The bathroom was wrapped in steam.
Warm water slid over Juliette's shoulders, tracing slow paths down her back, pooling briefly at her collarbones before disappearing. She stood beneath the spray longer than she needed to, eyes closed, palms braced against the cool marble wall.
Her body still remembered the accident.
The shock.
The helplessness.
The moment everything went wrong.
But today, a week later, she felt… steadier.
Not healed.
Not untouched.
But present again inside her own skin.
The dizziness was gone. The ache in her head had faded into a dull whisper. Her chest rose and fell without that sharp, panicked tightness that had haunted her nights.
She turned off the water reluctantly.
Wrapped a thick towel around herself.
And stepped out.
She took two steps
Then stopped.
Her breath caught so suddenly it hurt.
Laid out on the chaise by the window was an outfit.
Not casually placed.
Not simply folded.
Displayed.
Like something meant to be noticed.
Morning light spilled across the fabric, catching the soft sheen of silk, the clean authority of tailored lines. A cream silk blouse rested beneath a charcoal-grey blazer, the cut sharp at the shoulders, elegant at the waist. The trousers were high-waisted, flowing with quiet power, their hem perfectly measured for the heels placed just beneath them.
Juliette moved closer, slowly, as though afraid the sight might disappear.
The blouse was silk crepe she recognized it instantly. Soft, expensive, the kind of fabric that didn't wrinkle easily and didn't forgive poor tailoring. The neckline draped subtly, feminine without being weak.
This wasn't fashion meant to decorate.
This was fashion meant to command a room.
A garment bag leaned against the chaise. Half-open.
Inside: a structured tote in muted taupe leather, understated but unmistakably elite. Beside it sat a slim velvet box.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
A watch.
Minimal face.
Gold detailing.
Elegant enough for boardrooms, timeless enough to never feel dated.
Her throat tightened.
This wasn't a random gift.
This was someone saying: I see how seriously you take your work.
Her gaze drifted to the bedside table.
Her heart stuttered.
Her phone.
New.
Pristine.
The latest iPhone, screen glowing faintly with life.
Beside it, an iPad.
A laptop.
All set up.
All synced.
Her data restored.
Her world handed back to her intact.
Her old phone shattered, ruined beyond repair from the accident was gone.
Replaced.
But not erased.
Juliette pressed her palm to her chest.
This was care that didn't ask permission.
Care that didn't announce itself loudly.
Care that simply… existed.
And that scared her more than neglect ever had.
If he keeps doing this…
She swallowed.
I might start believing.
A soft knock broke the moment.
"Madam?" Maya's voice came gently.
"Yes," Juliette said.
Maya stepped inside and froze.
"Oh," she breathed softly, eyes moving over the outfit. "He chose this himself.
Juliette turned. "You knew?"
Maya smiled. "He was very particular."
That made something twist inside her chest.
Maya guided her patiently helping her dress piece by piece. The trousers fit like they'd been designed around her waist. The blouse skimmed her frame, delicate but assured. The blazer pulled everything together, sharp lines balancing softness.
When Maya helped style her hair, she didn't rush.
A sleek low bun.
Smooth.
Polished.
A few wisps left loose, intentional rather than careless.
Makeup followed minimal, refined. Just enough to brighten her eyes, soften her lips, restore the confidence illness had stolen.
When Maya finally stepped back, Juliette barely recognized herself.
Not because she looked different.
But because she looked like the woman she used to be before the silence taught her how to shrink.
"You look…" Maya paused, choosing her words carefully. "Like someone people will listen to."
Juliette's eyes stung.
"Thank you."
Cassian looked up the moment she entered the living room.
And everything in him stilled.
She wasn't just dressed well.
She was formidable.
The blazer defined her shoulders perfectly. The silk moved with her, catching the light. Her posture was careful still healing but composed, self-aware.
She looked like a woman returning to the world.
His gaze lingered.
Too openly.
Too long.
Juliette noticed.
Heat crept up her neck, but she didn't look away.
"Good morning," she said.
His voice came quieter than he intended. "Morning."
A pause.
"Are you feeling better?"
Not distant.
Not obligatory.
Real.
"Yes," she replied. "I am."
Relief crossed his face before he caught it.
When they finished breakfast, Cassian stood as she did.
The doors were already open.
And outside
The car waited.
Juliette stopped dead.
It wasn't just a car.
It was a statement.
Long.
Low.
Black like polished obsidian.
The body gleamed under the sun, seamless, aggressive, unmistakably elite. The kind of vehicle only men with power and paranoia owned. Tinted windows. Reinforced frame. A machine built to protect.
Security stood nearby discreet, watchful. A driver waited by the door.
Juliette's heart raced.
"Cassian…"
"No," he said calmly, already stepping forward. "You're not leaving unprotected."
"This is too much," she said quickly. "People will notice."
"I don't care."
"I do," she insisted. "I haven't told anyone I'm married. This will raise questions."
"I almost lost you," he said, voice tightening despite himself. "I'm not compromising again."
Her chest ached.
"I need my life to stay normal," she said softly.plesse
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, he exhaled sharply.
"There's another car," he said. "Smaller."
"No driver."
He stared at her.
"Juliette"
"I need this," she said. "Please."
A long moment passed.
Then, reluctantly, he nodded.
"Fine."
He reached into her bag, checked the black card was there.
"If anything happens," he said quietly, eyes holding hers, "you call me."
"I will."
She got into the smaller car of still expensive, still refined, but less conspicuous.
As it pulled away, Cassian didn't move.
Fear still lingered in his chest.
But now it walked beside something new.
Care.
And this time, he wasn't turning away from it.