Cassian did not go back to his room.
The corridor outside Juliette's bedroom stretched ahead of him quiet, softly lit, almost accusing. He stood there for a moment longer than necessary, hand still hovering where the door handle had been, as though some part of him expected it to open again.
It didn't.
So he turned away.
His footsteps echoed faintly as he walked down the hallway, jacket still on, sleeves rolled slightly as if he had forgotten to fix himself after the conversation. He descended the stairs without urgency, without destination only movement, because standing still felt unbearable.
The house was asleep.
Not silent, but resting. The low hum of electricity. The distant ticking of a clock. The faint scent of polish and old books.
Cassian passed the library without looking inside.
Then he stopped.
After a brief hesitation, he turned back, pushed the door open, and walked through straight toward the private bar tucked behind it. The lights came on automatically, dim and amber, casting long shadows against the shelves of liquor and crystal.
He loosened his tie at last.
Poured a whiskey.
Didn't measure.
Didn't add ice.
He stood there, glass in hand, staring at the liquid as if it might tell him something he didn't already know.
It didn't.
He took a slow sip anyway.
The burn slid down his throat, sharp and grounding but it did nothing to quiet the noise in his head.
Juliette's face kept appearing uninvited.
The way she had looked at him when he said he didn't like hurting her.
The way her eyes had searched his careful, guarded, like she was afraid of believing him too easily.
Cassian exhaled through his nose and leaned his hip against the bar.
He had married her without romance.
Without promises.
Without illusion.
A decision made in a room filled with documents and numbers, not flowers or vows. Her father's debt had been enormous impossible to clear before illness took him. Cassian had seen it as a problem requiring resolution.
He had offered one.
Marriage.
Clean. Efficient. Quiet.
Juliette had stood there that day, hands clasped in front of her, wearing a simple dress that looked like it had been borrowed. She hadn't cried. Hadn't begged. Hadn't even asked what kind of husband he would be.
She had only nodded.
"Thank you," she had said.
And something about the way she said it like she was grateful for survival, not happiness had unsettled him even then.
Cassian took another sip.
He had brought her into his house and then left her alone inside it.
Separate rooms.
Separate lives.
Separate silences.
They had eaten at the same table like strangers.
Passed each other in hallways like acquaintances.
Existed under the same roof without touching the same world.
At the time, it had felt… acceptable.
Necessary.
He hadn't wanted complications.
Hadn't wanted expectations.
Hadn't wanted to look too closely at the woman he had married.
But now
Now the memories rearranged themselves.
Juliette quietly waking early, leaving the dining room spotless.
Juliette returning late from work, shoes worn, eyes tired.
Juliette never complaining.
Never asking.
Never taking up space.
Cassian's grip tightened around the glass.
The accident had destroyed the illusion that distance was harmless.
He could still hear the sound of his own breath when he had reached her that day too fast, too loud. Could still feel the cold panic that had settled in his chest when she hadn't responded immediately.
He had thought, This can't be how it ends.
And the realization had shocked him almost as much as the fear itself.
He hadn't been ready to lose her.
Not because of the Vale name.
Not because of scandal.
Not because of guilt.
Because the idea of a world where Juliette no longer existed in it had felt… wrong.
Cassian swallowed and set the glass down.
He walked a few steps, then stopped again, dragging a hand through his hair. He hated this feeling this slow unraveling of control, this awareness creeping into his bones.
She was sick.
Recovering.
Vulnerable.
And yet she had still been worrying about her place in his life.
I know I'm only a Vale on paper.
The words echoed again, sharp and undeserved.
Cassian pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.
He had never told her that.
Never implied it directly.
But he had let her believe it anyway.
That realization cut deeper than he expected.
Juliette had always been gentle with him even in her silence. Even in her hurt. Even when she pulled away, it had been quiet, restrained, almost respectful.
She hadn't punished him.
Hadn't lashed out.
She had simply stepped back.
And somehow… that felt worse.
Cassian moved toward the tall window near the bar, staring out at the darkened grounds. The estate stretched endlessly beyond the glass perfect, pristine, controlled.
He had built an empire on control.
Yet here he was, undone by a woman who barely raised her voice.
He wasn't in love.
He told himself that firmly.
This wasn't love not yet.
Love was reckless.
Unpredictable.
Weakening.
What he felt was something else.
An awareness that had crept in unnoticed.
A pull he hadn't acknowledged.
A shift that made returning to indifference impossible.
Juliette had changed the rhythm of his house.
The weight of his silence.
The way his name sounded when spoken softly.
And the accident
The accident had stripped him bare.
In that moment, he hadn't been Cassian Vale, the powerful man, the untouchable one.
He had just been a man terrified of losing someone he didn't know how to claim.
Cassian closed his eyes briefly.
Tomorrow, things would have to change.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
But honestly.
He would talk to her again not to interrogate, not to defend himself, but to listen.
To understand.
Because whatever was growing between them, whatever this thing was that tightened his chest when he thought of her alone and hurting
It wasn't something he could ignore anymore.
And ignoring it would only make it cruel.
Cassian straightened, shoulders squaring as composure slowly returned not the cold armor he usually wore, but something heavier. More deliberate.
He poured the whiskey down the sink.
Then he turned off the lights and left the bar, the echo of his footsteps following him back into the sleeping house.
Somewhere upstairs, Juliette rested.
And for the first time since marrying her, Cassian knew one thing with certainty:
Living like strangers was no longer an option