrow, I would tell myself what I needed to hear.
That Julian was my boss. Nothing more.
That whatever I was feeling–whatever fluttered in my chest every time he looked at me–had to be buried. I was here to work. To build myself again. I didn’t have the strength to fall, not after everything I’ve crawled out of.
So tomorrow, I’d smile.
I’d say thank you, sir.
And I’d pretend that my heart wasn’t starting
