“You saved me,” he whispers, his voice raw. His fingers clutch weakly at my shirt as if afraid I might disappear.
Something breaks open inside my chest—a feeling I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding. I press my forehead against his, breathing him in.
“Always,” I promise, my voice unsteady. “I will always save you, Elliot. Always protect you.”
My hand cups his face, thumb gently brushing over the bruise forming on his cheekbone. In the dim light of passing streetlamps, I can see every mark they’ve left on him, every hour of suffering etched into his expression.
“When I came home and found the door forced open...” My voice catches. “Your blood on the carpet. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”
I close my eyes, the memory still raw. “I thought I might lose you before I ever had the chance to tell you what you mean to me.”
Elliot’s hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining. “Tell me now,” he whispers.
The words I’ve fought against rise to my lips, no longer something to fear but a truth I can’t deny.
“I love you.” The admission leaves me both vulnerable and strangely powerful. “I love your stubbornness. Your courage.Even your infuriating denial. I love how you fight for your art, for your artists. I love who I am when I’m with you.”
A tear slides down his cheek, and I catch it with my thumb.
“I didn’t know how much I needed you until I thought you were gone,” I confess. “And I swear, nothing and no one will ever hurt you again.”
37
ELLIOT
Idon’t remember much of the ride back to Julian’s penthouse. Everything blurs—the SUV’s motion, Julian’s arms around me, his whispered reassurances. When we arrive, he carries me inside like I might shatter.
“I need to shower,” I mumble, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. The scent of that basement clings to my skin—mildew, fear, and my mother’s perfume. Just the thought of smelling her perfume makes me nearly retch.
“I’ve got you,” Julian says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.
In the bathroom, he undresses me with careful hands, his eyes darkening at each bruise and rope burn revealed. I can’t look at myself in the mirror.
“Arms up,” he instructs softly, and I comply without thought.
The water is perfectly warm against my battered body. Julian steps in behind me, fully clothed at first until the water soaks his shirt and he sheds it. He washes my hair with careful fingers, massaging my scalp.
“She wanted to cut into my brain,” I whisper as soap trails down my back. “Her own son.”
Julian’s hands pause momentarily. “She can never hurt you again,” he says, his voice tight as he struggles to control his rage. Then his touch returns, impossibly gentle as he rinses away the shampoo.
After the shower, Julian wraps me in the softest towel I’ve ever felt and guides me to his bed. He dresses my wounds with supplies from a first aid kit—antiseptic on my raw wrists, ointment on the cuts from my mother’s nails.
“You need to eat something,” he says, and disappears briefly.
He returns with warm soup and sits beside me, holding the spoon when my hands shake too much to manage it. I should feel humiliated by this helplessness, but there’s only relief in surrendering to his care.
I finish the last spoonful of soup, feeling warmth spread through my hollow chest for the first time since I woke up in that basement. Julian sets the bowl aside on the nightstand, his movements measured and precise. There’s a new carefulness to him that I’ve never seen before—like I’m something precious that might break.
“Come here,” he murmurs, and before I can move, he’s gently pulling me onto his lap, cradling me against his chest.
The tears come without warning. After hours of fighting not to break in front of my mother, of holding onto some shred of dignity while tied to that chair, the softness of Julian’s embrace undoes me completely. I sob into his neck, my body shaking with the force of it.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers against my hair. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
His hands move in soothing circles on my back, and I cling to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world gone liquid with grief and pain.
“I never want to be without you,” I confess between ragged breaths. “You’re making me addicted to this feeling. To being seen. To being wanted despite everything.”