Julian didn't return home that night. Not really.
He walked in, locked the door, and slid to the floor with his back against it. The silence was deafening, the weight of rejection pulsing in his veins like poison. Grace's words replayed in his head in a cruel loop, "You already lost me, Julian."
But had he? No. He refused to accept it. There had to be a way to reclaim her, to make her see him again, not as the man she rejected, but as the only man who ever truly cared.
Hours passed. Maybe days. He didn't know. Time had become irrelevant. Food rotted in the kitchen. Missed calls stacked on his phone like dust. But none of it mattered. The world outside had ceased to exist.
When the knock came on his door, he barely reacted. A muffled giggle. Then the door creaked open, and laughter followed. A woman entered, wrapped in a coat and perfume too sweet to be remembered. He didn't know her name. Didn't care.
They ended up in bed, a mess of tangled limbs and forgettable heat. But even then, even as he touched someone else, his mind was elsewhere. Her scent didn't match Grace's. Her voice was too shrill. Her presence, hollow.
"Is it true what they say?" the woman asked, her voice tired in the soft haze that lingered around them. "That you were dating Grace Laurent?"
Julian's hand paused on her hip. He turned his face toward the ceiling. "We were never official."
"But you wanted to be."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "She chose someone else. A man she barely knows."
The woman traced patterns on his chest. "Maybe it's for the best. That guy—Silas Vale, right? I've heard he's... off. Like, dangerously charming. Or maybe she did not choose him."
Julian's jaw clenched. "...Yet. And he's not who he pretends to be."
The woman hummed. "And you are?"
Julian didn't answer.
Instead, he sat up, naked and cold, the bedsheet falling away from his chest. The moonlight painted a cruel picture of a man unraveling, wounded pride, fractured ego, festering obsession.
"She thinks she's safe with him," Julian whispered. "But safety is an illusion. And illusions... they break."
The woman leaned against the headboard, watching him with a lazy smirk. "You sound like you're about to do something really stupid."
Julian turned his head slowly toward her and smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No, sweetheart. I'm about to do something brilliant."
He stood up, ignoring her gaze, and walked to his desk. He opened a drawer, revealing rows of neatly stacked files. One folder stood out, Silas Vale. Inside: past flings, rehab rumors, sealed court cases, on-set altercations, statements from former lovers, scandalous photos.
Julian's fingers brushed the edges, flipping pages with a predatory calm. He had spent months gathering dirt on Silas, not because he needed it then, but because he always knew he'd have to use it.
"I gave her everything," Julian muttered, more to himself than to the woman. "And he just... appears out of nowhere. Playing the mysterious act. He won't last. Grace deserves more than a mask."
"And you think you're her truth?" the woman asked.
He didn't answer.
His eyes burned with resolve, obsession swirling in their depths. He looked like a man who had nothing left to lose. And that made him dangerous.
He would make sure Silas fell. And when Grace watched him crumble, she would come running back, not to the man she rejected, but to the savior she never understood.
Even if it meant dragging her through hell to get there.