The Shape of Her Love

Chapter 9

In the master suite on the second floor, Julian stood in a pair of faded black cotton pajamas. The fabric was so worn from countless washings that the cuffs and hems were frayed. The loose garment hung on his frame, its collar slightly agape, offering a glimpse of the pale skin beneath and the faint, purplish bruises left by an electric current.

Jensen clutched the educational plan Willow had written, his gaze fixed on the bright blue cartoon cat stitched onto the chest of Julian’s pajamas. His heart felt like it was crumbling. This was an old, cheap pajama set Julian had brought back with him from the small fishing village—a relic he carefully preserved. He only ever wore it after one of his episodes, as if seeking comfort from a ghost.

In the last six months, Jensen had seen this cartoon cat far too often. It was a stark reminder that Julian’s episodes were growing more frequent, more severe. He was genuinely terrified that one day, his employer would walk into that locked room and never walk out again.

“Sir,” Jensen said softly, his voice strained. “This is the plan Ms. Hayes prepared overnight. Would you care to look at it?”

Julian had just stepped out of the shower. Droplets of water clung to the ends of his dark hair. His lips were bloodless, and a bruised, bluish tint shadowed the skin beneath his eyes. He looked like a specter who had just clawed his way out of hell.

He took the report from Jensen, his movements listless, and flipped through it without interest. He didn't care how Willow taught Damian; hiring a tutor was merely a formality. To get him to bring his nephew back to the country, the old man had been forced to hand over twenty percent of the company’s original shares as a bribe, hoping Julian would, in his words, “treat his own blood with kindness.”

Julian let out a cold, humorless scoff. They had never treated him, their own son, with kindness. Why should he be expected to do so for Damian? It was a joke.

He was about to close the folder when his eyes caught on a handwritten correction on the page.

His gaze froze on a single word. His eyes, in an instant, turned a startling, bloodshot red. No one could possibly understand the surge of salvation that small, simple word brought him in that moment.

“Who wrote this?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low.

Jensen, startled by the violent shift in his demeanor, leaned in to see what had captured his attention. It was just a word. There was nothing special about it. “That would be Ms. Hayes’s handwriting, I presume.”

Julian’s eyes were locked on the dot above the letter ‘i’. A tiny, perfectly rendered five-petaled flower.

He remembered teaching her to write, years ago. She could never form her letters properly, and her grandmother would rap her knuckles for her messy script. But she had been stubborn about one thing. "It's my name," she'd declared, full of youthful defiance. "It should be special."

Eventually, her handwriting had improved, but she never gave up her little quirk. The dot on the ‘i’ in her name always had to be a flower, a small mark of distinction.

How could Willow Hayes have the exact same habit?

“Sir, is there a problem?” Jensen asked, bewildered.

Clutching the report in a white-knuckled grip, Julian strode out of the room. He had to see her. He had to know.

In the first-floor sitting room, Sienna Thorne, Damian’s mother, sat on the sofa like a queen holding court. She was a stunning woman, with a face and figure that could stop traffic. Her mere presence was enough to make the other, plainly dressed tutors feel inadequate.

Sienna’s gaze swept over them, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes as she confirmed that none of them posed a threat to her own beauty. Her eyes finally landed on Willow. The woman was fat, she noted with distaste, though her facial features were surprisingly delicate. She’d probably be quite a beauty if she lost the weight. Recalling Damian’s complaints, Sienna’s perfectly sculpted brow furrowed.

“You’re so unpleasant to look at, you’re making my eyes hurt,” Sienna said, her voice dripping with condescension. “My son is a sensitive boy. I can’t have someone with a face like a night owl frightening him. There’s fifty thousand dollars on this card. Consider it severance. Now, pack your things and go.”

She slid a platinum bank card across the coffee table, her attitude leaving no room for argument.

Willow had met Sienna once before, five years ago. She had accompanied Julian's stepmother to the fishing village to meet her. The scene had been eerily similar: two wealthy women offering her money to get out of Julian’s life. Although, she had to admit, the stepmother had been far more generous. The offer then had been half a million.

“Fifty thousand?” Willow let out a soft, amused laugh. “And you couldn’t even be bothered to bring cash? Forgive me, Mrs. Thorne, but is it that you don’t know where a bank is, or that you simply don’t have fifty thousand in actual currency?”

Willow was no pushover. She wasn't afraid of offending Sienna Thorne; her contract was with Julian. Of course, if Julian chose to fire her for disrespecting his sister-in-law, that was his prerogative.

The other tutors shot her furtive, impressed glances. You’ve got guts, their expressions seemed to say. The Thornes were old money, true titans of the city. To openly defy Sienna was professional suicide.

Sienna had come here with the express purpose of humiliating this woman for her son’s sake. To have the tables turned so swiftly left her momentarily speechless with rage. She shot to her feet. “Don’t push your luck, Willow. Take the money and leave while I’m still being civil. Otherwise, you’ll walk away with nothing.”

Willow knew how quickly Sienna’s mask could slip. She remembered it all too well. Five years ago, in the only decent café in the entire village, Sienna and Julian’s stepmother had sat across from her, tearing her down piece by piece. When they realized money wouldn't sway her, they had changed tactics. They’d arranged for a business rival to sabotage Julian’s work.

They had taken her, forced her to watch from a distance as Julian, working a thankless sales job, was forced to drink bottle after bottle of liquor with a client. She had watched him collapse on the sidewalk, clutching his stomach, his face pale with agony from a perforated ulcer. And when he had answered her frantic call, his voice had been weak, but he had been laughing, telling her not to worry about him.

From that day on, she had hated them. Sienna, his stepmother, all of them. But most of all, she had hated her own powerlessness. Back then, letting him go had been her only choice.

Old wounds and new grievances merged into a cold resolve. “If I’m not mistaken,” Willow said, her voice calm and even, “my employer is Mr. Julian Thorne. I don’t believe you have the authority to fire me, Mrs. Thorne.” She was bluffing, calling a play from Sienna’s own book.

Sienna’s face changed. She studied Willow again, this time more closely. The woman was large, yes, but her eyes, her brow… there was something unsettlingly familiar about them. “Have we met before?” she mused, her brow furrowed.

Suddenly, it clicked. The eyes. They were just like the girl’s from the fishing village. But the name was wrong. That girl’s surname was Chi, this one’s was Hayes. It couldn’t be.

“No, of course not,” Sienna answered her own question, a dismissive wave of her hand. “How could I have ever met someone of your class? Ms. Hayes, you are here to teach my son. As his mother, I have every right to dismiss you for the sake of his well-being.”

“Is that so? And who gave you that right?”

A low, resonant voice cut through the tension in the room. Every head snapped toward the entrance.

There stood Julian Thorne, dressed in a cheap, faded black pajama set. On the chest, embroidered in bright, cheerful colors, was a cartoon cat. A sardonic smile played on his lips, and his damp hair was plastered to his forehead. He radiated a dark, dangerous energy.

The menacing aura, however, was in such stark, ridiculous contrast to the childish cartoon on his chest that it created a bizarre, almost comical image.

Willow fought it. She truly did. But she couldn’t hold it in.

A loud, undignified snort of laughter burst from her lips.