The morning began with a dull ache behind Juliette's eyes, the kind that came from not sleeping not crying either just lying awake, thinking too much.
The query letter still sat on the living room table, unopened, its brown envelope a quiet wound in plain sight. She had tried not to look at it all night. Tried not to remember the disappointment in her boss's voice, or the pity in her coworkers' eyes when she left early again.
This house was too quiet. Too perfect. Too cold.
Cassian had left early, like he always did, the scent of his cologne lingering longer than his presence. Juliette sipped her tea, staring out the wide glass window where morning light spilled softly over the marble floors. From a distance, it looked like peace. But inside, everything felt like pressure.
She set the cup down and looked at the query again. She should probably take it along, reply to it formally, prove she was still capable of keeping her job together. But she couldn't. Not this morning.
Instead, she turned away.
Today, she was going to act normal. Show up at work. Do her job. Pretend nothing was falling apart.
On her way out, her eyes fell on the black card lying beside her keys. It gleamed faintly in the light that sleek, heavy piece of metal that carried his name, not hers. She hesitated. Then slipped it into her purse. Just in case.
The boutique was already buzzing when she got there. Steam from irons, the faint hum of sewing machines, the smell of starch and perfume. Juliette took a deep breath, plastered a small smile on her face, and walked in.
She made her way to her table, dropped her bag, and began sorting through unfinished orders. Her hands moved on their own pinning, measuring, stitching but her thoughts kept drifting to her mother's rent. The payment was due two days ago. Mama hadn't called to complain, but Juliette could feel it, that quiet patience her mother always used when things got tight.
I'll fix it, she told herself. Just one more week.
But by the close of work , her chest was tight and her eyes burned. She checked her account balance again and sighed. It wasn't even enough to cover half.
Her fingers brushed against the card in her purse. That black card. That temptation.
By the time she realized what she was doing, she was already in a taxi, heading toward the bank.
⸻
The bank was packed, the air cold and sharp with the hum of machines and murmured frustration. Juliette joined the line, clutching her bag close. The people around her perfume, pressed suits, quick glances made her feel small again, like the world could smell the struggle beneath her perfume.
When it was finally her turn, she approached the counter and handed over the card. The cashier a young woman with acrylic nails and a forced smile looked her up and down.
"Good afternoon. This account holder she began, doubt written all over her face.
"Please just process it," Juliette said quietly.
The woman shrugged and slid the card through the reader.
Beep.
And then another beep.
Juliette watched the shift the woman's posture straightening, her tone softening. She leaned to whisper something to the man beside her, and suddenly, three other staff were looking their way.
The air changed.
"Ah, ma'am," the cashier said quickly, smiling now, her voice almost sweet. "Would you prefer to use our private counter? No need to wait in line next time."
Juliette blinked, uncertain. "No, here is fine."
"Yes, of course, ma'am." The woman's hands moved faster now. "
The bills came crisp and clean, placed neatly in a white envelope, her name whispered like it suddenly meant something.
"Thank you for banking with us, ma'am," the woman said, her tone now dripping with respect.
Juliette took the envelope, nodded faintly, and walked out, her heart beating too loud.
She didn't feel rich. She felt exposed.
Outside, the sun hit her face hot and blinding but all she could feel was guilt. That card didn't belong to her. Neither did the world that bowed to it.
Still, she went straight to her mother's landlord. Paid the rent. Left no message, no call, no trace.
Not today. Not when she couldn't face the woman who still believed her daughter's life was simple and honest.
...
By the time she reached home, the sky was painted in shades of purple and gold. The lights inside were on too early for them to be.
Juliette's pulse quickened.
She slipped off her shoes at the door, her bag heavy on her shoulder. Something about the silence felt wrong.
"Maya?" she called softly.
The maid appeared from the hallway, nervous smile in place. "Good evening, ma'am. You're back."
Juliette's voice was calm, but her chest tightened. "Yes. Is he home?"
Maya hesitated. "Yes, ma'am. He came in about an hour ago."
Juliette nodded slowly and stepped into the living room.
Her breath caught.
Cassian was sitting on the couch, still in his white shirt, sleeves rolled up. The brown envelope her query letter was in his hand.
He wasn't looking at it. He was looking at her.
The room went utterly still.
Juliette froze by the doorway, her pulse roaring in her ears. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
He didn't say anything either. He just sat there silent, unreadable, holding the one thing she'd tried to leave behind.
And in that silence, Juliette realized something simple, terrifying, and true.
No matter how carefully she tried to keep her worlds apart, they were always going to collide.