Chapter 5

Tears spilled over without warning.

I pushed the blanket aside, stepping barefoot onto the floor, walking toward the kitchen like a woman in a trance.

Hearing footsteps, he turned around.

Catching sight of me, he froze for a second. Then, that familiar, tender, deeply indulgent smile spread across his face—the exact smile I had been dying for.

"Chloe, why are you out of bed? The floor is freezing." He set his spoon down and rushed over to me.

It was Julian's face, but the icy cruelty was entirely gone. In its place was raw, agonizing adoration and concern.

"You..." My throat closed up; I couldn't squeeze out another syllable.

He reached me and gently gathered me into his arms. The embrace was warm, solid, and filled with his familiar scent.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against my ear. "I'm so sorry for scaring you."

This was it! This was him!

Every ounce of humiliation, heartbreak, and despair I had bottled up over the past weeks exploded all at once.

I buried my face in his chest and broke down, sobbing hysterically.

"You're back... you're really back... I thought you were gone forever..." I babbled through my tears. "I missed you so much... I missed you so, so much..."

His body stiffened for a fraction of a second, but he relaxed almost immediately, his hand gently patting my back. "Shh, it's okay. Don't cry. I'm right here, aren't I? It's my fault. I made you suffer."

Maybe it was my exhaustion, or maybe I was just so drunk on the relief of having him back, but I completely missed that fleeting stiffness in his posture.

I genuinely believed my lover had returned, that the cold Julian had been pushed aside by the Tasker once again.

For the next three months, our life felt like a dream.

He stayed by my side constantly, catering to my every whim. He remembered all my cravings, patiently drove me to every single prenatal checkup, and pressed his ear against my belly to listen for kicks, his face glowing with pure joy.

Yet, once in a while, tiny cracks appeared.

Like when he peeled apples for me—he would break the peel several times, clumsy, unlike his usual effortless skill.

Or when we rewatched our favorite movies, he would stare blankly at iconic scenes, as if seeing them for the very first time.

Whenever I questioned him, he’d laugh it off. "I'm just rusty," or, "You're the pregnant one, why is my brain turning to mush?"

So I brushed it aside, chalking it up to my own paranoia. As long as he was here, as long as he loved me, what did these tiny flaws matter?

I willingly drowned in the paradise he spun around me.

Until that night.

Julian had attended a critical corporate gala and drank heavily. By the time the chauffeur brought him home, he was completely wasted.

I helped him into bed, using a warm towel to wipe down his face and hands.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open. Those gorgeous eyes weren't filled with his usual calm warmth; they were burning with a deep, suffocating grief and longing.

With a sudden yank, he pulled me violently into his arms, crushing me against his chest as if trying to merge my bones into his own.

He buried his face into the crook of my neck. His scorching breath washed over my skin, his voice thick with tears and ragged emotion.

"Chloe..." he choked out, repeating my name over and over. "I missed you so damn much..."

Those words carried such immense, tragic weight, as if he had crossed oceans and lifetimes just to say them.

My heart trembled violently under the raw force of his grief.