Morning sun crept across the floor of our bedroom with a gentle persistence that felt entirely at odds with the explosive energy of the premiere. I remained still, watching the dust motes dance in the light. For the first time in years, there was no script sitting on my nightstand. There was no schedule typed out by an assistant, no call time to hit, and no publicist checking my social media mentions. The silence of the estate was a heavy, luxurious blanket.
Julian was already awake. I felt the bed shift as he propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze fixed on me with a quiet intensity. He looked younger in the morning light, his sharp features softened by the ease of our victory. The lethal Chairman of the Caldwell Group had been replaced by a man who seemed content to simply breathe in the same space as me.
