Chapter 9: Roman

I slouched in my chair, eyelids drooping. My mouth slacked, relaxing into a slight pout. Every now and then, I checked my watch, my eyes glazing over with disinterest.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have Lot 7,” the auctioneer's voice droned on. “The exquisite 2015 Lamborghini's Huracan with only 500 miles on it—a true marvel of Italian engineering. Bidding starts at $300,000.”

At this point, nothing about this event was exciting—it was all just boring to me. What I wanted wasn't on display.

My eyes darted across the hall and settled on Julia as she stood at her position, balanced on those heels. Inarguably, she was the hottest and most beautiful assistant in the hall tonight.

Her alluring legs looked so enticing, and so did her model figure, as revealed by her tight, short skirt. My palm swiped over my mouth as I fixed my gaze on this perfect work of art meticulously sculpted by the Creator himself. Every curve, every inch of her gorgeous body, was a marvel I'd choose over these exotic cars any day.

Momentarily, she would steal glances at me, our eyes meeting for only a split second before she'd tear her gaze off me.

Something had happened to her when our hands touched minutes ago—I felt the spark of electricity between us, the tension that caused my chest to flutter for a moment. She definitely felt that, too, even though she'd masked it with an act of professionalism.

But I could see right through her.

When my skin had brushed against hers, she'd trembled, however subtle, her sultry lips parting slightly to allow a quiet gasp to escape. Her breath had hitched in her throat, and the shocked expression on her face exposed the sensation she experienced.

Even now, with this much distance between us, I could tell that she was struggling to remain composed. Each time I caught her eyes, their depths showed a glint of endearment.

I wouldn't take my eyes off her, and I couldn’t stop smirking. I was enjoying the show—watching her fight to maintain composure.

Her shoulders tensed, then relaxed, and her weight shifted, distributed evenly on both feet. She drew in a deep breath, lifting her chin, and her eyes flew across the hall as if looking for an escape from my intense gaze. I watched as she pursed her lips, a tiny crease forming between her brows.

She straightened her spine, her mouth curling into a faint, self-deprecating smile. As my gaze lingered, I watched her nostrils flare, her pupils dilating—a subtle hint at the tension running through her.

I was loving this.

My eyes narrowed, that playful smirk still stuck on my face.

“Do I hear $330,000? $330,000?” the auctioneer's voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.

My eyes darted toward a bidder in the front row holding up his paddle.

“Thank you, sir. $330,000 is it,” the auctioneer acknowledged. “Do I hear $350,000?”

The bidder was Matthew Quintin, a greedy old fuck who had a reputation for lusting over young girls. My fingers clenched into fists as I watched him fix his eyes on Julia. His gaze roamed her body, and the idea that he was harboring illicit thoughts about her caused my skin to crawl. My jaw tightened, jealousy getting the better of me.

I hated that someone other than me had their eyes on her, and peering closely, I realized Matthew wasn't the only one lusting over her. A couple of men—the majority of whom I knew to be married—also seemed enchanted by her.

My forehead creased as a scowl settled on my face. I knew that I shouldn't be jealous, but I couldn't help it. Julia was different—she was special—and those dirty dogs were unworthy to even lick her shoes.

My only consolation was the fact that she wasn't paying attention to any of the sick fucks drooling over her. I was the only man in the hall she stole hidden glances at.

“$350,000, going once, going twice. Sold! For $350,000 to bidder number 14,” the auctioneer announced.

The event continued for the next hour or so, and I was bored to death with Julia as my only source of comfort and entertainment.

When it was finally over, I took my attention off her for barely a minute, and when I returned my gaze, she was gone. I sprang to my feet, eyes slightly widened in wonder, and roamed the hall, scanning for any sign of her.

“Excuse me,” I said softly, weaving through the crowd as I looked around, hoping she hadn't slipped through my fingers.

I exited the hall and stood poised at the hallway intersection, turning my head to survey both sides. Out here, the crowd was thin as most of the guests were still in the hall; however, a few stragglers lingered, exchanging quiet conversations.

Down the corridor, a door caught my attention—the staff room, slightly ajar—and a spark of hope ignited. Maybe she was in there.

I spotted Matthew and his associates, and without a second thought, I pivoted toward the staff room, eager to avoid their notice. Matthew had a knack for lengthy conversations; his penchant for that was legendary, and I was in no mood for small talk.

With a hand in my pocket, my shoes clicking softly against the polished marble floor, I glided over to the door and looked inside.

There she was, pacing back and forth with a phone to her ear. Her voice was hushed, so I couldn't hear her exact words.

Who is she talking to?

Julia had her head bowed. Her chin rested on her chest, fingertips gently rubbing over her eyebrows in a soothing motion. She was clearly listening to someone on the other line, but she seemed stressed and uneasy for some reason. Her eyes were closed, the lids twitching occasionally, and her lips were pursed. If her slumped shoulders were anything to go by, the conversation was draining her.

But despite all of this, she still looked so beautiful and sexy.

I stepped inside, my gaze locked on her.

She must have heard me come in, and her eyes darted toward the entrance. I watched her breath cease at my appearance, her throat wobbling as she swallowed hard. Obviously, she was shocked to see me. Julia discreetly ended the call and set the phone down, eyes lingering on my form.

I furrowed my brows, wondering why there was a glimmer of fear in her eyes. She seemed terrified—bothered that I might have listened in on her conversation.

She would never cease to amuse me.

Why would I eavesdrop on her phone call?

Tonight, she seemed a lot more approachable compared to the last time we met. She exuded a welcoming atmosphere devoid of hostility, and as I stepped forward, her chest heaved slowly.

“Relax, I didn't come here to fight,” I said, a smirk dancing on my lips. “And you can rest assured that I didn't hear your phone conversation either.”

She let out a sigh, blinking rapidly, a wave of relief washing over her face.

“Just curious,” I stated, halting in front of her, my gaze unwavering. “Who were you talking to?”

Her eyes furrowed, head slightly tilting sideways with a faint grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Her tone was soft and inviting.

I scoffed, pinching the bridge of my nose as I decided not to pry further. She was much nicer and calmer tonight, and I couldn't risk ruining that.

So, I changed the subject.

“You’re everywhere I look,” I said, my voice low and husky as my eyes bore into hers. “Are you stalking me?”

“You wish,” she replied, her expression softening as she gazed back at me. “Maybe you're the one who's stalking me.” She wouldn't break eye contact, causing my chest to flutter. “Besides, you walked in here just to talk to me.”

I chuckled, bowing my head for a moment before returning my gaze to her face. “I noticed you didn't quit your job at Jupiter.”

The bartender had kept me informed of her activities at the club since our last encounter.

She squinted her eyes. “Now, who's stalking?”

“It's my nightclub. Keeping tabs on my employees is part of the job,” I replied, my gaze drawn to the subtle curves of her enticing lips.

“Is it now?” Her brows arched. “Or is it possible that you're just obsessed with me?” she asked tauntingly, turning around to grab her bag from a couch.

The shape of her ass caught my eye, prompting me to step closer, my hands resting on her waist from the back. “What if I am?” I gently pulled her to myself.

The air was filled with the scent of her perfume, mixing with that of my cologne, as her ass rested on my groin. She writhed against me, squirming out of my hold, but I wouldn't let go. I could feel her unease and sense her reluctance to resist me. The air around us was thick with sexual tension, and I was certain that she liked the way my erection was brushing gently against her ass.

My hands dared to caress the gentle swell of her bosom through the fabric of her shirt. She moaned softly, attempting to pull away from me, but her heavy breaths and subtle grind over my boner betrayed her resistance.

A part of her was enjoying it.

With a delicate motion, I seized the nape of her neck, my fingers tracing down to her cleavage.

She trembled at my touch, sluggishly attempting to break free. “Roman, stop.” Her tone was low and sexy, hinting that she wanted the exact opposite of her words.

My hands roamed her curves and settled on her thighs. A soft gasp escaped her lips as my fingers climbed under the hem of her skirt. “Please, stop. I'm working,” she moaned, melting into my arms, her hands pulling mine off her thighs.

I smirked, knowing that she definitely wanted me as much as I wanted her.

“You're gonna get me in trouble,” she added, the sweetness of her voice only making me harder.

I spun her around, pressing her waist against my groin, and fixed my gaze on her misted eyes. I squinted, wondering why she looked like she was about to cry. If she was enjoying this, why did she have tears in her eyes? Why was there a glint of guilt flashing in their depths?

What a mysterious woman.

Someone conspicuously cleared their throat, announcing their presence. Quickly, she pulled away from me, tugging down the hem of her skirt while simultaneously fixing her shirt. Her head was bowed in embarrassment as she stood coldly at a pace away from me.

I turned to face the man clad in a white suit. It was Ethan Michaelson, the manager of tonight's auction. With one last glance in her direction, I scoffed at how innocently she stood, unable to raise her head.

Digging a hand in my pocket, I stepped out of the room.

Chapter 10 – Julia

I shouldn't be feeling this way. His touch shouldn't have this effect on me. No.

I paced back and forth, absentmindedly chewing on my nails as I thought about how terrible this was for me.

This was all shades of bad—it was wrong from whatever perspective I chose to look at it. I couldn't let my feelings control me. I was supposed to be in charge, but sadly, I wasn't.

It had been four days since the auction, four days of distraction from my mission. No matter how hard I tried to focus on the task at hand, I always found myself reliving the night we’d fucked.

This hadn't happened before, and I'd thought that I was immune to his charms. Clearly, I wasn't. It was as if his touch had ignited the burning desire in me, and right now, all I wanted was him.

I wanted to feel him deep inside me again, to feel his breath on my skin, his tongue in my mouth, his strong arms all over my body. I wanted to taste him. Literally.

“No!” I slapped my forehead in frustration, my heart racing as my body tensed. “No, no, no, no! This cannot be happening,” I muttered, groaning with my eyes shut and my head jerked toward the ceiling.

I tried to remind myself why I was doing this, but the more I tried, the more I failed. It was as though my heart and my brain were at war, and neither was willing to lose.

I cupped my face in my palms, letting out a deep sigh as I slumped into a chair by my table. “What are you doing, Jules? You need to concentrate,” I said to myself, fingers massaging my temples in a shooting motion.

It was almost impossible to stay focused, especially with all these nasty thoughts that occupied my mind, leaving me sexually frustrated. I could feel my pussy tingle between my legs, my nipples standing erect. I was horny just thinking of him. Fuck.

My hands flew into my silky dark hair, smoothing it backward as my eyes widened at the effect Roman's touch was having on me. I couldn't get him out of my mind; I couldn't stop thinking about him. Why was that?

Roman was responsible for my parents’ murder. My brother was numb and in the hospital because of him. His touch should repulse me; the mere thought of him should irritate me. Yet, none of that was the case here. It was the exact opposite.

How could I be attracted to the man who had made me an orphan, the man who had set me on the path of revenge?

My parents would be disappointed in me. I'd be letting them down if I continued like this. I'd be letting myself down.

I scratched the back of my head, fingers grazing over my scalp. My mind was ruined—too many things to juggle. It was chaotic, and I was stuck in this whirlwind of confusion. I knew my feelings were out of place, but I couldn't help it.

It felt like my brain was about to explode.

“Goddamn it.”

I rose to my feet again, hands on my head as I thought of a way out of this mess.

I was in desperate need of an escape plan, or I could risk ruining what I had spent years planning.

Maybe I should confess to Agent Anderson—maybe I should tell him how I felt. But on second thought, that would be a terrible idea. How would he look at me? He'd be disappointed, and he'd think that I didn't value my parents enough to want to avenge them.

I walked over to my full-length mirror and stood in front of it, staring at my reflection. “Take a deep breath, Julia,” I said to myself, following my own instructions. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” I repeated the routine over and over again with closed eyes.

I needed to let go of this feeling. It was bad energy, and I needed it out of my system. The struggle was a tough one, and I fought to push these illicit thoughts to the back of my mind.

As light as a feather, I emptied my mind, feeling the tension slowly ooze out of me. I let go of the thoughts that held me bound all day, constantly reminding myself of the mission.

I remembered my parents’ lifeless bodies, my brother's numbness at the gruesome sight—the PTSD he suffered. And just like that, I could feel all that lust seeping out of me. I buried whatever nasty ideas I'd cooked up in my head and occupied my mind with the mission. I'd come too far to mess it all up.

A wave of nausea hit me, causing my stomach to twist in discomfort. My palm reflexively flew to my mouth as I rushed to the restroom and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet seat.

For the next few seconds, I vomited what I’d had for breakfast, and just as I lifted my head, I felt so dizzy. There was a ringing in my ears. My head was heavy, and it was aching badly—throbbing relentlessly.

I groaned in pain, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth as I flushed the toilet and rose to my feet. In front of the sink, I turned on the tap and slowly lowered my head to rinse my mouth and wash my face.

Once done, I jerked my head, watching my reflection in the bathroom mirror. With a towel, I wiped my face, wondering what had made me so nauseous. Was it what I’d eaten this morning? I only had coffee and some pancakes—nothing out of the ordinary. So, what happened?

I dug my fingers into my temples in an attempt to soothe the ache that plagued my heavy head. Hanging my towel back, I sluggishly glided out of the bathroom, rubbing my palms over my eyeballs in a massaging motion.

Back in my room, I tossed myself on my bed, battling with this sudden migraine that occupied one section of my head.

My TV had been turned on this entire time, but the chatter on the screen now seemed louder, prompting me to wince in agony. I grabbed the remote and turned down the volume.

Much better.

I let out a sigh, my fingers relentlessly pushing into my temples as I returned my thoughts to the mission.

The plan was working. Roman was starting to develop some sort of obsession for me. He was clearly interested in me now more than before. I'd managed to slip my way into his stone-cold heart, and now, it was time to move to the next phase.

All I had to do was get close enough to him so I could get my hands on the evidence needed to put him away for good.

Victory was close; I could feel it. I just needed to keep playing my part without any unnecessary distractions. It was the only way I was going to get back at him for what he'd done to my family.

I exhaled sharply, picking up my phone from the bed. I'd managed to persuade the manager at Jupiter to give me the boss' number, and now, staring at my lit screen, I typed in a text.

Hey, you busy? Can we talk? It's me, Julia.

I hit the send icon and tossed the phone aside, fingers rubbing over my forehead. The headache was killing me.

My eyes jerked at the TV, where a woman was being interviewed about some early signs of pregnancy. My breath ceased for a moment, and my brows furrowed as I fixed my gaze on the list of signs plastered on my screen.

Grabbing the remote, I turned up the volume just in time to hear her say, “Nausea, early morning sickness, fatigue, headaches, dizziness, swollen breasts, tiredness, loss of appetite—in some women, though, the reverse is the case; they tend to eat a lot.” She demonstrated with her hands as she spoke, her countenance exuding confidence and professionalism.

“What about a missed period?” the interviewer, a blonde woman in a black suit, asked the guest speaker, clad in a patterned red dress.

The guest speaker pressed her index against the bridge of her wire-rimmed glasses. “Well, that goes without saying.”

The two women burst out laughing, and the interviewer turned to face the camera. “You heard her, so check yourself. If you're having one or more or all of these symptoms, there's a 99.9 percent chance that you're pregnant.”

Instantly, my brain began to run some calculations, analyzing everything I’d just heard. My heart was pounding in my chest as I realized that I had been experiencing a lot of these symptoms for the past few days now—tiredness, fatigue, headache, dizziness, and now nausea.

My eyes widened, and my breath hitched in my throat as I tried to recall the last time I had my period.

Shit!

My hand flew to my mouth in fear as it finally hit me. I'd been so busy chasing after Roman that I didn't realize I'd missed my period by two weeks, and it'd been a little over a month since we had sex.

“No.”

My jaw dropped at the possibility that I just might be carrying Roman's baby inside me.

How fucked up was that?

My body stiffened, and I sat there, frozen in shock, overwhelmed by a sudden cold that caused my body to shudder.

This is bad. This is really bad.

Chapter 11 – Roman

Eyes narrowing down at the pool table in front of me, I bent over, cue stick positioned to align with deadly precision. I could feel their gazes lingering on me, especially Afanasy's intense stare—he clearly was rooting for a rotten shot.

I raised my head to look at his face for a moment, savoring the skepticism in his expression. With a smirk playing on my lips, I returned my focus to the task at hand, and seconds later, I struck the cue ball with a smooth motion.

The sound of clanking balls rolling over the surface filled the air as the table erupted into colorful chaos. The cue ball had kissed the 7-ball, sending it spinning into the corner pocket.

At my shot, solids and stripes careened off rails, colliding and rebounding in unpredictable patterns. I jerked my head, watching as Afan's eyes trailed the balls scattering across the table.

Afan's breath hitched in his throat as he squinted, watching the 9-ball roll tantalizingly close to the center pocket. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath as the ball finally fell in.

“Nice shot, Roman,” Mikhail said, his brows arching at the precision of my strike.

“Don't praise him. He got lucky.” Afan grinned, unphased, and locked eyes with me.

“Dude, you've lost to him three times already,” Mikhail said, chuckling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “In a fucking row.” He laughed.

“Yeah, well, as the saying goes, third time's the charm.” His lips curled into a sly smile. “Or, as in this case, the fourth time's the charm.” He let out an evil laugh, chalking his cue stick.

Boris, leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow at Afan's confidence, his expression softening ever so slightly.

Mikhail lined up his shot, his focus intense, but the cue stick slipped, veering the ball off target. Unworried, he shrugged off his failed attempt. “You know what they say about pride, Afan?” He looked at him, referencing his earlier boast.

“It’s not pride, cousin. It's called confidence. You should try it sometimes,” Afan replied, his voice laced with amusement and his tone teasing but not mocking.

Mikhail chuckled, stealing a glance at me.

“I'll take you down, brother. Watch.” Afan bent over to take his shot, his eyes narrowing at the cue balls with rapt attention.

Boris and Mikhail both had their gazes lingering on him while I stood poised, arms across my chest, with a smile on my face. I knew my brother better than he would ever admit; he was going to flop. And I couldn't wait to see the look in his eyes.

“You don't have all day. Just take the shot,” Boris chipped in, his voice dripping with anticipation.

“Hey, don't rush greatness, okay? I'm about to break the record here,” came Afan's response, his eyes never leaving the ball.

“Your trash talk isn't gonna help you much, you know,” Mikhail said to him, brows arching.

“You're distracting me, cousin. I'm trying to focus here,” Afan said, seemingly becoming one with the table, the balls, and the cue stick in his hand.

Mikhail raised his hands slightly, backing away with a low chuckle.

We watched as Afan tightened his grip on the cue stick, squinting and moving his hands in tandem to align the tip with the cue ball. Afan's index finger slid along the length of the stick as if finding a good balance point.

The air was thick with anticipation, and then, finally, my brother took the shot, striking the cue ball with perfect precision.

However, as I’d already predicted, the target ball was clipped at the wrong angle, causing it to spin into the side rails. The ball bounced off and soon came to rest inches from the pocket.

Mikhail burst out laughing. “After all that concentration, you still missed.”

“Looks like the fourth time isn't the charm after all,” Boris said, his voice low and mocking as he flashed a faint smirk.

I narrowed my eyes at him, keeping my tone playful. “Maybe you should have tapped the table four times.”

“That was just a warm-up shot, people,” Afan said, straightening, unphased by our mocking remarks. “I’m saving the magic for the next one.” He winked, chuckling.

We all laughed.

There was never a dull moment with these guys; hanging out with them was the perfect distraction for me.

At least I was focused on something that wasn't Julia. The woman had been on my mind all day, every day since the auction. Thoughts of what would have happened between us if her manager hadn't interrupted constantly played in my head.

I still wondered why she’d had misted eyes, though—why I saw that guilt in their depths—but I didn't want to dwell on that right now. I was with the boys, and I shouldn't be thinking about Julia at the moment.

“Hey, I've been meaning to ask,” Mikhail jerked his head at me. “What about the hostess from the other night?” Curiosity flashed in his gaze.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah?” Afan concurred, nodding as he shifted his attention to me. “The intelligent one with the sexy body.” There was a glimmer of lust in his tone that made my jaw clench. “Did you have any luck with her? Because damn, she was fine—a drop-dead gorgeous diva. I mean, look at that shape.” He gestured with his hands, air molding her figure.

I felt the deep creases lining my forehead, and my eyebrows furrowed at him, hinting at my disapproval of his lust.

“Did you see her legs? Man, she was a knockout.” Mikhail chuckled, swinging his cue stick over his shoulder.

The anger in me was swelling up, and my chest was starting to heave slowly. I didn't appreciate their tone or the way they painted her as some hooker.

“Brother, she was totally into you,” Afan said to me, oblivious to the scowl on my face. “Please tell me you fucked her because if you didn't, I just might shoot my shot.” He laughed.

“Do that, and I'll forget you're my brother when I put a bullet in your chest.” I glared at him, my eyes narrowing and jaw clenching.

He swallowed, his smile gradually vanishing as he saw just how stern my gaze was. Afan knew he'd overstepped—he'd crossed one of my lines.

“Apologies, brother. I meant no disrespect.” His hands were raised slightly in a defensive motion. He locked his eyes with me, finding his smile again. “You like her, don't you?” Afan teased, his grin widening. “That's why you're defending her.”

“What's going on, boys?” The familiar voice shifted our attention to the speaker as he approached us, followed by the distinctive stomp of his walking stick on the floor.

“Uncle Ivan,” we chorused, heads bowing in reverence.

“We’re just teasing Roman about some girl he fancies,” Mikhail added, bringing our uncle into the fold.

I shifted my glare at my cousin, but he refused to look in my direction; his eyes were fixed on Uncle Ivan.

The old man's brows arched, amusement washing over his face. “Roman fancies a girl? It's about time.” He chuckled, halting in front of me with Jorah standing by the bar.

“Yeah, but he doesn't wanna admit it,” Afan said, resting against a wall behind him.

Uncle Ivan looked at me and laughed, placing a palm on my shoulder. “You should be thinking about settling down and starting a family now, Roman. You've come of age.”

I scoffed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I was certain some heartwarming speech was on the way, and I honestly wasn't ready for that now.

“You know,” he began, a smile playing on his lips, “my babushka used to say a woman is the warmth that makes a house a home.” He paused, his gaze unwavering. “I think you're ready for that warmth, Roman.” He tapped my shoulder. “Get yourself a wife—a good one—because a good wife is like a good shot of vodka; she'll warm your heart and soothe your soul.”

“Ahh. That's a good one, Uncle,” Afan said, nodding his head in agreement.

I let out a sigh but said nothing, although deep down, I knew he was right.

He looked deeper into my eyes, and a small grin spread across his face. “You know, girls from our allied families would be a perfect match for you, nephew.”

I raised my brows in disbelief, but he continued regardless. “What do you think of the Petrov girls? I hear they're of good behavior, and the eldest daughter is ripe for marriage, too.” He winked at me.

My expression was blank, my countenance radiating disinterest as I stared at him.

“No?” His eyes narrowed, and he pressed on. “What about the Kuznetsov or even Sokolov family? A union with any of them would be beneficial to the Bratva and also strengthen our alliances.”

“Thanks, Uncle,” I said, forcing a grin. “But I don't need any matches. I'll get married to whoever I want when I feel like it.”

The disappointment in his gaze was subtle, but it was there—I could see it.

He nodded, breaking eye contact for a moment. “You still think about her, don't you? Emily?”

My blood boiled at the mention of her name, and my jaw tightened. My scowl deepened, my forehead creased, and my brows knitted together in anger as buried memories came flooding my mind.

Her face flashed in my head, and I could hear the sound of her laughs—her giggles. Her voice echoed in my thoughts, causing my heart to race.

“It's been twenty-one years already, nephew. Please, let go of her ghost,” he beseeched, pleading with his eyes.

I gritted my teeth, casting a stern glare at him—if he wasn't my uncle, I wasn't sure what I wouldn't have done to him for making that statement.

Silence fell amongst us as I continued to seethe, fingers balling into fists. Everyone else in the room knew better than to raise that subject around me; they knew that saying that name always triggered me.

Emily used to be the love of my life. I wasn't always so cold and devoid of emotions. There was a time when I was a lover boy who would do anything for my sweet Emily.

However, sweet turned sour and bitter when the unexpected happened, forcing me to become the man I was today.

I glared at Uncle Ivan, eyes blazing with unspoken anger as my intense silence radiated across the room. Avoiding my piercing stare, the others cast their heads down, none saying a word.

He realized that he'd made a mistake bringing up Emily.

Uncle sighed softly. “I'm sorry, Roman. I didn't mean to trigger you.”

This rage would pass, and I would eventually hate the way I glared at Uncle Ivan. It wasn’t his intention to upset me—he was just being a parent.

It was clear that I hadn't completely healed from that wound; it still hurt so much like it was yesterday. He was right. I still carried her ghost around, and that was the reason I shut myself out. Emily had been my world, and when that world crumbled to the ground, I withdrew into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness that enveloped my life.

I thought I'd made peace with my demons, but obviously, I hadn't.

My chin rested against my chest as I rubbed my fingers over my eyeballs in a soothing motion. My mind was chaotic; I was fighting to bury those fond memories creeping back to the surface. I couldn't let them in.

I couldn't let myself feel all that pain again; it would be catastrophic, and that was the last thing I needed right now.

My eyes shut for a fleeting moment as I drew in a breath and let it out slowly, pushing these heartbreaking memories to the back of my mind.

I heard my phone chime, distracting me from my thoughts. Digging a hand into my pocket, I withdrew the device, my eyes darting at the lit screen.

It was a text.

You busy? Can we talk? It's me, Julia.

The sight of her name sent a wind of relief across my face, filling my heart with peace and calmness.

I put the phone back in my pocket and let out a soft exhale.

This was the perfect way to get my mind off these drowning memories.