Juliette didn't wake up suddenly.
She drifted.
Between sleep and thought.
Between memory and ache.
Between the warmth of the sheets and the heaviness in her chest that had nothing to do with pain.
The house was quiet in a way that felt deliberate as though even the walls were waiting.
Her body still felt weak, slower than usual, but it wasn't the soreness that kept her still.
It was her mind.
Cassian's voice from the night before replayed without permission.
I don't like hurting you. I just didn't realize I was.
Juliette stared at the ceiling.
He hadn't explained.
Not the woman.
Not the smile.
Not the way he had looked… comfortable.
And yet he had looked at her like that too. Concerned. Focused. Almost gentle.
That was what frightened her the most.
She had lived long enough without love to recognize when hope was beginning to form. And she knew better than to let it grow where it wasn't wanted.
She pushed herself up slowly, careful not to move too fast. The room was bathed in soft morning light, pale and quiet, like the day was easing itself into existence.
Everything around her looked untouched.
Still.
As if the night had never happened.
As if her heart hadn't cracked open just enough to hurt.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for the robe at the chair, then stopped.
No.
She didn't want to hide this morning.
Instead, she chose something simple soft cotton pajamas, light-colored, almost childlike in their gentleness. The fabric skimmed her skin, loose and comfortable, making her feel small in a way she couldn't explain.
She brushed her hair back with her fingers, not bothering to tame it fully.
Let him see her as she was.
If he saw her at all.
As she stepped into the hallway, the house seemed larger than usual. Too quiet. Too aware of her presence.
She moved slowly toward the sitting room, every step accompanied by a thought she didn't want but couldn't stop.
He said we would talk today.
But what if talking meant explanations she wasn't ready to hear?
What if the woman was someone important?
What if the kindness was just guilt?
Or worse habit.
By the time she reached the sitting room, her chest felt tight.
And then
She felt it.
That sensation of being watched.
Cassian was already there.
Standing near the tall windows, dressed in dark lounge clothes, sleeves rolled slightly, posture relaxed but alert like a man who hadn't slept much and didn't want anyone to notice.
He had seen her the moment she entered.
And he hadn't looked away.
Juliette didn't notice at first.
She was too lost in her own head, too busy rearranging her expectations into something manageable.
Cassian watched her cross the room.
Small. Soft. Wrapped in pale fabric that made her look almost unreal in the morning light. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, her face bare, lashes low, expression distant.
Cassian froze.
He didn't mean to.
But something about the way she sat there lost, quiet, unaware stopped him completely.
She looked… beautiful.
Not striking.
Not dramatic.
But gentle in a way that twisted something inside his chest.
Her eyes were unfocused, lips pressed softly together as if she was holding thoughts too heavy to say out loud.
The slow steps.
The careful way she lowered herself onto the couch.
The way she leaned back slightly, as if even sitting upright required effort.
She looked… soft.
Not fragile in a weak way but vulnerable in a way that made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
Her pajamas were simple. Innocent. Almost intimate without trying.
And suddenly, the memory of her unconscious in his arms resurfaced uninvited.
He clenched his jaw.
She didn't belong in his thoughts like this.
And yet
She was already there.
"Good morning," he said finally.
His voice was calm. Controlled.
Juliette blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then she realized he had spoken.
"Oh," she said softly, almost startled. "Good morning."
Her gaze flickered to him, then away again like she wasn't sure she was allowed to look too long.
Cassian noticed.
"Are you feeling alright?" he asked.
She nodded, absently. "Yes. I think so."
It wasn't untrue.
But it wasn't the full truth either.
He took a step closer, then stopped.
She looked… distant.
Like someone already preparing herself to be disappointed.
"You didn't eat much last night," he said.
"I wasn't hungry."
A pause.
Cassian studied her profile the calm mask, the careful tone, the restraint.
This wasn't silence born of fear anymore.
This was something else.
Withdrawal.
"Juliette," he said, slower now.
She hummed in response, still staring ahead.
"You're very quiet this morning."
Her fingers curled slightly in her lap.
She gave a small smile. "Am I?"
"Yes."
Another pause.
"I'm just thinking," she said.
About you.
About her.
About whether I imagined the way you looked happy without me.
But she didn't say any of that.
Cassian exhaled softly.
He could feel it the space between them thickening, heavy with everything left unsaid. Last night's conversation hovered between them like unfinished music.
He had meant it when he said they would talk.
He just hadn't expected the waiting to feel this unbearable.
Juliette shifted on the couch, suddenly aware of how long he'd been standing there.
She glanced up.
Their eyes met.
Something flickered.
Confusion. Curiosity. Want.
Fear.
Her heart stumbled.
She looked away first.
And Cassian knew then
whatever this conversation would become,
whatever truths would surface
It would change something they could never return to.
He took another step toward her.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"Juliette," he said quietly.
And for the first time that morning
She held her breath