Chapter Two: The Morning After
1956 Words
Jules didn’t sleep. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift as the streetlight outside flickered. Her apartment was small and cramped, the walls thin — she could hear the neighbors arguing two doors down, someone playing music too loud, a dog barking somewhere in the distance.
She couldn’t stop thinking about him — the man from the alley, the man from the coffee shop, the man who’d saved her life and then threatened to take it, who’d looked right through her like she was nothing.
She hated him. She hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Her phone buzzed. She ignored it. It buzzed again. She picked it up.
Maya: You awake? Jules: Yeah. Maya: Can’t sleep either? Jules: Something like that. Maya: You wanna talk about it?
Jules stared at the screen. She wanted to tell her — she wanted to tell someone — but she couldn’t. He’d threatened her. If she talked, he’d find her. She didn’t know who he was, but she knew he was dangerous.
Jules: It’s nothing. Just stressed about Dad. Maya: You always say that. Jules: Because it’s always true. Maya: Fine. But if you change your mind, I’m here. Jules: I know. Thanks.
She put the phone down and stared at the ceiling. She didn’t sleep.
The morning came too fast. Jules dragged herself out of bed, showered, dressed, and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked like hell — dark circles under her eyes, pale skin, hollow cheeks. She hadn’t eaten properly in days, and she didn’t have time to eat now. She had to get to the hospital.
She walked the three blocks to the bus stop, hugging her jacket against the cold air. Her shoes were worn, the soles thin enough that she could feel the pavement through them. The bus was late, of course.
She finally made it to the hospital and walked through the doors, the smell hitting her — antiseptic, stale coffee, something vaguely medicinal. She’d been coming here so often the smell no longer bothered her. Just background noise.
She walked to her father's room. Emmet was awake, sitting up, staring out the window. He looked pale, tired, his hands thin and veined, the skin almost translucent.
“Hey, Dad.”
He turned and smiled — weak, but real. “Jules. You’re here early.”
“I wanted to see you before my shift.”
“You should be resting.”
“I’ll rest when you’re better.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
He laughed, and it turned into a cough. She reached for the water, and he drank slowly.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“The same. Tired. Old.”
“You’re not old.”
“I’m sixty-four. I feel a hundred.”
She sat beside his bed and took his hand. His fingers were cold.
“The hospital called yesterday,” Emmet said. “They asked about the bills again.”
She tensed. “I’ll handle it.”
“I know you will. But, Jules…” He paused. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe I should stop treatment.”
“No.”
“Jules, listen to me.”
“No. I’m not listening to this.” Her voice was sharp. “You’re not giving up. We’re going to fight this. We’re going to win.”
“Jules—”
“I don’t want to hear it. I’ll find the money. I always do. Just focus on getting better.”
He looked at her, guilt in his eyes. She could see it—the weight of it, the feeling that he was dragging her down.
“Jules, I’m the parent. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.”
She squeezed his hand. “You did take care of me. For years. You raised me. You loved me. You gave me everything.” Her voice cracked. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”
He didn’t argue. He didn’t have the strength.
She stayed until visiting hours ended, kissed his forehead, promised she'd be back tonight. She walked out of the room and made it to the hallway before the tears came. She wiped them away—she couldn't afford to cry. Not now. She had a shift at the diner. Bills to pay. A life to hold together.
She walked to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened.
Her heart stopped.
Gray eyes. Winter- Cold.
The man from the alley.
He was wearing a suit—expensive, tailored—and carrying a briefcase. He didn't see her at first; he was looking at his phone, distracted. Then he looked up. Their eyes met.
For one second, neither of them moved. Then his face went blank. Cold. He walked past her like she was furniture.
Jules stood frozen in the hallway, her heart hammering. She turned to watch him walk away. He didn’t look back.
What was he doing here? Why was he in a hospital? Was he sick? Was someone he knew sick?
She told herself she didn’t care.
She was lying.
Travis walked down the hallway without turning back, without slowing. He didn't want to think about why he was here—how he'd found out she'd be here this morning. The fact that he'd come hoping to see her.
He was a grown man. A billionaire. He didn't chase women. He didn't need to.
But here he was, walking through a hospital hallway, looking for her.
He found the room he was looking for. One of his men had been injured last night — a deal gone wrong. Nothing serious, but enough to need stitches.
Travis walked in. His man sat on the bed, a bandage wrapped around his arm.
“Boss.” The man nodded.
“Report.”
“The deal went sideways. The Santaros were there. They knew we were coming.”
Travis's jaw tightened. The Santaros—of course. Always pushing. Always watching. Waiting for him to slip.
“We’ll handle it. Get your stitches, then get back to work.”
“Yes, boss.”
Travis turned to leave, walked back down the hallway, and passed the elevator. He paused. She was gone.
He told himself he didn’t care.
He was lying.
The diner was busy. Jules was on her feet, running from table to table—exhausted, body aching, head pounding. She'd skipped breakfast. Skipped lunch. She couldn't afford to eat. A customer complained their order was wrong. She apologized and fixed it. They didn't tip.
Maya grabbed her arm and pulled her into the back.
“Okay. What the hell is going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been weird for days. You snapped at a customer. You look like you haven’t slept. What happened?”
“I’m just tired.”
“It’s more than that.”
Jules wanted to tell her — she was dying to tell someone — but she couldn’t.
“It’s Dad,” Jules said. “The bills are piling up. I don’t know how to fix it.”
“That sucks. But that’s not all of it.”
“Yes, it is.”
“You’re lying.”
Jules said nothing.
Maya studied her. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But I’ll figure it out eventually.”
Jules walked back to the floor, still thinking about him — the man from the alley, the coffee shop, the hospital.
She hated him. She hated that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Travis sat in his office, staring at a file. Dimitri walked in, grinning.
“Boss.”
“What.”
“Ran into your coffee girl today.”
Travis looked up. “Where?”
“At the hospital. She was leaving. You looked right through her.” Dimitri laughed. “That was cold. Even for you.”
Travis’s jaw tightened. “I was there for business.”
“Right. Because you always show up to the hospital when it’s not one of our men getting stitched up.”
Travis didn’t answer.
Dimitri laughed again. “You’re obsessed, you know that?”
“I’m not obsessed.”
“You followed her to a hospital. You watched her. You pretended you didn’t see her. That’s obsessive.”
“I wasn’t following her.”
“Then why did you look so disappointed when she got on the elevator?”
Travis stood. “Get out.”
Dimitri held up his hands, still grinning. “Fine. But don’t think I’m not watching this. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened to you in years.”
He walked out.
Travis sat back down and stared at the file. Jules’s photo stared back at him — not smiling, exhausted, her eyes tired, but with something else there. Defiance.
He hated himself for wanting to see her again.
That night, Travis called his mother. Natalia lived in Switzerland—she'd been there for years, ever since the coma. Ever since the divorce. She'd needed to get away, and he'd understood. He'd bought her a house. Made sure she wanted for nothing.
She answered on the second ring.
“Travis. You never call this late. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re lying. I raised you. I know when something’s on your mind.”
He hesitated. He didn’t know why he’d called. He just needed to talk to someone.
“There’s a woman.”
“A woman?”
"She's insufferable. Arrogant. She spilled coffee on me, then yelled at me like it was my fault."
Natalia was quiet for a moment. Then she laughed.
“Travis. You called me at midnight to complain about a woman who spilled coffee on you?”
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
"She's nothing. A nobody. A waitress, a nursing student. Not my type."
“Then why are you still talking about her?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Natalia laughed again. "You're telling me you called me this late because some waitress made you angry? My son, the great Travis Volkov—undone by a woman with coffee and a temper?"
“I’m not undone.”
“You drove all the way to a hospital today just to catch a glimpse of her. Dimitri told me.”
Travis was silent.
Natalia was still laughing. “Travis. Sweetheart. You’re obsessed. You’re not calling me to complain — you’re calling me because you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
“I don’t like her.”
“Of course you don’t. You’ve never liked anyone. That’s not what this is about.”
“Then what is it about?”
She softened. "You're drawn to her. You don't know why. It's confusing. Infuriating. But it's also wonderful."
“It’s not wonderful. It’s irritating.”
"Sure it is. But think about it—you've never been angry enough to call me before. Never confused enough. Never let anyone get under your skin. This is good, Travis."
He didn’t answer.
“This is good,” she repeated. “Don’t fight it. Just… see what happens.”
He hung up and stood by the window, the city sprawled beneath him — lights, cars, people living their lives.
He thought about Jules. Her eyes, furious and defiant. She wasn’t afraid of him. She didn’t care about his money. She just wanted him to admit the truth.
She'd said his name. Travis. Like she had every right to. She'd called him out in public. Humiliated him. Made him feel like nothing.
And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He wanted to see her again.
He was lying to himself.
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