He Was Too Soft to Hurt Anyone Until They Took Me Away Chapter 11

He Was Too Soft to Hurt Anyone Until They Took Me Away Chapter 11

Late that night.

The door to Chloe’s room opened without a sound.

Julian stepped inside and crouched beside the bed.

His fingers found the unfamiliar contours of her new face and traced them slowly.

The conversation with Liam had been staged. Every word planted where she’d hear it.

He’d suspected from the moment she walked in.

He’d dug into Tessa’s background. Every record. Every trail.

Nothing. The identity was airtight.

So he cooked for her.

He watched her through the entire meal in silence.

It made no sense. But his gut knew. Deep down, he just knew.

But if she was his Chloe, why wouldn’t she tell him?

Why was she hiding?

He couldn’t make sense of it.

So he set another trap. He let Stella’s name slip where Chloe could hear it.

She panicked. Threw on a mask and ran straight to warn her best friend.

That was the last piece. Every doubt vanished.

This was Chloe. His Chloe.

He’d caught her sneaking back in. Watched her rearrange the shoes. And still, she wouldn’t tell him

the truth.

Why?

Julian slipped under the covers and lay down beside her.

He drew her against him, carefully, afraid she might break.

His breath shook. He pressed his lips to her brow, the bridge of her nose, the curve of her cheek.

Each kiss was trembling with a desperate restraint.

He stopped at her mouth. Hovered there, breathing her in.

In her sleep, Chloe shifted, lips parting on a breath.

He kissed her. Deep, desperate, swallowing the sound she almost made.

Seven years of nothing, and here she was. Warm and real and breathing under his hands.

Seven years.

Why did it take her seven years to come back?

In the first year after she died.

He destroyed Nathan. And then their parents.

He sat by her urn and thought about how unfair it all was. His Chloe had been wronged in every

possible way.

She’d been so good to him at the end. She’d even agreed to apologize. He should have given her

everything.

In the second year.

The last thing she ever said to him was “I hate you.” He played that voice message until the audio

distorted and the words lost all meaning.

But she stopped appearing in his dreams.

Was she still angry with him? Even in death?

By the fourth year.

His empire grew. His mercy became nonexistent.

The money, the power, the ruthlessness she’d once begged him to show. He had it all now.

Would that make her happy?

But Chloe only came back in the seventh year.

By the seventh year, there was too much blood on his hands to wash off. He barely recognized

himself.

He’d been curled up beside her urn the night she came back, and the only thought left in his head

was this:

It didn’t matter anymore whether she was angry.

He regretted only one thing.

He should have killed every last person who got in their way.

And then kept Chloe locked away in his arms and never let go. Not for a single second.

Not in this life. Not in any life after this.

A broken, twisted laugh slipped out.

His fingers closed around her wrist.

She was back. And he would never, ever let her go again.

There was only one thing he couldn’t understand.

He was stronger than before. More powerful. He’d become exactly what she’d asked him to be.

So why was she still hiding from him?

She wouldn’t even let him wash her feet like he used to.

He couldn’t figure it out.