* Hi, if you're participating in Ramadan I would just like to clarify that this chapter does contain sexual scene. If you would like to skip, you can scroll down till you see the stars!
Trigger warning:
Mentions of self-harm, body dysphoria, and body changes.
Juliet.
Eighteen months.
"Fuck." I threw my head back and inhaled sharply, his rough, strong hands running down my naked body and his soft lips pressing a kiss all over my neck, leaving a trail of wet open-mouth kisses. My hand reaches for the sheets and scrunches them under me. Addicted to pleasure.
My eyes fluttered open, struggling to look at him, watching the way his ruffled black hair stuck to his sweaty, soft pale skin, sweat rolling down his toned muscular chest, brown eyes piercing into me as he concentrated on the pleasures of my body. He runs his hand through his hair, his thrusts becoming sharper. I cry out, arching my back and shooting up to hold onto him, biting down on my lips to keep the noise in. "Faster please." I cry out, my eyes fluttering shut and my breath becoming heavier with each sharp thrust.
"Please—I've been a good girl." He hums, lowering his head down until our lips press against each other. His soft, wet, warm lips savor each second of mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth, and the kiss becomes messy, lustful—desperate.
"Good fucking slut." He whispered against my raw lips, his thick Italian accent surrounding me and disappearing into the air. "Just like that." He held my face in the palm of his large, rough-but-soft hands. Suddenly, he pulled away and I gasped, crying harder, tears streaming down my red cheeks.
"Denver." I gasped. My eyes shoot to look at him. He didn't let me register it; his hands landed on my hips, spinning me around until I was on all fours. "Hands behind your back, you fucking slut."
I whimpered at his dominance, feeling submissive to him. I'm absorbing him—feeling his tip run up and down my wet pussy—and my head falls on the mattress, only for Denver to grab a fist full of my black hair and force my head back up, lips near my ear.
"Behave." He murmured. His voice sends chills down my bare back. Denver suddenly pushes into me so quickly and deeply that my mouth drops open. I screamed out, and my eyes slid shut, feeling our skin. So close—so intimate—the sound of our skins coming into contact mixing around the small room of my apartment.
"Denver please." I shake my head; his grip tightens, and pain shoots through my scalp. "You feel so fucking good." I hummed as his own moans entered my ears. His hands go to wrap around my body, lifting me softly yet so aggressively and demandingly, while his pace continues menacingly.
I couldn't take it. I could feel myself getting wetter by the second. The sound of him sliding in and out of me mixed with our moans as I trembled under his hold.
I scream out, not being able to keep my voice silent. "Fuck—just like that. Harder." I gritted through my teeth, feeling the sweat trickle down my body.
"Are you close?" He asked. Pushing deeper into me—getting lost in my head—I closed my eyes, and my mouth dropped open. I whimpered, nodding my head, and my legs started to shake—the feeling in my stomach felt like a burst of fireworks, never-ending. My hair stuck to my skin, leaving an uncomfortable feeling, but I was feeling so good. I was so close to feeling everything all at once.
My phone suddenly rings, and I shake my head. It's late. Whoever it is can fuck off. He holds my hips as leverage-fucking me harder. His nails dug into my skin probably leaving a bruise that I didn't seem to care about.
The sound of our skin clapping echoes around my room. His mouth was on my back and neck, pressing kisses and sucking on my skin as he got reactions from me. "Feel so fucking good." He murmured, his hands pulling on my hair every time I moaned a little too loudly. "That's it. Take it like the good girl you are." He chuckles.
"I am a good girl." I sucked in a breath, and he hummed, repeating the words that seemed to echo out of my pink, plump lips. "That's it—taking me so well, fuck Juliet." My whimpers slowly turned into moans.
Denver knew my body and everything I liked. Touching the places made me drip down my thighs and made me moan harder. Suddenly my phone rings again, and my eyes fly open—I stare at my cell phone that is lying on my nightstand and close my eyes again. The pleasure rolled into me like lightning. Just a few minutes more, and I'll be coming all over his cock and my leg.
Denver slid his hand between my legs, thumb rubbing over my clit, slowly at first but quickly picking up his pace, praising me as I let my body melt under his thrust—his thrust turning sharp, and then it rang again. I groan and Denver's movements get sloppier, each second. "Unknown number," he says out of breath, and I look over at my phone.
"Ignore it." I shake my head. "Please fuck me." I cry, and he pushes my body down so I am pinned against the moist mattress. "I'm so close."
"Beg." He snickers with a laugh. "Tell me what the good girl wants, and I'll give it to you." His voice was so demanding that it left me in a loophole.
"I need you to—" my voice was silenced by my phone again. Denver picks it up and throws it in front of me. "Answer it."
"I can't." I shake my head out of breath, my chest moving rapidly, as I struggle to breathe. I couldn't even keep my eyes open long enough to look at the unknown number. "Please—just fuck me. Please. I can't."
"Answer it." He breathes out heavily, his voice laced with demanding manners, his movements getting slower in a tortured movement. And I knew he wouldn't stop until I answered this phone. "I promise I'll fuck you good. I'll take good care of you."
Sucking in a breath, I try to compose myself. I tried to focus on my breath, but the pain between my legs was driving me insane. Denver knew exactly what my body loved—and he was doing everything I needed to feel euphoric. With my hands shaking, I picked up my phone and answered it.
"Hello?" I murmured, holding back a moan, as he played with my clit, slowly sliding into me. Watching the way his hard, full cock disappeared in me. My hands balled into a fist while his hold tightened.
The other end was quiet for a few moments, Denver's hands sliding up my body, exploring me like I was art, squeezing my ass and disappearing deeply into me before pulling out completely just to slide in so slowly that it had me closing my eyes and holding back a moan.
"Juliet?" The sound of my name sliced through the silence, sending shivers down my spine. My heartbeat quickened, my throat tightened, and every word I wanted to say got lost in thin air. No. No. No. This cannot be real. This is a dream. It's not real. "Hello?" The voice spoke again, drawing me back to reality. I pressed my hand firmly against the mattress, signaling for Denver to get off of me as I slowly sat up, his gaze fixed on me.
"Hello?" My voice quivered as I sucked in a breath. "Juliet, Is that you?" My mind was racing with disbelief. This can't be good. Why is he calling me? What happened? How did he find me?
"Thank God. Juliet, I've been worried—I thought the worst—" His words rushed out, but I interrupted, needing answers urgently. "How did you find my number?" The phone, now no longer on speaker, had Denver eyeing me with suspicion. If Zayn could track me down, could Gwen do the same?
"Relax," Zayn murmured. "I'm calling from an untraceable phone. I've been trying to find you since you left." A pause. No. No. No. "I called for one thing." His voice dropped, and an unsettling feeling made me sick and anxious, my body full of goosebumps. "How are you, Juliet? Really?"
"What do you want, Zayn?" My head lay against the base of the bed. I was exhausted. Still exhausted. He didn't need to know how I was doing. I didn't care to explain. "Something happened." I knew it. He wouldn't have called with good news, there's never good news when you're a Malik. "But I need to know how you're doing."
Pause. A long pause has me sucking in breath. My mind drifted to him and them. "Zayn, what happened? How I am feeling or doing doesn't matter." I closed my eyes. "What happened?" No matter the months that passed or even the years, it didn't stop me from remembering who I am. I can't escape my past.
My past felt like a relentless Faust, a devil lurking, eager to ensnare me in its grasp.
I will always be the girl who's watched her mother get killed. I will always be the woman who was kidnapped and found out her husband killed her mother. I will always be the woman who gets hurt.
I can't go back to who I used to be. I pleaded with Zayn, desperation evident in my voice. "Please, just talk to me. What's happened? Are you alright, are you hurt? Is someone hurt? Just talk to me. I'm not weak. I can take it. I won't break, Zayn—stop doing that to me." Each word weighed heavily on my tongue; the tension was palpable, and Denver's concern grew with every passing moment, but he stayed silent. Watching me.
"I know you're not weak, Juliet. This is just hard to say but I need you here." His voice cracked with emotion, a silent plea for my presence. Tranquility stretched between us before he finally spoke again. "It's Dad." My mind wandered to a thousand possibilities, but none that knew what happened.
"Dad passed away last night." Time seemed to stop as his words hit me like a train. My body tensed, my blood turning to ice once more, yet I couldn't find any emotion. Why couldn't I feel anything? It was my father, but the shock left me numb.
"What?" I asked. "Dad? I don't understand." He blew out a breath. "Dad is dead? How?" I asked. This must be a nightmare. He couldn't have died.
"He was murdered." I closed my eyes and ran a hand over my face, my heart racing in my chest as I tried to feel sad but couldn't. I just felt anxious. Is she going to kill everyone until we're all dead—or until I'm suffering? She truly wants me to suffer, and I'm scared it's going to happen.
But I refused to believe it. "How?" I asked.
" I'd rather talk about this in person, is it, uhm, possible for you to get here?" His voice was laced with concern and vulnerability. I left without telling him goodbye—but how could I look my brother in the eyes and just leave? Leave him with the same pain I had.
"When's the funeral?" I whispered my question. "Did—" I stopped myself from continuing to look over at Denver. "Was it Gwen?" I asked.
"I think so," Zayn whispered back. I will never be free from this curse. This will never end. Not until she's dead. I couldn't escape; she would always hurt me. "I'll get there as soon as I can, Zayn. I want to get this over with." Hanging up the phone, I stood.
"I have to go." I rambled. "Where?" Denver inquired. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"
I hummed, "I'm fine. I'm fine. It's my dad. He passed away. I have to go." Denver stood there, a little confused, shocked at how quickly I dismissed the death of my father. But how did you explain to him that my family always gets hurt, I always get hurt? I ignore him and start grabbing clothes for us.
Turning my head over my shoulder, I queried. "How fast can you pack a bag and meet me at the airport? I'll pay you extra. I need you there." He nervously gulped, looking over at the door, and then back at me.
"Thirty minutes, maybe an hour?" He uttered, "I can drive us to the airport. Is this the Gwen you told me about? Who's Zayn? Is that your, uh, your ex-husband?" I froze in my spot as I stuffed wipes into the purses.
"Zayn is my brother." I corrected him; my heart was beating at the mention of my ex-lover. I brushed it off immediately, focusing on the things I needed for us.
"Oh, sorry." He chuckles. "Where are we going again?" He asks.
"Nevada," I gritted through clenched teeth, the name leaving a bitter taste on my tongue. I vowed to myself that the moment I walked out of that house, I would never look back at that state again, all for the sake of our safety.
Leaving Nevada almost two years ago was more than just a physical journey; it was a heart-wrenching battle against the weight of memories and pain. That night stayed in the back of my head like a fly who wouldn't leave you alone on a hot, sticky summer day.
Every step away felt like tearing off a piece of my soul, leaving behind fragments of a life I once cherished. I felt pain. When I stepped out of that door, I thought my life was over. No one truly understood my departure, but the ache in my heart was too profound to ignore. I depended too much on a man; I depended too much on others to know what love is. To know the meaning of happiness.
I needed to learn how to love and accept myself. How to be happy. I thought what I had was happiness, but it wasn't. Happiness is who I am now.
I couldn't stay in a place where happiness eluded me and where every breath felt like suffocation. I carried the burden of unhealed wounds. I need to heal my mother's death properly after finding out who her murderer is. I need to heal my inner child and learn how to love myself a little more. I needed to learn and accept how everything was and I can't change the past. I can't change people's actions no matter how much I wish or pray. I needed to find happiness on my own, and staying in that state was going to stop and drag me into a deeper hole.
I saved myself.
Nevada left me scars, both physically and mentally. Scars were poured in front of therapists. Scars that were seen by others. Every scar I had—whether it was physical or mental—was left as a reminder. Of who I was and who I'm trying to be. Some scars were deeper than others, but I never invalidated my own feelings.
I can't say I'm healed—a year doesn't heal someone, but I'm better than I was. I learn how to grow around her death—Andrea's. I learn how to be better for myself without constant validation from others. I am proud of myself for seeking help.
I'm happy. I know I am. I'm healthy, I go to therapy, and I have new friends—I have her. I'm slowly healing.
Leaving Nevada wasn't just about escaping a place; it was about finding the strength to rebuild myself in the darkness that I grew up in. I'm a new and better person.
When Denver finally left, I stepped into the shower. I was showering from head to toe as I prepared myself mentally and physically for something that was going to be so unexpected. I don't know what to expect. I don't know what I would walk into going back home.
This could be all a trap, but there is only one way to find out. I won't fall into her trap this time. I won't allow myself to. I will fight until my last breath this time. It could be anything or nothing, but whatever happens, I know I'll be okay. I have to face my fears one day or another.
When I left, I found myself in Italy, a place that held a special place in my heart. At first, I tried to ignore that importance and fell in love with Sorrento for the way it so easily accepted me, but at night, I couldn't ignore the blaring fact that this place was the first place I was shown love.
By him. His perfect self showed me his true colors here—how he was so sweet underneath all those layers of darkness and rudeness. He would always be my true love.
I got a job at a doctor's office as a pediatrician, where the salary wasn't extravagant, but it provided me with a decent livelihood. In my cozy, small, two-bedroom apartment, outside the walls are adorned in a soft, soothing shade of pink. Lush vines cascaded down the façade, breathing life into the landscape while a miniature balcony offered a glimpse of the world beyond. After my shower, I dressed myself in comfortable clothes and walked outside towards my room.
The moon shone into the bedroom from the curtains that I pulled open when Denver left—stars adorned the dark night sky, the quietness of the streets lurking into existence. I wanted to go out to my balcony and enjoy the stars and gaze at them while I tried to forget my problems, but I couldn't. Either way, I was exhausted from trying to ignore the mess on my plate. I had to shove everything away and face my problems tomorrow.
I couldn't dismiss them this time. I had to face reality. Stepping out of my room, I make my way toward the second bedroom. As I gently push open the door, a comforting shroud of darkness envelops me, combined with the soft lullaby that seemed to calm her on most nights. I walk towards the mini lamp and switch it on, watching as it casts a warm illumination upon the room.
A smile dances across my lips as I reach for the crib, my heart swelling with affection as I gaze down at her slumbering form. Her rosy lips puckered into a sweet pout, framed by long, fluttering eyelashes that brushed against her delicate brown and golden skin. Tiny fingers clung tightly to her pink bunny safety blanket that had suns all over it, something I got when she was born—five months ago. I turned on the mini-lamp, and under the soft glow of the ethereal light, her skin radiated with a gentle warmth.
My hand ran through her full, curly brown hair and then down to her cheeks. "My Sunny baby," I whispered, gently picking her up. When she was safe and in my arms, she snuggled into me. I smiled and kissed her cheeks. "I'm sorry, baby; mommy is so mean, I know."
She breaks into a soft cry, and I hum as I gently rock her in my arms. She was wearing a pink floral jumpsuit, and that's exactly how she was staying. My baby didn't need to change. I grab a few extra things from her room and walk back towards mine to grab our bags.
I looked down at my daughter and saw how she was sleeping in my arms all over again. Humming, I walked out the door, coming face-to-face with Denver. "Jesus, you scared me." I swallowed. "I thought I told you to go home."
"And I did." He grins and grabs the bags from my hands. "I came to help you—is she sleeping?"
I nod. "She is." We both walked out of my apartment and towards the elevator, where a car waited for us and our departure.
"Are you okay?" Denver asked, leaning against the elevator wall. I looked over at him and my eyes dropped to his outfit. Like me, he was dressed comfortably in a pair of grey sweats, and a black hoodie— and with the warmest smile and nod.
"I'll be okay," I whispered. Denver didn't seem convinced. His gentle, caring eyes sizing me like he was plucking out the lies from my body. He swallows roughly and nods in my direction.
"I know you'll be okay, but if you need someone along the way to get there, I'm always here. No matter what." His words echoed in my heart. I knew deep down I wasn't going to be okay, and somehow he did as well—but not a single second did he make me feel forced to speak about my feelings.
☆ ☆ ☆
Staring into the mirror, I peered at a reflection that seemed almost foreign. Sometimes it was hard to recall the version of Juliet that I was, and being back here again was blurring the lines between the strength I gained over the past years and the fragility that had defined me.
My once curly, long black hair was now sleek; pin-straight strands fell to my shoulders. It was another change added to the mountain of others, and it took a bit of getting used to, but I adored the way it displayed my outfit perfectly, such as today.
Dressed in a black tight dress that ended below my thighs, it exposed my arms, revealing not just my few new tattoos but also a few scars that now adorn my skin—I've learned to love some of my scars. It's a part of me—apart from what I escaped. No matter how many tattoos I've inked on my skin, they would still be beneath that layer.
But through all this, I still found it hard to love my body again. After my daughter, I changed—it was different. Something I haven't gotten myself used to. A part of me felt ugly, no matter how much confidence I had—no matter how many times men praised me I still felt so different.
It was something that had to be done for myself, unless it was my eyes that studied my body, internally and externally, and decided my beauty, I would always be classified as ugly. Another man's greedy gaze or praising comments meant nothing to how I viewed myself.
A soft sigh escaped my lips as I glanced at the small figure through the mirror, lying on the bed. With a smile playing on my lips, I twirled on my heels and made my way to her side. "Hello, my Sunny girl," I murmured, smiling wide, her eyes lighting up at the sound of her nickname. She looks over at me and kicks her feet and arms. I let her wrap her tiny fingers around my single index finger.
Giving her life had kept me alive, and living for her was the best decision I'd made. Everything I did was for my Sunny girl.
She was truly a sun. She was my golden baby—my golden girl.
She saved me, and she doesn't even realize it. It's true what they say about kids being one of life's greatest blessings if you're prepared for them. I wasn't ready, but deep down, I knew she would rescue me. After all, she came into my life when I needed her the most despite having not realized it at first. Returning her smile, I leaned down to plant tender kisses on her forehead, then her cheeks, breathing in deeply the sweet, baby scent that filled me with an overwhelming sense of love and affection.
"Oh, my sunny girl, I hope you know mommy loves you, and I'll do anything to protect you." I always find myself talking to her—telling her stories. Even if she didn't understand I felt a sense of deep connection.
Returning to Nevada had been a whirlwind. It had been dreadful and exhausting. Every part of me wishes I could turn back around and never answer that stupid phone. Perhaps it would have been preferable to be naive. I had no intention of returning, but the death of my father forced me to return. To a place I never want to call home again.
Maybe I couldn't avoided the funeral—but I knew if I did I would never forgive myself for that. After all... funerals are truly the last goodbyes.
We arrived at 10 p.m. at the hotel, and considering I had to be up at 8 a.m. for the funeral, I attempted to steal a few hours of sleep. However, as much as I tossed and turned on the foreign yet comfortable mattress, sleep never welcomed me with open arms. Instead, I'm shunned from resting. To make matters even worse, the disorienting effects of jet lag had left us all restless, and unfortunately, my baby included. Despite her early awakening at 3 a.m., she remained surprisingly alert and a tad fussy, and her frustration seemed to connect with me at times.
Still, amidst the chaos, I managed to steal moments of sleep here and there. My mind keeps me up with a million thoughts and questions. My father—my safety, the safety of my daughter. The reason I'm back. Gwen—him, my brother. My mind felt like a train passing quickly. There was a point where I almost even called my therapist. I think I was going to go insane. One thought that kept me up the most was my father.
How I treated him. Especially, after my mother died. I had my regrets; I had my good moments, but I couldn't feel sad about what happened. I felt nothing. It's not that he meant nothing to me, but that I was so used to this pain that it just felt like a normal routine.
I got used to life, and boom—like a bomb, someone died. And I was there, left alone, forced to deal with the pain and exhaustion of losing someone who meant something to me.
Was I normal? Was it normal to feel so used to getting hurt? Did everyone experience this?
Maybe it hasn't hit me yet—maybe when I'm standing in front of the casket, I'll break down—but as of right now, I just felt like a ton of heavy weights on my back, dragging me down while my head was cloudy with a thousand- maybe a million- thoughts.
A knock on the door interrupts my moment, prompting me to gently pull away from my daughter and rise to my feet. Curious, I approach the door, rising to my tippy toes and peering through the peephole. My eyes landed on Denver, and I watched him fidget with the cuffs on his shirt as he waited for me to open.
"Hi," I smiled, taking a step to the side as he walked in.
"Morning, Ms. Malik." Rolling my eyes, I shuffled a laugh. "Can you help me button up this stupid shit?" He grumbled and turned toward me. Laughing, I took a step closer to him as he laid out his hands in my direction.
"I never liked this damn button-up shit. I feel like I'm suffocating." With his free hands, he pulls at his collarbone.
I looked up at him through my eyelashes and grinned. He was dressed in a tailored black suit. His dark hair was meticulously slicked back, framing a face that seemed to hold a thousand secrets.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the subtle bulge at his waistline that drew my attention—his gun. Reminding me that I will be safe with him. "You are being dramatic." I shake my head with a slight laugh.
"I am not dramatic. Not everyone likes being choked." He sizes me down, rolling his lips into his mouth. My eyes slightly widen, and I laugh, patting his shoulder and shaking my head. "I'm pretty sure you do," I murmured, raising an eyebrow.
"I do?" He hums, and I shake my head, my face heating up. "How did you sleep?" He switches the conversation. "Is the little angel sleeping?" Denver whispered, walking deeper into my room. His nickname for my daughter never failed to make me smile, knowing it was out of pure love. Denver took care of her like she was his.
"More like wide awake. She's been cranky all day." I shake my head. "It's going to be hard to adjust her to the time zone." A part of me felt guilty. My daughter shouldn't struggle because of me.
Denver stared at the bed, then looked back at me. "Do you want me to stay with her? I can try to put her to sleep and walk around the park so she gets some fresh air. Give you space. I can take her to a museum—kids like that, right?" He offered, and I laughed.
"I think she's a little too young to enjoy one." A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips when he offers me that. Denver is a blend of sweetness and danger wrapped into one enigmatic package. He had a charm that could captivate you, yet a gaze that could kill you in your tracks if you even disrespectfully looked at him. His laughter was a mix of addictive and unsettling like he had something planned—something evil—but it was a little funny as well.
We met in Italy. It was a few weeks into my new life there, and I found myself in need of protection, consumed by paranoia that Gwen was going to find me and kill me and my daughter. So when I saw a drug exchange, I quickly asked the man for someone—not for me—but I had a chance to talk to him and then asked if he knew about any company where I could hire security guards. He told me about a guy he knew, and then that guy connected me with that company.
That company wasn't well known. It was a bit of a stupid idea for me to just go this way, but I needed someone. Because of this connection, I found Denver. He was my age, he was attractive, and he was respectful but determined to do his work.
We didn't hook up till after my daughter was born—I was alone and confused as we shared a couple of glasses of wine, and one thing led to another, and ever since that day, he's just been there. He's been kind of like my fuck buddy—absolutely no strings attached. He saw other people, and so did I. Casually.
I wasn't looking to date, but just to have fun and distract from the things my mind could come up with. My brain was evil—it would betray me in my worst moments, and it would hurt me when I needed to feel safe. It would remind me of everything I lost when I had my most vulnerable days.
"No." I shake my head. "I need you to go with me, Denver, please." His brown eyes stared right back, and I swallowed, roughly looking away. "Do you remember a woman named Gwen?" He furrowed his eyebrows but hummed.
"Of course—kind of the reason you hired me." Nodding, I murmured. "She shouldn't be there, but if she is, don't hesitate to shoot her, okay? Or her brothers. She's a threat. She will kill you. I doubt she'll be there, though." I swallowed, looking up at the ceiling. I turned around and walked towards the bed to grab my daughter. She brought me comfort and peace when I felt anxious.
I looked down at her and kissed her cheeks. "Gwen wouldn't when she knows that's an easy trap." Denver nods and places a hand on my arm.
"Are you okay? Seriously, you've been anxious since we landed. You didn't eat on the plane or here." He tells me mildly, looking between us.
I smile softly at his kindness. "I do feel anxious; I'm just—I can't eat. But some coffee will be nice." Denver purses his lips, taking a few moments to look at me before turning away. "With a lot of creamer, right? And sugar?" He turned towards the coffee maker that sat on the wooden long clean desk, and I shook my head. "Denver, I can make my own coffee." I object with a laugh, and he ignores me.
"Just relax, Juliet. Okay, I came here to help you not watch you crumble right in front of my eyes."
I smiled. "What kind of bodyguard would I be? If can't help you out." I blew out a breath and stared at him for a few minutes, the silence consuming our comfort. "Thank you, Denver, seriously. All this helps so much, more than you could imagine."
I am grateful that during this time I wasn't alone. That I wasn't alone during my heals months.
He brushed me off, and I looked down at my baby girl. "What about you, Sunny girl? I have your milk; are you not tired yet?" I whispered, holding her in my arms, brushing my index finger along her cheeks, watching as she fluttered her eyelashes at me, and then smiled brightly. The second I had my daughter, I fell in love with her completely; she's the reason I better myself every single day. My daughter is my everything. She is beautiful. She's a spitting image of me, and I couldn't wait to watch her grow up.
After Denver finished, he poured me a cup of coffee, the aroma of coffee mingling with the tension in the room. As I took a tentative sip, the rich flavour danced across my tongue, reminding me how something so simple yet so addictive could ease my anxiety.
I closed my eyes briefly, savoring the familiar sweetness. When I finally opened my eyes, Denver was watching me intently, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. He knew my mind. I would easily overthink.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked gently, his voice breaking the silence that hung heavy in the air. Leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, he waited patiently for my response.
"Talk about what?" I acted clueless, looking down at the ground with a heavy heart. I knew what he wanted to talk about, but my heart felt weighted. I felt like I couldn't. It didn't make sense to me. My father was murdered and I felt fine. I felt guilty, but I wasn't sad like I was supposed to be. I was worried, I was really worried about what could happen and who could get hurt next. "Your father, Juliet, Being back here—you've told me how much this place hurts you. It can't be easy. And keeping all these feelings bottled up also can't be easy. You know you can trust me, right?"
You know you can trust me, right?
His words rang in my ear reminding me that I wasn't alone. I knew I wasn't alone. That's no longer something I allowed myself to do. I knew that being alone only consumed my dark thoughts. But trust. It's something I lack. Denver wasn't the problem; it was me. It was hard to trust people. Something I was still not quite used to. Maybe I blamed my mother, my family—him, but whoever it was, I knew it wasn't easy for me.
"It's not," I say, and close my lips " It's not that I don't trust you," I murmur, feeling the hot coffee burn my throat. "I just... I don't know how to talk about my feelings yet, I'm so used to sucking it up and it's really hard being back here—I keep thinking about everyone. And how I left, and a part of me feels guilty—there's so much that I didn't really tell you. My feelings about the whole situation, my ex... how he treated me, our relationship, him in general. He was a big reason why I left. It hurts to talk about him." I blabber, standing from my spot and walking around. I could feel his eyes burning into me, but that didn't stop me from pacing around.
I felt nervous.
"I don't expect you to tell me everything, Juliet." He murmured. "What you went through, only you know."
"I know." I blew out my breath. "I do trust you, okay? I just... I never know how to talk about him. My ex-husband—he wasn't a bad man. He loved me. I like to believe so anyway, but he also hurt me, and I couldn't stay." I gulped, watching Denver stare at me as the words spilt out of my mouth for the first time ever. I couldn't even say his name—it hurt.
"Did this man hurt you physically?" I swallowed and looked away. Did he? All those times that he would hold my face harshly...but he knew his limits.
"I—I don't know," I murmured. "I mean he never hit me. He wasn't abusive. It was only a little verbal when we first got to know each other, but he treated me so well, Denver." I smile thinking about it. "I was really his everything, and I left him."
"You were suffering, Juliet," he reminds me. "There's nothing wrong with being selfish and thinking about yourself and your mental health. Not only that but—you thought about your daughter."
"It's his daughter too, and he doesn't even know."
Silence. Silence hung in the air when those words left my lips. "Are you going to tell him?" Denver asked, staring at me carefully as my eyes dropped to my daughter. Was I going to tell him? Good question. But I didn't know if it was the right thing. I was cruel for letting her grow up without her father. A father who would love her endlessly.
Even the two sisters that she was growing up without and all the missed opportunities they couldn't have together because of my selfishness. But there was no point in introducing him, not when I didn't plan on staying or when I lived across the world, and seeing each other would be impossible.
"I don't think I can see him." I sucked in a breath. "I plan to leave after the funeral," I murmured. Denver stays silent like he's thinking of thoughts he wasn't voicing out to me. "Do you not trust him?"
"No, I do. He has two kids—two girls. They're five right now, but I feel like there's no point in telling him. That's going to hurt him Denver, and I don't have it in me to hurt him. How do I even explain it to him? He wanted to grow his family with me, and I know that keeping this from him would crush him." A single tear runs down my eyes, which I quickly wipe. "I lied to him."
"Juliet, follow your heart. Do what feels right, not because you feel bad. Remember, that doesn't make you a bad person; he has his secrets and you have yours," he advised, " He can't be mad when he kept a secret from you right?" His words sank in. He's right... Taking a deep breath, I nodded, grateful for his understanding.
"Thank you," I whispered. He had no idea how much I needed to hear those words. Denver was right, he kept so many things from me. He hurt me. Keeping a secret I know he'll never know wouldn't do any harm except to me.
"Ready to head out?" he asked, a reassuring smile gracing his lips. "I'll be there with you no matter what, okay? After this funeral, we will go out to eat and then catch a flight back home?"
And with that, we took the opportunity to leave after I fed my daughter, hoping she wouldn't be cranky. Walking into the funeral home, I felt a ton of emotions. The last time I went to one was at my mother's funeral, and now it's my father. Same way, different dates, different emotions and a different version of myself.
As soon as we walked in, Denver my daughter from my hands, knowing I was going to feel a particular emotion I couldn't express. I need a few moments to recollect myself. I needed a few moments to let everything consume me.
Reminding me that this was reality and not some fuck up dream—or nightmare I was experiencing again. I looked around, seeing familiar faces, but nobody I cared to talk with or catch up with. A few people stared at me and sent their waves in my direction, and I politely did the same walking toward some seats. Sitting down and looking over at Denver, who kept his distance, but looked around at the crowd like a hawk.
I haven't looked at the casket. I couldn't. I refused ever since I walked into the room I tried to keep myself occupied. My eyes turned towards the pictures that played on the slide show and the frames that were placed around my room with pictures of my father with friends and family—alone. Of me and him, with Zayn, and... with my mother.
The photo of him and my mother captured my attention the most. They seemed happy, and I wondered if they had ever truly loved each other. Did they before this mess—or did they love the thrill, the lies, the games, and the accusations together? Did they love all the bad that came with their relationship?
They've had to love each other at one point right? Love isn't always messy like mine was. Love is real right? Did they ever stop loving each other— did my mother ever truly love my father or was she in it for the long run? For the money and power.
I wouldn't doubt it.
My heart shattered for a moment, my eyes closing momentarily, thinking about how he felt in his last few moments. I hope he's somewhere safe now, in heaven... if that place is even real. I hope he wasn't suffering, or scared in his last moments. I hope he's finally at peace happy. A part of me wondered who killed him, if it was Gwen's dirty work, or if she got someone to do it for her again.
I've never told him goodbye. I never spent enough time with him. I never loved him like I was supposed to, and now he's dead. He will never meet his granddaughter. All because of my selfishness. Finally, my eyes landed on the casket. Of course, just like I predicted, it was closed.
I'm not sure if that made me feel better or worse. I'll never truly get to see him one last time. I'll just say goodbye to a closed casket. A casket with a person who meant so much to me at one point in my life. How do I even say goodbye? They're always so difficult.
I blew out a breath as a pang of sorrow pierced through me. With a heavy heart, I exhaled slowly, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and regret that consumed me. At that moment, I knew I had to find a way to make amends, with myself. I couldn't always live in regret. I decided to leave—I decided to never say goodbye. It was my decision that I never spent time with someone I should've loved.
He was my father.
As my eyes shifted towards the casket, slow breaths left my lips. God. I need a fucking cigarette. It was too long. Usually, I don't smoke as much but sometimes I just need one like right now. The casket gleamed with a polished jet-blacked gloss, its surface reflecting the somber light of the room with striking elegance. Each corner was adorned with gold stripes.
Atop the casket, a variety of vibrant flowers spilt nicely, a stark contrast against the darkness beneath. Delicate white roses, so beautiful but their petals held almost like a deep crimson, mingled with velvety black, they looked so alive—but so depressed and dead, knowing their purpose today.
Behind the casket were large windows that displayed trees and a look-alike of a forest. I sucked in another deep breath glancing at the people who stood outside, watching as they talked; some even smoked, which I was jealous of. Some kids ran around; I don't know who they were, not that I cared.
Nobody really cares about funerals unless you are deeply connected to the person. They don't feel any sadness or pityness—they just come for the talk and so they don't hurt their image by not attending. Especially when it's such a tragic death like my father. I witnessed it at my mother's funeral and here I am, watching the same at my father's.
Standing up, I take a stroll around the room— away from the crowd. I needed to be alone right now but the farthest I could go was the back of the room, next to the door that stays ajar, reaching into my purse to pull out the small box of cigarettes. I stared at it for a few minutes knowing it was full, maybe a few missing—I haven't smoked in months. I try not to do it because of my daughter. Only happens when my mind takes over my body.
But right now I needed a cigarette. I needed the smoke to let my emotions out—I needed to feel calm and in control. I was leaning against the wall, staring at the casket from afar, denying my emotions. I placed the cigarette between my pink glossy lips and inhaled sharply. The sensation is oddly comforting, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times.
As the smoke swirls around me, I exhale slowly, watching as it dissipates into the air like wisps of memories fading into the past. Each drag brings with it a flood of sensations, mingling with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Lost in the haze of smoke and contemplation, I find myself transported back to moments long gone, to a time when cigarettes were more than just a habit—they were a refuge, a temporary escape from the chaos of life.
I felt lost till I heard a deep, gruff voice breakthrough, "Light me up, angel." My entire body freezes up, and the very air in my lungs seems to evaporate, leaving me breathless. Goosebumps prickle along my skin, a silent testament to the sudden chill that grips me. I found myself lost, if worse, pulling away from my cigarette and coughing violently, into the air. I silently prayed that the presence looming before me would simply vanish into thin air, or that the ground would swallow me and bring me into a dark lonely hole.
The man softly laughs, "Are you okay?" I stand rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the weight of their presence, as the realization dawns upon me. I take a tiny turn and cast a quick peek his way as he turns to face the coffin. My face feels red, I feel every single nerve in my body hit me like a thousand bolts. "Juliet," he whispered, my name sounding so familiar wrapped out their tongue but yet so foreign.
He glinted mischievousness in his sparkly eyes, accompanied by an emotion I couldn't understand no matter how long I stared into the depths of his known eyes. His slightly longer hair framed his face, and his cheeks tinted with a light crimson. Towering over me, his commanding figure which was trapped underneath the fitted black suit. Even covered in all those fabric layers my eyes defined all his muscles that I no longer recognize.
"Hi," he murmured when he noticed my staring and I swallowed a dry lump, turning away from him—-my heart beating harder against my chest, my own ears started ringing to the point I couldn't hear a single thing, thoughts, and emotions sinking into me like a sinking hole. I sucked in breath, as I began to slowly panic—the room closing in on me, my breath feeling stuck.
I placed the back of my palm on my mouth— and swallowed roughly, tears welcoming my eyes by how much I coughed.
"Seems like deja vu right." I sucked in a breath, and I felt like that's all I was doing. I couldn't breathe—I couldn't think. His voice sent chills all over my body. A sudden coldness swallowed me whole. God. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. "You're not going to talk—-"
What the hell do I even say? How do I even excuse myself without making it awkward?
Before either of us could say something, a high pitched scream welcomed my ears and my head snapped towards the door, looking at a very distraught Denver come in. I panic— breathing harder, watching as he tries to find me. Does God hate me today? What the fuck did I do?
In the bliss of all this, the cigarette fell to the ground—and the man beside me blew out a sharp breath, the hardness of his foot stepping on it. "Jesus Juli, I didn't mean to scare you." Denver's eyes found mine and he nodded and walked towards me.
Fuck—Fuck. Fuck.
Every thought left my head when I noticed my daughter, her face turning slightly red due to the cries, tears streaming down her adorable face. "I've tried everything—I don't know what's wrong, I'm sorry." He rambles and quickly I grab her from his arms.
"Sunlea baby, hey—hey what's wrong?" I murmured, kissing her cheeks, and placing a hand behind her head while I tried to rock her gently in my arms. She breaks into a deeper cry and I turn away.
Feeling overwhelmed, I glanced down at Sunlea, desperate to find out what was troubling her. It hurt me when she cried. I felt so guilty because I never knew what it was. Being a first time mom is hard, even if I am a doctor and know what to do it's hard and scary, I feel like I'm always failing her. I feel like I'll never be the perfect mom for her.
"Are you hungry?" I asked, swiftly reaching for the bottle from Denver's hand and attempting to feed her. However, she recoiled, pushing her head away, tears streaming down her pink cheeks.
I bit my inner cheeks, a surge of embarrassment washing over me as I struggled with the realization that I was failing to comfort my own daughter. The weight of judgmental stares bore down on me from all directions, poking me with my insecurity. I could sense people watching, silently scrutinizing my struggles as a mother, likely passing judgment. And perhaps they were right—I should know how to care for my child.
"Baby—" I whispered, lifting my gaze to look at Denver who stared back at me worried. And then my eyes shift to him his expression holding a sense of curiosity and confusion. The green of his eyes never once left the baby in my hands but when I stood still his eyes lifted to meet mine. A faint parting of his lips, like he was thinking of a thousand words he couldn't express.
"Yes?" He mumbled his voice holding confidence yet—-nervous. I froze and swallowed a hard lump in my throat. Does he seriously think I'm calling him baby? He must be going insane. Maybe lost a few brain cells this past fucking year. I rolled my eyes, settling my stare on him and sending a thousand daggers in his direction. "Not you." I spat angrily.
He just stared at me like he didn't have a single ounce of regret. It looked like he was enjoying every single second—-his eyes burning into my face, my lips, my eyes. It felt as though he was savoring my beauty, and in return, I found myself captivated by his. There was an effortless allure about him, a magnetic pull that drew me in when he looked at me. Those mesmerizing eyes, like pools of liquid gold, held a depth I couldn't resist diving into. His lips were full and inviting, his cleanly shaven face exuding an effortless charm. His scent stirred up a whirlwind of painful yet wanted memories, the ones I longed to remember. I couldn't help but try to remember every detail—how he smelled, how he spoke—and now, here we were.
Denver laughs and Sunlea's cries slowly die down as I try to comfort her—she probably just needs her mother. "And who even are you?" Denver asks. My eyes glance back up at the two men who stood in front of me. They both stared at each other like they were about to pull their guns out, count to three and shoot. It scared me a bit how both men could be so powerful and threatening. How both were my bodyguards at one point. They stared at each other like they were ready to start a war that I caused. I don't know how I did but I knew they glared at each other the way they were right now because of me. My eyes shift back and forth noticing how neither broke eye contact. They were so full of themselves. They were trying to prove something that made me angry.
I scoffed, the sound escaping my lips like a bitter pill I couldn't swallow. "Stop that, Harry," I managed to say, but the weight of his name on my tongue felt like shards of glass tearing through my heart. It was a name that once brought joy, but now twisted into something painful and unfamiliar. Saying it made me feel sick, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm me, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. How could someone I once loved so deeply still have this power over me after a year?
Immediately, Harry's eyes snapped toward mine, and a flicker of shock crossing his face caught him off guard.
Harry's lips part. "Seriously?" He stared at me angrily, like he was shocked I called him out. Harry's stare breaks from mine and moves over to Denver. His once evil stare turned into pure mockery. His lips tugged up to a smirk as if he was planning something malevolent. Harry was slightly taller than Denver, but that didn't stop Denver from glaring at Harry, with pure anger.
He stared at Harry like he knew this man personally, and Harry stared back at Denver with pleasure in his eyes and a tad of his personal evilness.
"I'm her husband so I recommend you choose your next words carefully." My jaw dropped and I looked between them. Husband? This man has to be on drugs. No way he said that. I glared at Harry, stopping myself from staring at his beauty, stopping myself from being memorized by him and only him. "You are not," I say immediately, correcting the words that left his lip and shaking my head, anger rolling into my body.
Denver's laughter echoed once more, its tone carrying a hint of intimidation as if he were mocking Harry. This only fueled Harry's anger, evident in the sharp set of his jaw and the way his stare never once broke away from Denver. Harry looked like he was ready to explore—and I knew his anger was never good. I needed to get away before this god got messy. "Ah, you're the ex-husband." He laughs again, crossing his arms over his shoulder. "Heard lots about you—" Denver looks over at me. " I wouldn't say I'm too pleased to meet you."
"Denver," I warn. Shaking my head and looked down at Sunlea who was finally drinking her milk— being fussy here and there. Denver looks at me and shrugs.
"È la verità Giulietta e non puoi impedirmi di farlo" he spoke in Italian and then it was Harry's turn to laugh—turning to look at me instead of giving Denver the satisfaction that he knew Italian and he knew exactly what he was saying.
"Juliet. We need to talk." Harry, says very sternly, his voice sharp. It send chills all over my body, creating goosebumps and my eyes fluttered shut, nerves erupting in me and making me feel a sudden sadness. I looked down at Sunlea—her big brown eyes staring right back at me, lips puckered as she drank from the bottle.
"I can't." I voiced out. His eyes landed on Sunlea like he was trying to understand. I could see the confusion in his hurt eyes like he was attempting to connect together the pieces of the broken puzzle. "Not right now." I swallowed harshly and looked at Denver again. "Let's go." I felt guilty. I felt so guilty for doing this to him but I couldn't help myself. I couldn't explain myself. Not when I had a thousand thoughts swarming in my head like aggressive waves hitting rocks.
I'm so stupid for even coming here I can't wait to hear Harry's objection to me not wanting to talk. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't feel like it. I decided to be selfish, right? Me keeping this secret was like him keeping his secret from me. I hate the feeling of being so scared. Walking away, I hear double the footsteps behind me. I stopped in my tracks turning harshly, eyes landing on Harry, who stared at me innocently.
He smiles softly, and my heart shatters as I point a finger at him. "Once again, not you," I say harshly, the green in his eyes softening even after I yelled at him, his eyes looking at me everywhere all at once. Like he was scared this would be the last he ever saw me. He's definitely insane. He thinks I look beautiful like this? I'm not the same woman he knew a year ago. I've changed physically. I've changed mentally. I am not the same Juliet. But Harry looked at me like I was beautiful, like I was gold or something crazy and I knew I was far from that.
I have become used to my body and who I am but that does not mean I find myself attractive again. My body is not the same—my looks, everything. I've changed ever since I had my baby girl. "Juliet." He calls my name again and I turn around. I felt so overwhelmed. I wanted to scream, I wanted to just run away again.
"Just leave her alone, man." I hear Denver say, my mouth going dry. As I walked faster trying to escape them. Harry's a ticking bomb, those words could easily set him off and I don't want to be there and watch him get violent with Denver. They were both two dangerous men with the same mentality.
The muscle along Harry's throat throbs for a moment, displaying his difficulty to control himself. It was hard for him to do but he reluctantly listened to Denver and I was beyond relieved for that. Today was enough already, any more and the items weighing on my plate were about to snap.
As Denver and I left, leaving Sunlea's father rooted to his spot, I couldn't help but notice that my baby happened to be in a better mood. With my eyebrows tugged together, I took my emotions with me as I abandoned the building.
I knew it. I knew that I couldn't ignore the burning sting of the slap that warned me that maybe this wasn't the end.
AUTHORS NOTE.
Hellooo i hope everyone is having an amazing march!! I hope you guys enjoyed!!
What do we think? How do we feel about Juliet hiding her pregnancy? Tell me your thoughts <3