Elliot complies without a word, letting me guide the shirt over his head like he’s a child. I spent hours breaking down his walls during the Hunt, but this—this is something else entirely. This isn’t freeing a man from the expectant confines of an overbearing harpy; it’s utter devastation. Betrayal at the hands of someone who is supposed to love him unconditionally, and there’s no way in hell I am going to let it go unanswered. I help him step into the sweatpants, which fit perfectly.
“Better?” I ask.
He nods, his fingers running absently over the soft fabric. “Thank you.”
In the kitchen, I pour each of us a glass of cabernet. We settle on the couch; his body curled toward mine, but not quite touching. We co-exist quietly through the rest of the day and into evening. It took some convincing, but I finally convinced him to eat by having my driver pick up chinese food for us around four o'clock.
“What happens now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
I take a careful sip of wine before answering. “First, we make sure the insurance pays out. Then, we rebuild. Her actions won’t go unpunished, Elliot.”
“She’ll fight it. She’ll say I was conductingimmoral activitieson the premises.”
“Let her try.” I set my glass down. “This isn’t my first time dealing with insurance companies. Or vindictive people.”
His eyes meet mine, searching. “Why are you helping me?”
I consider deflecting with a joke or reminder of our arrangement, but something in his broken expression demands honesty. “Because no one deserves what she did to you. What she’s been doing to you your entire life.”
He nods and continues to drink. Within minutes, he’s dozing, and I carefully remove the half-full glass from his fingers, draping a blanket over him.
While he’s asleep, I make calls, first to Victor, who handles my legal matters.
“I need everything you have on insurance fraud and arson investigations,” I tell him, keeping my voice low. “And I need eyes on Margaret Chambers.”
Next, I call a contact who has connections at every insurance company worth mentioning.
“I need a favor,” I begin. “It’s about the Chambers Gallery.”
Elliot stirs, and I see the pain of reality crash back in on him, as he relives the day once again. He reaches for his wine, and as he finishes it, his eyes grow heavy. It’s early still. Only six o’clock in the evening, but the emotional toll of the day has drained him completely. His body sways with exhaustion, fighting to stay upright.
“Come on,” I say, taking the glass from his hand. “You need rest.”
He doesn’t protest as I help him stand, his body leaning into mine for support. I guide him down the hall to my bedroom.
Elliot stands at the edge of my bed. I pull back the covers and gesture for him to get in.
“Let’s get an early night,” I tell him, my voice gentler than I knew it could be. “Tomorrow will be... complicated.”
He nods mutely and slides between my sheets. I move to the other side, turning off the lamp before settling in beside him. For a moment, we lie there in the darkness, not touching, the only sound our breathing as it gradually synchronizes.
Then Elliot shifts, turning toward me. I feel his hesitation, the question in his movement. Without a word, I open my arm in invitation.
He curls against my chest, his body fitting against mine like it was designed to be there. I feel the dampness of silent tears soaking my skin, but he makes no sound. My arms tighten around him instinctively.
I press my lips to the top of his head, breathing in the scent of my shampoo in his hair. “I’ve got you,” I whisper.
The weight of him against me should feel uncomfortable. I don’t do this—this quiet intimacy without the promise of sex. Yet as his breathing gradually evens out, his body relaxing into sleep, I find myself sinking deeper into the mattress, tension I didn’t know I was carrying melting away.
There’s something profound in this moment—in being needed for comfort rather than pleasure, in being trusted when his world has shattered. I never expected to find peace in someone else’s vulnerability, yet here I am, holding Elliot like he’s something precious while his world falls apart.
29
ELLIOT
Ibolt upright in bed as reality crashes back—the gallery, my life’s work, reduced to ashes. My mother’s text. The hate in her eyes as she spat at me.
My body tenses, and Julian stirs beside me, then sits up, wrapping a strong arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his warmth. He eases me back to the pillows. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
