CHAPTER 13
1991 Words
Jane
I blinked up at Julius through the rain, trying to make sense of his presence.
He was here, standing in front of me like some kind of hallucination my desperate brain had conjured because I needed someone, anyone, to care.
It was hard to believe that he was real, but he was. Water ran down his face, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his expensive suit jacket darkened as the rain soaked through.
"What are you doing here?" My voice came out hoarse and broken.
He didn't answer. He just moved, quickly, grabbing the handle of my rolling suitcase with one hand and slinging my duffel bag over his shoulder with the other.
"Come on." He said quietly, his free hand reaching for my elbow.
I let him pull me to my feet. I had no strength left to argue, no pride left to refuse help. My legs shook as I stood and Julius's grip on my elbow tightened, steadying me.
He guided me toward the sleek black car parked at the curb, and it looked like it cost more than I made in a year at the job I no longer had.
He opened the passenger door and helped me inside, his movements careful, like I was something fragile that might shatter at any moment.
Maybe I was.
He loaded my luggage into the trunk and then slid into the driver's seat, water dripping from his hair onto the leather interior. He didn't seem to care.
He just started the engine and pulled away from the curb, leaving that bench and that moment behind.
I should have said something, maybe thank him or explain or apologize for being such a mess, but my throat was too tight, my chest too heavy and I was so tired.
Julius didn't push. He just drove in silence, his eyes on the road and the only sound was the rain hammering against the windshield and the quiet hum of the engine.
I was grateful for the silence. I was grateful that he wasn't asking questions I didn't have the strength to answer. He wasn't demanding explanations or offering platitudes about how things would get better.
He was just there, driving me somewhere that wasn't that bench in the rain.
The city lights blurred through the wet windows as we drove through streets I half-recognized.
I leaned my head against the cool glass and closed my eyes, too exhausted to wonder where we were going and too broken to care.
When the car finally stopped, I opened my eyes to see the elegant building, all glass, steel and understated wealth. A doorman stood under an awning, perfectly dry.
Julius's penthouse. I had no idea I would be back so soon after leaving this morning.
He came around to my door and opened it, offering his hand. I took it, letting him help me out of the car.
My legs felt like water and I stumbled, but his arm came around my waist immediately, holding me up.
"I've got you." Julius murmured and those three words nearly broke me all over again.
The doorman greeted him with a respectful nod and opened the door for us, his eyes carefully avoiding my bedraggled state.
Julius guided me inside, through a pristine lobby with marble floors and modern art on the walls, into an elevator that required a key card to access.
The ride up was quiet except for the soft mechanical hum. I watched the numbers climb. Twenty, thirty, forty, until we reached the top floor.
The elevator opened directly into Julius's penthouse.
I had a vague impression of space and light, of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, of minimalist furniture and clean lines, but mostly I just felt the warmth, the blessed warmth after hours in the cold and rain.
Julius kept his arm around my waist as he guided me inside, kicking the door shut behind us.
He deposited my luggage by the entrance and then led me toward the living room, but stopped before we got there.
"Wait here." He said softly, and disappeared down a hallway.
I stood there dripping on his hardwood floors, shivering in my soaked clothes, too numb to feel embarrassed.
He returned less than a minute later with a large, fluffy towel. Without a word, he draped it around my shoulders, his movements slow and careful.
He wrapped it around me like I was something precious, tucking the edges in, his fingers brushing my collarbone with a gentleness that made my eyes sting with fresh tears.
"Thank you." I whispered.
He just nodded and guided me to the couch, helping me sit before I collapsed. The leather was soft under me, the cushions deep and comfortable.
I pulled the towel tighter around myself, trying to stop shaking. Julius disappeared again, this time into what I assumed was the kitchen.
I heard cabinet doors opening, the sound of running water and the click of a coffee maker. I sat there wrapped in the towel, staring at nothing, my mind blank and buzzing at the same time.
Everything hurt. My body, my heart, my soul. Everything. The smell of coffee reached me first. It was rich and dark and exactly what I needed.
Julius appeared with a large mug, steam rising from it. He pressed it into my hands, wrapping my fingers around the warm ceramic.
"Careful," He said quietly. "It's hot."
I brought it to my lips and took a small sip. The heat spread through me, burning away some of the cold that had settled deep in my bones.
I took another sip, then another, feeling marginally more human with each one.
Julius watched me for a moment, something unreadable in his grey eyes, and then turned back toward the kitchen without a word.
I heard more sounds. A pan on the stove. The refrigerator opening and closing. The crack of eggs. The sizzle of butter.
He was cooking. I wanted to tell him not to bother, that I couldn't eat, that I didn't deserve his kindness, but the words wouldn't come and the smell of food was making my stomach cramp with sudden desperate hunger.
When had I last eaten? This morning and I barely even ate then.
I sipped my coffee and let the warmth of his penthouse seep into me, let the smell of cooking food remind me that I was still alive even if I didn't feel like it.
Julius returned carrying a plate of perfectly fluffy scrambled eggs. Toast with butter melting into it. Some sliced fruit arranged neatly on the side. Simple food, but it looked like a feast.
He set it on the coffee table in front of me along with a fork. "Eat." He said simply.
I set down the coffee mug and picked up the fork with trembling hands. The first bite of eggs was like heaven.
It was warm and rich and exactly what my body needed. I took another bite, then another, and suddenly I couldn't stop.
I was shoveling food into my mouth like I was starving, which I was, tears streaming down my face as I ate.
I finished the eggs in minutes, devouring the toast. I ate every piece of fruit. When the plate was empty, I stared at it, breathing hard, my stomach finally full for the first time in what felt like forever.
"Thank you." I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears and exhaustion.
Julius took the empty plate without comment and returned with a glass of water, which I drank gratefully.
The water, the coffee, the food, each small thing felt like a lifeline pulling me back from the edge of complete dissolution.
When I finished the water, I set the glass down carefully on the coffee table. My hands were steadier now, my body responding to the nourishment even if my heart still felt shattered into a million pieces.
Julius sat down in the chair across from me, not too close but close enough that I could see the quiet concern in his eyes.
He didn't speak or push. He just sat there in that comfortable silence, giving me space to exist without demanding anything from me.
I pulled the towel tighter around my shoulders, suddenly aware of how utterly wrecked I must look. Soaked hair hanging in tangles, red swollen eyes and still wearing his clothes.
A complete disaster of a human being sitting on his expensive couch dripping rainwater.
"I'm sorry," I started, my voice cracking. "I don't—I shouldn't have—"
"Don't," he said quietly, firmly. "You have nothing to apologize for."
Fresh tears welled up in my eyes. How could he be so kind? He barely knew me. He helped me yesterday in the worst moment of my life, and here he was again, appearing exactly when I needed someone most.
"Why are you helping me?" The question came out barely above a whisper.
Something flickered across his face, something that looked almost like pain, but it was gone before I could identify it.
He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady and certain.
"Because someone should," He said simply. His voice was low, calm and like he was stating an indisputable fact. "You clearly need help and there's no good reason not to offer it."
I wanted to argue and say I didn't deserve his kindness, that I was a burden and that he should throw me back out into the rain where I belonged, but the words wouldn't come.
I was too tired. Too broken and too desperately grateful for this small mercy.
"Thank you." I said again, because I didn't know what else to say. The words felt inadequate. They felt too small for what he was doing, but they were all I had.
Julius nodded and stood, picking up the empty plate and glass. "You should get out of those wet clothes," He said, his tone matter-of-fact and kind. "I'll show you the guest room. You can shower and rest. I’ll get you whatever you need."
He walked toward my luggage by the door, picked up both bags like they weighed nothing and then turned back to me.
I tried to stand but my legs were shaky and unsteady. Julius was there immediately, his hand on my elbow again, supporting me without making me feel weak.
"This way." He said gently.
He guided me down a hallway, past what looked like his home office and another closed door, until we reached a bedroom at the end.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and set my luggage inside. The room was beautiful.
It was clean and modern like the rest of the penthouse, with a large bed covered in white linens, a wall of windows with a breathtaking view of the city lights, and another door that presumably led to a bathroom.
"Bathroom's through there," Julius confirmed, nodding toward the door. "Towels are in the cabinet, help yourself to anything you need. I'll be in the living room if you need anything."
He started to leave but I caught his sleeve, my fingers barely grasping the expensive fabric. He stopped immediately, turning back to look at me.
"Thank you," I said one more time, my voice breaking on the words. "Really. Thank you."
His expression softened and something warm and almost protective crossed his features. "Get some rest, Jane," He said quietly. "You're safe here."
Safe. That word again.
He left, closing the door quietly behind him, and I stood there alone in this beautiful guest room, in this man’s home, feeling the weight of the day finally catch up to me.
I was safe.
For the first time since I had walked into that hotel suite and found Hudson with Maribel, I actually felt safe.
The gratitude that washed over me was so intense, it brought me to my knees.
- Writer
