Chapter 6

Chloe's POV

Outside the venue, it was an absolute riot.

The winner's camp was screaming in celebration, the losing side was smashing gear, reporters swarmed the gates, and security guards shouted their lungs out trying to hold the barricades.

Nobody gave a damn where the player who threw down his stick had disappeared to. Or rather, everyone already knew where he ran off to.

As I exited the complex, I spotted Julian.

I couldn't stop myself from walking a little closer.

Julian had pulled Tara into a secluded corner at the end of the breezeway, leaning down to comfort her.

He smoothed back her windblown hair, leaned down to straighten the hem of her skirt, and murmured soft reassurances, asking if she was frightened. His hands stayed glued to her shoulders the entire time, terrified she might slip, his voice dripping with tenderness.

I stood behind a concrete pillar a short distance away, watching him coddle her for ages. I watched him delicately dab the corner of her lips with a napkin, and I watched him slip off his designer coat to wrap it around her shoulders.

He had never once shown that kind of gentleness to me.

Suddenly, a bloodshot-eyed lunatic broke through the crowd, swinging an empty liquor bottle while screaming incoherent curses, charging straight for Tara.

"Look out!" someone shrieked.

Julian lunged forward instantly, dragging Tara hard against his chest and using his broad back as a human shield against the glass bottle.

“Smash!” The bottle detonated across his shoulder blade, sending razor-sharp shards spraying everywhere.

I was standing barely two feet away.

A jagged fragment of glass sliced clean across my forearm. A flash of coldness hit me first, followed immediately by searing pain.

Blood welled up and ran down my wrist, staining my white cuff a sickening red.

When Julian shoved himself up, his very first reaction was checking on Tara in his arms, frantically asking over and over if she was hurt, his hands trembling harder than hers.

He checked every inch of her arms and her face, letting out a ragged sigh of relief only after confirming not a single strand of her hair was touched. He never spared a single glance toward the side.

I stood literally one step away from him, watching my blood drip onto the concrete.

Those violently shaking hands were trembling for someone else.

Later on, I found out the attacker was a sports gambler who had bet his entire life savings on Julian taking the title, losing every dime he owned in an instant.

Someone eventually helped me into an ambulance and to the ER.

Julian rushed over once, glancing down at my wound. Treating it as nothing more than bad luck, he frowned, immediately pulling strings for the top specialist and checking me into the most expensive private suite.

He sat by the edge of my bed and asked, "Does it hurt?" Before I could even open my mouth, his phone buzzed.

He glanced down at the screen. It was a message from Tara. The second he read it, his face shifted. He stood up, throwing out, "Something happened on her end, I'll be right back," before marching toward the door.

"Julian," I called out.

He stopped at the doorway, glancing back. "What is it?"

I looked at him.

My arm was wrapped thick in sterile gauze, throbbing with intense pain.

What I wanted to say was: “Can you stay by my side for just a minute? I'm the one who actually bled tonight.”

Looking at the raw panic in his eyes, I swallowed every single word back down.

Even if I begged, he might stay for a second, but he'd still take off right after, leaving behind some outrageously expensive perks to compensate for it.

I didn't want any more of his transactional pity.

"Never mind," I said quietly.

He nodded, pulled the door shut, and vanished.

I leaned back against the hospital pillows, staring at the closed door, and never called his name again.

He never came back.

The next afternoon, Lucas dropped by the room carrying a basket of fruit.

He pulled up a chair, hesitated for a long time, and finally found his voice: "Chloe, there are things I should've told you a long time ago."

I stayed silent, waiting.

"Over the years, Julian did so many insane, humiliating things for Tara," Lucas murmured, his voice dropping lower with every word.

"Back when he first started on the pro circuit, someone made a dirty joke about Tara at an afterparty. Julian beat the guy half to death and ended up in the hospital for two weeks."

"Whenever she texted him in the middle of the night saying she missed him, he'd drop every major sponsor meeting, catch the earliest redeye flight across the country, just to grab lunch with her."

Lucas stopped, looking pained.

"He never did a single thing like that for you."

I listened quietly, the gash on my forearm still pulsing with pain.

"You're the one taking the hits," Lucas muttered softly, "yet she's the only one he sees. Chloe, wake the hell up."

I stared out the window into the gray sky, silent for a long time.

In the past, I blamed myself for his coldness: Maybe I'm not good enough, maybe I'm too pushy, maybe I'm picking the wrong moments.

Every crazy thing Lucas just listed sounded wildly desperate, and not one of them had ever been offered to me.

He knew how to treat someone like royalty—he could blow prize money, shatter his own body, and waste sleepless nights for love. I just never qualified for a single piece of it.

I reached out and pulled the blinds shut, plunging the hospital room into twilight. I didn't turn on the lights.

The wound on my arm still stung like hell, but the faint spark of warmth I had kept alive for him over the years was officially snuffed out for good.