Part 22 ( Juliet )

The gala is over. The guests are gone. The crystal chandeliers still cast their golden glow over the ballroom, but the magic has long since faded. What remains is the hushed murmur of the cleanup crew, the clinking of empty champagne flutes being collected, and the remnants of a night that should have felt like a victory.

I stand near the bar, fingers still curled loosely around the stem of my untouched drink. The glass is cool against my skin, but the ice has melted, leaving the liquor inside diluted and weak.

Much like the feeling in my chest.

Ellie is gone.

Figure it out before it's too late. I meant what I said. I'm done chasing.

I exhale slowly, setting my glass down with deliberate care. My nails tap against the marble surface, the only sign of the irritation curling beneath my skin.

I shouldn't care where she went. I shouldn't care that she ran.

Unfortunately, I know exactly where she went.

Bella.

It's obvious. Predictable.

My lips curl, the taste of bitterness sharp against my tongue. I roll my shoulders back, exhaling sharply, trying to shake off the tension curling around my ribs.

It's fine. It's better this way.

That's what I tell myself.

I reach for my phone before I can think better of it, my fingers moving on instinct, scrolling through my contacts.

I press call.

The line rings once. Twice.

Then a familiar voice, smooth, amused, answers.

"Juliet Baldwin," they drawl. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I exhale slowly, my grip tightening on the phone.

"I need a distraction."

A pause. Then a chuckle.

"Ah. I see."

Another beat of silence, heavy and charged.

"Tell me when and where."

I glance around the empty ballroom, the weight of the night settling heavy on my shoulders.

-

The drive to the apartment is quiet.

Not in the way the city ever truly is, New York never sleeps, never rests, never stops.

The apartment isn't my usual place. It's not the penthouse with the pristine view, the one where every surface is expensive, curated to fit the image I've built for myself. This one is different. Tucked away in an older building just outside the heart of the city, far enough that it doesn't feel like her. Like the world I've spent years trying to rule.

I don't use it often.

But tonight, I need the distance.

I park, cutting the engine, and step out into the night air. It's cold, crisp against my skin, but it's a welcome contrast to the warmth still clinging to my chest from the scotch, from the weight of everything I don't want to think about.

The elevator ride up is slow, the kind of old machinery that hums and clanks, like it has a mind of its own. The hallway is dimly lit, familiar in a way that makes my shoulders ease slightly. I unlock the door, stepping inside, flicking the lights on with a casual push of my fingers.

The space is smaller than what I'm used to, but it's comfortable. A deep gray couch, a few scattered books on the coffee table, the faint scent of old paint clinging to the walls. There's art here, pieces that aren't just for display, ones that mean something, ones I picked out when I first moved to the city, before everything became about strategy, power.

I drop my bag onto the chair, shrugging off my coat.

I wait.

But It doesn't take long.

A knock on the door.

I push off the couch, my steps unhurried as I make my way over. I don't have to check. I already know who it is.

I unlock the door and pull it open.

Elizabeth stands there, dark eyes warm, lips curled into a familiar smirk.

"Elizabeth."

"Jules."

There's no hesitation.

We hug. It's easy, natural, the kind of embrace that doesn't need to be thought about. The kind that comes with years of knowing someone, of trusting them.

Elizabeth pulls back, grinning. "It's good to see you."

"You too," I murmur, stepping aside to let her in.

She walks in like she belongs here, because in a way, she does.

Elizabeth was the first friend I made when I moved to New York. Back when I was still figuring out who the hell I was outside of my last name, outside of the weight of expectations that had been placed on my shoulders since the moment I could walk.

She's one of the few people who knows me. Not just the CEO, not just the Baldwin heiress, me.

And I trust her.

She drops her bag onto the coffee table, plopping onto the couch like it's hers.

"Long night?" she asks, raising a brow.

I let out a short breath, sinking into the seat beside her. "Something like that."

Elizabeth hums, studying me for a second before she leans forward, reaching into her bag.

Then she pulls it out.

The pre-rolled joints, tucked into a sleek little case, along with a lighter.

I exhale, my lips twitching slightly. "You always come prepared."

She winks. "It's a gift."

She passes me one, flicking the lighter, the flame catching easily. I take a slow inhale, the smoke filling my lungs, warm and familiar.

We pass it back and forth, the silence stretching, easy and unhurried.

Then Elizabeth exhales, tipping her head back against the couch.

"So," she says, voice lazy, "how badly did you fuck up?"

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. "Not in the way you think."

Elizabeth turns her head, raising a brow. "Oh?"

I sigh, rolling the joint between my fingers. "Ellie."

Elizabeth groans, throwing her head back. "Of course."

I smirk, nudging her leg with my foot. "Don't start."

She snorts. "I don't have to start. You started the moment you said her name."

I shake my head, taking another drag.

Juliet Baldwin Knows the Truth

Elizabeth watches me, her gaze softer now, something quieter settling in her expression. "So what happened?"

I lean my head back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the past few days pressing against my ribs. The words come out before I can stop them.

"Remember the first time we saw each other? Things escalated after that."

Elizabeth doesn't say anything, just waits.

"She kissed me first," I murmur, rolling the joint between my fingers. "Then again." I exhale, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air. "Then we had sex. On my desk."

Elizabeth's lips twitch, but she doesn't comment. Not yet.

"And then she left," I continue, voice even, but something in my chest feels anything but steady. "Went straight to Bella."

Elizabeth exhales, long and slow. "Ah."

I nod, flicking the ash into the tray. "She always does, doesn't she?" My lips curl, something sharp tugging at the edges. "Runs to safety."

Elizabeth hums, still watching me, her gaze unreadable. She doesn't agree, but she doesn't argue either.

"And you?" she asks after a moment. "What do you do?"

I glance at her, inhaling again, letting the smoke curl in my chest before I exhale.

"I don't chase," I say simply.

Elizabeth holds my gaze for a beat too long. Then she lets out a low chuckle, shaking her head as she leans back against the cushions.

"Bullshit."

I smirk, arching a brow. "Excuse me?"

Elizabeth gestures loosely. "You say you don't chase, but here we are talking about her."

I exhale sharply through my nose, passing the joint back to her. "She's the one who kissed me first."

Elizabeth shrugs. "Yeah. And now she's gone, and you're here, smoking with me, acting like you're not thinking about her."

I roll my eyes, tipping my head back against the couch. "I'm not."

Elizabeth snorts. "Jules, please." She takes a slow inhale, letting the smoke sit in her lungs before exhaling. "You think I don't know you by now? You only call me like this when it's about her."

My lips twitch, but I don't respond.

She grins. "I should start charging you."

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "Don't flatter yourself."

She smirks, tapping the ash off the end of the joint.

I shake my head, reaching for my drink instead. The ice has melted, but the liquor is still smooth as it slides down my throat, burning in a way that feels necessary.

Elizabeth watches me for a moment before sighing. "Look," she says, shifting to face me. "You can pretend all you want, but we both know you haven't let this go."

I set my glass down with a quiet clink. "I told her I was done."

Elizabeth lifts a brow. "Again, Jules sweetheart, you're still here. Talking about her. Thinking about her."

"I'm not thinking about her," I lie smoothly.

Elizabeth hums. "Sure."

I exhale slowly, tilting my head back against the cushions, letting the warmth of the weed settle into my bones. "Even if I was thinking about her," I say eventually, voice slow, careful, "it wouldn't change anything."

Elizabeth doesn't respond immediately. She just watches me, dark eyes sharp despite the haze of smoke between us.

"She always runs to safety," I murmur, more to myself than to her. "Every single time."

Elizabeth sighs, shaking her head. "And you run to me."

I frown, glancing at her. "What?"

She smirks, but there's something softer beneath it. "You say she runs, but so do you."

I scoff, reaching for the joint again. "That's not the same thing."

Elizabeth tilts her head. "Isn't it?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not running. I'm—"

She grins. "Escaping?"

I glare at her. "You're enjoying this way too much."

She laughs, kicking her legs up onto the coffee table. "Jules, you are so predictable."

I take another drag, exhaling slowly, letting the smoke curl between us. "I'm not predictable."

Elizabeth just smirks. "Oh, no, of course not." She gestures toward me. "You always call me after something happens with Ellie, right? That's not predictable at all."

I don't respond.

Elizabeth leans forward slightly, her gaze more knowing than I want to admit. "You're not as detached as you pretend to be."

I let the silence stretch, swirling my drink in my glass.

Then, quietly, "I don't do what ifs."

Elizabeth leans back, watching me, something unreadable flickering across her face. "You might have to start."

I scoff. "Not happening."

Elizabeth smirks, shaking her head. "God, you are so stubborn."

"I prefer relentless," I correct smoothly.

She grins. "You would."

I exhale slowly, rubbing a hand over my jaw, my pulse still too aware of itself.

The truth is, I don't like this conversation. I don't like the way Elizabeth looks at me like she knows me too well.

Because she does.

And she's right.

I don't chase.

But I haven't stopped looking, either.

Elizabeth passes me the joint, watching as I inhale slow, steady, my fingers steady but my mind anything but.

"Just admit it," she murmurs after a moment.

I raise a brow. "Admit what?"

Elizabeth tilts her head slightly, studying me like I'm one of her paintings, something with too many layers. "That you're not as done with her as you say you are."

I hold her gaze.

Then I smirk.

"I don't chase," I repeat, flicking ash into the tray.

Elizabeth hums, unconvinced. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Baldwin."

I shake my head, exhaling smoke toward the ceiling.

I tell myself she's wrong. I tell myself I don't care.

I huff a laugh, shaking my head.

I am thinking about her.

Of course I am.

Elizabeth doesn't push. She just takes another hit, then exhales, watching the smoke disappear into the air.

"Tell me something else," she says, stretching her legs out onto the coffee table.

I raise a brow. "What?"

She grins. "Something that has nothing to do with Ellie Crawford."

I smirk. "Why?"

"Because," she says, passing the joint back to me, "I refuse to let you spend the entire night brooding over your ex, as entertaining as it is."

I roll my eyes, but my lips twitch. "Fine."

I take a slow inhale, letting my head tilt back against the couch.

"Did you hear about the new exhibition at the Met?"

Elizabeth perks up instantly, and just like that, we're talking about anything and everything else.

Because that's the thing about Elizabeth. She knows when to push, when to pull back. When to let me spiral and when to pull me out of it.

And right now, I need a distraction.

So we sit there, passing the joint back and forth, talking about art, about the city, about things that don't matter but somehow do.

And for a little while, just for a little while,

I let myself forget.

-

I wake up and there is this dull, pounding ache behind my eyes.

I groan, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead, but it does nothing to ease the headache pulsing at my temples. My mouth is dry, my body heavy, and for the first time in years, I feel sluggish. Like my limbs belong to someone else.

Then my eyes flicker open, and the second thing I register is the time.

10:04 AM.

Fuck.

I bolt upright, my heart lurching against my ribs as I stare at the glowing numbers on my phone screen. My mind moves through the calculations at lightning speed, morning meetings, emails, the sheer impossibility of my schedule.

I'm late.

I'm never late.

Since the day I stepped into my mother's office, since the moment I became the CEO of Baldwin Lux, I've never missed a morning. Not once.

Until now.

The screen of my phone is littered with notifications, but my eyes go straight to the messages from Claire.

Claire: Juliet?

Claire: Are you okay?

Claire: You're not here.

Claire: You're NEVER late. Call me when you see this.

I drag a hand down my face, inhaling sharply.

I should have set an alarm. I always set an alarm. But last night, I was too busy getting high and talking about Ellie fucking Crawford, and now I'm scrambling.

I exhale sharply, typing out a quick reply.

Me: I'm fine. Forgot to set my alarm. Heading in now.

The read receipt pops up almost immediately, followed by the telltale dots of her typing.

Claire: Jesus. You had me thinking you were in a ditch somewhere.

Claire: Drive safe.

I let out a slow breath, tossing my phone onto the nightstand as I slide out of bed. My body protests, every muscle sluggish, my head still pounding, but I don't have time to care.

I strip out of yesterday's clothes, discarding them onto the floor, and step into the bathroom. The water is scalding when I turn the shower on, but I don't adjust it. I let the heat sink into my skin, washing away the remnants of last night, the smell of smoke, the weight of exhaustion I can't afford to carry.

By the time I step out, my mind is clearer.

I go through my routine quickly, brushing my teeth, skincare, tying my damp hair back. The steam curls against the mirror, obscuring my reflection.

I feel off.

Not because of the weed, not because of the hangover pressing behind my eyes, but because this morning feels wrong. Disjointed. Out of place in a life that is built on control, on discipline.

I exhale, pushing the feeling aside. I don't have time for this.

Moving with practiced efficiency, I step back into the bedroom and pull out a fresh suit from the closet. Black, understated power. The fabric is smooth beneath my fingertips, a familiar second skin.

By the time I button my cuffs and slide my watch onto my wrist, I feel like myself again.

Mostly.

I grab my phone and walk out into the living room.

Elizabeth is still on the couch, sprawled across the cushions in a mess of tangled limbs and messy hair. Her jacket is half off, one arm still stuck in the sleeve, and her shoes are kicked off in opposite directions.

I shake my head, amusement tugging at my lips despite my lingering headache.

Stepping closer, I nudge her shoulder. "Elizabeth."

She groans, rolling onto her stomach, her voice muffled against the pillow. "Too early."

I smirk. "It's ten."

She makes a noise of protest, waving a hand at me blindly. "Still too early."

I nudge her again, harder this time. "Get up."

She cracks one eye open, squinting at me. "Why do you look like you're about to go take over the world?"

I arch a brow. "Because I am."

She groans dramatically, rubbing her face before sitting up. "Jesus. You don't waste time, do you?"

I cross my arms. "I have a company to run."

Elizabeth smirks, stretching her arms above her head. "And I assume that means you're kicking me out?"

I roll my eyes. "You can stay as long as you want. Just don't burn my place down."

She grins. "Thank you, Jules."

I shake my head, amused. "I have to go."

She watches me for a second, her smirk softening into something more genuine. "Go be a boss, Baldwin."

I smirk. "I always am."

She snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Try not to brood too much while you're at it."

I roll my eyes, grabbing my coat and slipping it on. "Try not to get too comfortable."

She waves me off. "Have a fantastic day at work, CEO extraordinaire."

I pause at the door, glancing back at her. "Thanks."

Elizabeth salutes me lazily before flopping back onto the couch.

I shake my head, exhaling as I step out of the apartment, locking the door behind me.

As soon as I'm in my car, my mind shifts gears.

The delay is a problem. I'll have to rearrange my schedule, move meetings, make sure nothing falls apart because of my absence. Claire is capable, but I don't like leaving things up to chance.

The drive is fast, my fingers tapping against the steering wheel as I run through what needs to be done.

By the time I pull up to the Baldwin Lux headquarters, my headache is a distant ache, more focused.

I straighten my shoulders, adjust my cuffs, and step out of the car.

Late or not, I have work to do.

And Juliet Baldwin doesn't lose control twice.