Julian chose distance the way he’d always chosen control.
Deliberately. Quietly. Without warning.
The morning after Robert’s message, he didn’t call Bella. He didn’t text. He didn’t offer reassurance or explanation. Instead, he buried himself in meetings, strategy sessions, conversations that demanded logic and offered the illusion of order.
It felt familiar.
It felt wrong.
Robert arrived at the penthouse that evening without ceremony. No raised voice. No slammed doors. Just a presence heavy with disappointment.
“You’ve complicated her life,” Robert said, standing near the window, hands clasped behind his back.
Julian remained still. “I never intended to.”
“Intent doesn’t matter,” Robert replied. “Impact does.”
Julian met his gaze. “I won’t pretend she doesn’t have agency.”
Rober
