She didn't want to cry.
Not in front of him. Not when he was standing so close, his eyes on her like he could see through every wall she'd carefully built. But something about the way he looked at her—like she was more than just a name on a payroll, more than just another bruised soul in a city that didn't care—made it impossible to keep pretending.
The warmth from the tea in her hands did nothing to stop the chill that slid down her spine.
She tried to take a sip, tried to seem normal. Okay. Strong. But the moment she tasted it, the lump in her throat surged, and her hands started to shake.
Julian noticed.
He didn't speak, didn't reach for her. He just stood there. Watching. Waiting.
And that was worse.
Because she knew he wasn't going to let her lie her way out of it. Not this time.
"I'm fine," she muttered, though it cracked on the way out.
He tilted his head. "You don't have to be."
That was it.
The final thread snapped.
Her hands dropped the cup onto the counter with a soft thud, and before she could stop herself, the tears spilled over. Silent at first. Then louder. Her chest heaved as she staggered backward, hand over her mouth like that might muffle the sobs that came rushing out.
"I'm scared," she choked. "I'm so—so scared, Julian."
He didn't flinch. Didn't panic.
He stepped forward.
And then… he did the unthinkable.
Julian Carter pulled her into his arms.
No warning. No questions. Just arms around her—strong, steady, real.
The kind of hug that didn't fix anything, but made it all feel survivable.
She clutched the front of his shirt like a lifeline, like the moment she let go, she'd sink under the weight of everything she'd been holding in.
"I can't sleep," she whispered against him. "Every time I close my eyes, I'm back there. In that room. Tied. Alone. Wondering if I'd survive. I tried to pretend it didn't get to me. But it did. It did, Julian."
He didn't say a word. Just held her tighter.
And maybe that was what she needed most.
Not empty words. Not false promises.
Just someone who stayed.
"I hate that I feel this weak," she said, voice raw. "That I still jump when the wind rattles the window. I hate that I feel broken."
"You're not broken," he murmured, his lips brushing the top of her head. "You were hurt. That's not weakness, Rose. That's humanity."
She sniffled, fists still balled against his chest. "Then why does it feel like I'm falling apart?"
"Because for the first time in a long time," he said gently, "you're letting someone see you fall."
She went still.
And then… she let herself fall.
Into his arms. Into the tears. Into the truth.
And Julian—silent, cold, unreadable Julian—became her anchor in the storm.
No mafia. No secrets. No shadows.
Just a girl breaking. And a man who refused to let her break alone.