Fueled by this sudden burst of inspiration, I rushed back to Julian’s bedroom, eager to share my brilliant plan with him.
But when I opened the door, I stopped in my tracks.
Julian lay curled up on the enormous bed, looking small and vulnerable, like a dog waiting for its owner to return. His face, usually so composed and confident, was etched with quiet despair.
For the first time, I saw Julian not as the arrogant capitalist who treated people as pawns, but as a man deeply in love—and deeply hurt.
My excitement evaporated, replaced by an unsettling mix of pity and guilt.
Julian Grey, the man who seemed to have everything, was still clinging to the memory of someone who had left him long ago.
I quietly backed out of the room, closing the door behind me. As I stood in the hallway, my resolve wavered. Could I really go through with my plan, knowing how much pain he was in?
A part of me wanted to abandon the idea altogether. But another part— the practical, stubborn part—reminded me that Julian had everything. Love or no love, he still had power, wealth, and influence. Why should he get to keep all of that while I struggled to make ends meet?
Why should he have something I didn’t?