Bea’s POV
I shoved him hard—palm flat against his chest, heart thundering behind mine. “Don’t you dare speak like you want me, then act like I’m just furniture in your office.” My voice shook, but not from fear. From rage. From the kind of pain that only comes from being wanted in secret and discarded in daylight. He barely stumbled, but he blinked like I’d actually hit him. “You don’t get to whisper possessive things in the dark and pretend I’m invisible in the light. You don’t get to kiss me like I matter and then spit orders across a ballroom because someone else noticed me.” I stood there breathing hard, my pulse in my throat, wondering if he had anything left to say that wasn’t going to make me bleed all over again.
Julian dragged a hand over his face, the edge of his jaw tight like he was chewing on words too dangerous to spit out. His tie was still loose, shirt wrinkled, the kind of mess that only came from emotion he couldn’t control. “You think I don’t want you?” he said, voice low, hoarse, like it hurt to say out loud. “You think this is easy for me?” He took a step closer, his expression raw. “You walk into every room and light it up without trying. You make me feel things I don’t have space for, Bea.” I didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Then make space.” He paused, lips parted like I’d stunned him. “I think,” I said, chin lifted, “you’re afraid to.”
His silence burned. Not because it was empty—but because it was honest. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t deflect. Just stared at me like I’d said the one thing he couldn’t fix with control or charm. And in that moment, I realized something else: his silence had always said more than his words. I waited for a response. For anything. But none came. So I turned. My heels clicked hard against the marble as I walked away from him, heart cracking in places I hadn’t reinforced yet. I didn’t stop until I was around the corner, pulse still racing, breath still shallow, hands trembling with the aftermath of everything he wouldn’t say.
And then I ran right into Damien.
He caught my arm gently, brows lifting when he saw my face. “Well,” he said softly, “I was just coming to rescue you, but it seems the dragon already tried to bite.” I laughed once—sharp, bitter. He tilted his head, studying me with eyes that saw more than he should’ve. “Come,” he said, smoothing a hand down my arm, “there’s a party on the river tonight. Private boat. Champagne. Fireworks. No brooding billionaires allowed.” I smiled despite myself. “Is that a rule or a threat?” He leaned in, lowering his voice just enough. “Come be seen with someone who wants to be seen with you.” That hit harder than it should’ve.
I hesitated, just for a second, eyes flicking back toward the hall I’d stormed out of. But then I looked at Damien—open, ready, uncomplicated—and nodded. “Give me ten minutes to change,” I said. His grin widened. “I’ll be waiting.” I went to the restroom, washed my face, reapplied my lipstick, and stared in the mirror. I didn’t recognize the woman looking back. Not because she’d changed—but because she’d finally decided she was enough without being chosen first. When I emerged, Damien offered me his arm like we were already dancing. “Shall we?” he asked. “Let’s,” I said, louder than I meant to.
As we walked toward the exit, I pulled out my phone to check the time—and that’s when I saw it.
A new message. From Julian. One word: “Don’t.”