Harrison POV
Juliette came home just before midnight, her face pale and her eyes rimmed with red. She didn’t look at me as she slammed the door shut, her breaths shallow and erratic. My chest tightened at the sight of her, but I refused to let it show. Instead, I leaned casually against the fireplace, swirling the last remnants of scotch in my glass.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, keeping my tone indifferent.
She didn’t answer.
“Juliette,” I pressed, taking a step toward her.
She turned her head, fixing me with a stare so cold it made my skin prickle. Her silence was louder than any scream, and for the first time in years, I felt something foreign—a flicker of unease. I had not seen Juliette like this before. This was new and dangerous.
She pushed past me, heading straight for the bedroom.
