The house was quieter than usual that morning.
Two days had passed since that night, but the air still felt heavier, almost fragile, as if it were holding its breath for something neither of them dared speak.
Juliette moved carefully through the hallways, her steps soft on the polished marble floors. She passed Cassian in the kitchen. Their eyes met briefly a glance too quick to hold, yet long enough to send a tremor through her chest. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she returned it, keeping her voice low.
"Good morning," she whispered.
"Morning," he replied, neutral, controlled, but the note of hesitation lingered in the space between them.
Maya bustled around the kitchen, carrying plates and clearing crumbs, completely unaware of the silent war that passed between the two of them. Juliette let her gaze drop to the floor, pretending the flicker of something unspoken didn't exist.
Even as she sipped her coffee, she could feel the distance stretching, elastic, fragile. Neither spoke of that night, but the memory hovered like a shadow, too persistent to ignore.
By mid-morning, she had escaped to her sketchbook, pencils scattered around her on the living room floor. She tried to lose herself in lines, colors, patterns, anything that would distract her from thinking about him.
But it was useless.
Flashes of that night kept slipping in: the warmth of his hand at her waist, the way his lips had lingered near hers, the way he had looked at her as if memorizing her face, as if trying to understand something he couldn't name.
She shook her head. It was absurd. It was a mistake. He probably regretted it by now. She was meant to pretend it never happened.
Maya peeked into the room, raising an amused eyebrow. "You've been smiling at your coffee for five minutes, ma'am. Something I should know?"
Juliette's cheeks warmed. She quickly looked away. "Just… the morning. Nothing."
Inside, though, she was unraveling. The memory was real, and the ache in her chest refused to quiet itself.
Meanwhile, somewhere miles away, Cassian sat in his office. The room was perfect in every way: sleek, orderly, controlled. And yet his mind was chaos.
Her face kept coming back to him unbidden, unwanted, but impossible to ignore. The memory of her trembling silence, the soft gasp when their hands brushed, the delicate curve of her lips… he tried to shove it away.
He shouldn't have let it happen. Control had always been his strength. His empire, his life, his very heartbeat had relied on knowing and commanding everything including himself.
But when he closed his eyes, he could still see her there, soft, unguarded, dangerous in the way she existed without permission.
He exhaled sharply, straightened his tie, and tried to focus on the reports before him.
"Mr. Vale?" his assistant's voice cut through the tension.
"I said I'll handle it," he snapped, sharper than intended. He immediately regretted it, his jaw tightening. Anger at the world? Or at himself? Perhaps both.
—————
The sky had begun its slow transformation into dusk by the time Juliette wandered into the garden. She needed the cool air, the gentle quiet of the outdoors. The world felt lighter here, even if just slightly. The grass was damp from a light evening drizzle, and fireflies began to spark their soft golden lights as the shadows lengthened.
She kicked off her flats, letting her bare feet sink into the grass, feeling the cool dampness against her skin. She inhaled deeply, savoring the smell of wet earth, of flowers, of freedom she was beginning to taste.
Then she heard the faintest sound of footsteps behind her. She stiffened, but didn't turn immediately. He hadn't been looking for her hadn't followed her, she was sure of it. And yet, here he was, moving across the stone path like he belonged there.
Their eyes met.
The air between them thickened, charged, almost electric. It wasn't awkward not exactly but it felt like every unsaid word was suspended, heavy, waiting to fall.
"You shouldn't walk out here barefoot," he said softly. His voice carried a weight of care that made her heart lurch.
"I couldn't sleep," she murmured, finally looking at him.
He nodded once, slowly. "Me neither."
And for a heartbeat, nothing else was needed.
The Moment That Breaks the Distance
He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, his presence quiet yet commanding. Without a word, he shrugged off his blazer and held it out.
Juliette hesitated. She could feel her pulse hammering against her ribs, every fiber of her body aware of him, and yet she was cautious.
Finally, she reached for it. Their fingers brushed deliberate, electric, impossible to ignore.
He looked at her then really looked and the softness in his gaze made her knees feel weak.
"I don't regret that night," he said quietly.
Her breath caught. Her heart skipped a beat.
He added, almost immediately, as if to protect himself: "But I should."
And just like that, he turned and walked back into the house, leaving her under the fading light, trembling, unsteady, alive.
Juliette sank to the grass, letting the jacket fall over her shoulders. She stared at the fireflies dancing in the dimming light, listening to the distant sound of the city beyond the walls.
Some silences weren't meant to be broken because when they were, everything would change.
And for now, that was enough.