The morning sun painted the marble floors gold, slipping through the penthouse windows like quiet promises. Clara stood by the kitchen island, wrapped in one of Julian's button-down shirts. The sleeves swallowed her hands, and the faint scent of his cologne clung to the fabric like memory.
She wasn't used to this kind of silence. Not the anxious kind, nor the one filled with avoidance. This silence was… waiting. Expectant. Like something unsaid hovered just out of reach.
Her tea had gone lukewarm.
She'd barely slept.
The echoes of Charles Belmont's toast played in her head on repeat, along with the way Julian had looked at her afterward. Not with calculation. Not with possessiveness. But with something softer, unspoken. A kind of awe he didn't know how to express.
Clara touched her lips, remembering how tightly his fingers had closed around hers in the limo. He hadn't let go until they were back at the penthouse. Even then, he'd lingered.
She didn't know what they were anymore. A deal, sure. A marriage on paper. But something had shifted. A tilt in the axis she couldn't name yet.
The sound of footsteps padded in from the hallway.
Julian appeared, dressed not for war or work, but in charcoal joggers and a black knit sweater. No tie. No cufflinks. His hair was still slightly damp, like he'd let himself take his time this morning. Clara couldn't help but stare for a moment. He looked… approachable. Still devastatingly handsome, but less untouchable.
"Morning," he said, his voice low, gravel-soft.
Clara gave a small nod. "I didn't know billionaires wore loungewear."
Julian poured himself a glass of water. "Only on days we pretend we're human."
She smiled, but it faded when she looked at him again.
"You okay?"
"I should be asking you that," he said, leaning against the counter. "Last night wasn't easy."
"No," she said honestly, "but it wasn't awful, either."
Julian raised an eyebrow.
"I think I needed it," she said. "To be reminded that I don't need to win people over to have worth. I used to walk into rooms like that and feel small. But now…"
"Now?"
"I know I belong there. Whether they like me or not."
Julian studied her for a long moment. "I'm proud of you."
She blinked. "You're what?"
He didn't smile, but his eyes softened. "You didn't flinch. Not even when Vivienne cornered you."
Clara sipped her tea, forcing herself not to look away. "I almost did. But then I realized… I've been through worse."
There was a pause, thick with things neither of them had the language for.
Julian looked down at his coffee cup. "Charles was right, you know."
Clara frowned. "About what?"
"About me changing."
She tilted her head. "Are you?"
He looked up. "I used to think feelings were liabilities. That love made people reckless. Weak."
"And now?"
"Now I'm beginning to wonder if shutting them out was the real weakness."
Clara's chest tightened.
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter.
She picked it up. A message from her mother.
MOM:
Can we talk later today? I'm okay. Just… something I want to share.
Her stomach twisted.
Julian noticed immediately. "Something wrong?"
"It's my mom. She says she's fine, but that usually means the opposite."
He was already reaching for his phone. "I'll tell Ethan to get the car ready."
"You don't have to"
"I want to," he said simply. "You should be with her."
Clara hesitated, touched. "Thank you."
Julian nodded.
She looked down at the phone again. "I don't know what she wants to tell me, but… it sounded heavy."
"If you need me there…"
"I'll be okay," she said quickly. Then paused. "But can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"When I come back… can we talk? Like really talk?"
Julian didn't answer right away. Then he said, "Yes."
She moved to grab her coat, but turned back at the doorway.
"You know," she said slowly, "you're different when you're not trying so hard to be unreadable."
"And you're more dangerous when you know your worth," he replied.
Her lips twitched. "Good."
And then she left, leaving the scent of tea and tension behind her.
Julian stood there long after the door clicked shut.
It wasn't the silence that haunted him this time.
It was how much he wanted her to come back.
Clara stood outside the modest apartment building where her mother now lived, a bouquet of winter lilies in her hands. The air had a bite to it, brisk and sharp, but not quite cold enough to snow. She liked it this way quiet, honest weather.
The elevator wheezed as it took her up to the third floor. When the doors opened, Eun-sook Wynter was already at the door, smiling gently, wrapped in her favorite knitted shawl.
"You came," her mother said, eyes crinkling with warmth.
"You called," Clara replied, stepping forward and hugging her gently. She held the lilies out. "For your windowsill."
Eun-sook took them with a smile. "Still trying to make this place feel like home?"
Clara helped her into the kitchen. "It already is. You just don't want to admit it."
Her mother chuckled, then gestured to the table. "Sit. I made honey tea."
Clara eased into the chair, watching her mother shuffle to the counter with the grace of someone who'd spent years pretending she wasn't tired. There was something different about her today. Not weak—but resolute. And her eyes held something Clara couldn't name yet.
"Is everything okay?" Clara asked. "Your message sounded serious."
Eun-sook poured the tea and set it down. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something. I just didn't know when."
Clara braced herself. "Tell me."
Eun-sook sat across from her and took a deep breath. "It's about your father."
Clara stilled. "I thought we agreed to let the past stay buried."
"I know," Eun-sook said quietly. "But now that you're going to be a mother, you deserve to know more than the silence I've given you."
Clara's heart thudded. She'd spent most of her life thinking of her father as a blank space—a man who had walked out and never looked back. Her mother never said much, only that he had left when Clara was young and that they'd struggled to stay afloat ever since.
"I loved him," Eun-sook said softly. "But he wasn't built for the life we had. He wanted to be more—wanted money, influence, security. And when he couldn't get it here, he left for New York. For a firm that promised him everything."
Clara blinked. "He moved to New York?"
Her mother nodded. "I never told you because I didn't want you to go looking for him. And then… a few years ago, I heard he'd died. Heart failure. Alone."
Clara swallowed, her throat tight. "Why now? Why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I see the way Julian looks at you. And I see how you look at him, even when you pretend not to. I just… I don't want you to build a life on unspoken things, like I did."
Clara stared down at her tea. The ripples inside the cup reflected the storm in her chest.
"I'm not repeating your story," she whispered.
"I know," her mother said. "You're stronger than I ever was."
The words landed deep. Clara reached across the table and squeezed her mother's hand. They sat like that for a long time quiet, together, no longer avoiding the ghost between them.
Eventually, Eun-sook leaned back and gave her a knowing smile. "Now. Tell me about your husband."
Clara laughed, startled by the shift. "Julian?"
"Yes. The man who sends me imported tea without fail every Monday."
Clara rolled her eyes but smiled. "He's… impossible. Frustrating. But he's also kind when he doesn't mean to be. Protective without realizing it. And sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking, he watches me like I'm the first person who's ever scared him."
Her mother tilted her head. "That sounds a lot like love."
Clara didn't answer. Not yet. But the ache in her chest softened.
Later that evening, as the sun dipped low and golden through the curtains, Clara stood by the window of the guest room, checking her phone.
No new messages. But one unread note.
From Julian.
JULIAN:
Take your time. I'll be here when you're ready.
No period. No stiffness. Just… open.
Clara touched the screen, her fingers curling slightly.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe she wasn't her father's daughter.
She was writing a different story.
One not built on absence, but on return.