Julian's POV
The last time Julian had been in Ava's apartment, she was barefoot in leggings, laughing over burnt takeout. That was three months ago. Before the summit. Before Damien Blackwood re-entered the picture like a storm with no warning.
Now he sat in his own condo with the TV on mute, staring at the half-finished drink in his hand and thinking about everything he'd left unsaid.
She hadn't texted back.
Not since their coffee meeting. Not since he admitted he'd known about the recording. She hadn't blocked him, hadn't lashed out. She'd just gone… quiet.
And in some ways, that hurt worse.
Because silence, when it came from Ava Sinclair, wasn't emptiness.
It was distance.
It was a door slowly closing.
He took a slow breath and leaned his head back against the couch.
He should have told her sooner.
He should have burned the tape the day he heard it.
But he hadn't.
Because back then, she needed direction. Focus. Something to hold onto when the world around her collapsed. And he… he'd needed to matter to her.
So he let her believe Damien was the enemy.
Now he wasn't sure who she saw when she looked at him.
A friend?
A coward?
Or just one more person who thought she couldn't handle the truth?
He pulled out his phone again.
Still no message.
He clicked over to her social feed. Nothing new posted.
Then he did something he hadn't done in years.
He opened the Blackwood Holdings press archive.
Damien Blackwood's name was everywhere.
Deals. Speeches. Features in magazines that always used the same words—visionary, powerful, untouchable.
Julian stared at one of the images: Damien in a black suit, his expression sharp and unreadable. And Ava was in the corner of that same photo—unintentional, blurry, backgrounded.
It felt symbolic.
He'd always been beside her. But Damien? Damien had walked straight into her storm and dared her to stop running.
Julian hated how much that scared him.
Because Damien wasn't just competition.
He was the only man Julian had ever met who made Ava hesitate.
By morning, Julian was sitting at his desk in his own office, early enough that the sun hadn't fully lit the skyline yet.
He didn't go to Easton that day.
He didn't need to.
Ava wouldn't ask for him.
And truthfully, he needed space.
Time to think. Time to figure out who he was now that she'd started looking at him like a stranger.
The knock on the door came around nine.
His assistant poked her head in. "There's someone here asking for you. Says it's urgent."
Julian frowned. "Who?"
The door opened further.
Gabriel Blackwood.
Julian stood slowly. "You're a long way from your bookstore."
Gabriel gave a tired smile. "And you're a long way from the truth."
Julian's jaw tightened. "If this is about Ava—"
"It is," Gabriel said, stepping in. "But not the way you think."
Julian gestured toward a chair. "Sit. You clearly came to say something."
Gabriel didn't sit.
He looked around, then leaned against the edge of the desk.
"I talked to her," Gabriel said. "Told her a few things Damien wouldn't."
Julian didn't respond.
"I also told her there are more layers to what happened with Sinclair than she knows."
Julian finally looked up. "And you're planning to help her uncover them?"
"I'm planning to help her protect herself," Gabriel said. "Because if Damien keeps holding things back—"
"She'll walk away," Julian finished.
Gabriel's eyes narrowed slightly. "Or she'll stop trusting both of you."
Julian's heart kicked hard in his chest. "I never lied."
"You didn't tell her everything. There's a difference—but not a big one."
Julian stood now, facing him head-on. "What do you want from me?"
"Clarity," Gabriel said. "Do you care about her… or do you want to own her?"
That one hit deep.
Because Julian didn't have an answer.
Not a clean one.
He cared.
He loved her.
But he also needed her in a way he didn't always understand.
She was the one person who made him feel solid. Centered. Seen.
Without her, he didn't know who he was anymore.
After Gabriel left, Julian sat alone for a long time.
He opened the drawer where he kept old files, letters, scribbled notes from the days when Sinclair Corp was crashing.
He found it.
The folder.
The one he promised himself he'd never look at again.
Inside were two copies of internal memos—handwritten by Jonathan Sinclair.
They weren't contracts.
They were warnings.
Mentions of corruption. Quiet payments. Pressured silence.
Julian had seen them before anyone else.
And he'd burned the original paper trail before anyone could link it to Ava.
He told himself it was for her protection.
Now he wasn't so sure.
That evening, he didn't call Ava.
He walked by her building. Just once. Just long enough to see that the lights were on in her apartment.
He didn't go in.
Didn't press the buzzer.
He just stood across the street, watching the glow of the window, wondering who she was thinking about behind that light.
Wondering if he'd already become a memory.
He turned and walked away before he let the answer crush him.
Back at home, he stood in front of the mirror for a long time.
His reflection looked tired. Worn down. But his eyes were still clear.
Ava might never trust him again.
But maybe that wasn't the point anymore.
Maybe the point was fixing what he helped break—quietly, from the sidelines, even if it cost him her heart.
He pulled out his laptop.
Typed a message.
To: Amira Maddox
Subject: Sinclair Archives – Anonymous Contributor
I have something you need. Something Ava Sinclair deserves to know. But if you use my name, the deal's off.
He hit send.
Then sat back.
Alone.
Still loving her.
Still losing her.
But finally ready to face the truth he buried with everyone else.