Chapter 5: Lovers in the Shadows

"Pretty strong," I praised him. He flashed me a crooked grin, looking proud of himself. "Guess I’ve still got it." I squatted on the floor, trying to figure out what to do with Tessa. Suddenly, a voice came from the bed, low and sinister: "Emily, I almost lost my dignity."

His voice was rough, but definitely Julian. I nearly dropped the bat.

The supposedly comatose Julian was now sitting on the edge of the bed, knees bent, glaring at me resentfully. His eyes were sharp, hair tousled—he looked more alive than ever.

"Emily, if I lose my dignity, you have to take responsibility." He pointed at me, all mock-accusation, like this was somehow my fault.

He buttoned up the shirt Tessa had undone, looking all prim and proper. He smoothed his collar, shooting me a look that said, "Don’t even think about laughing."

But I knew, deep down, he was never the type to care about that stuff. He just liked to put on a show. Just had a sharp tongue. A real rascal—classic Chicago rich kid.

I weighed the bat in my hand, wondering if I could knock him out with one swing. He seemed to read my mind and laughed. His laugh was bright, echoing off the high ceilings. For a moment, it felt like old times.

Then he jumped off the bed, snatched the bat from my hand, and pinched my cheeks twice. He grinned, dimples showing. I couldn’t help but laugh, too.

"Turnabout is fair play. You have no right to be mad." He waggled his eyebrows, looking way too pleased with himself. I rolled my eyes—this guy was impossible.

Before I could yell, Julian said, all self-righteous, "Protecting my dignity? Emily, that’ll cost extra." He held out his hand, palm up, like he was expecting a tip. I raised an eyebrow, palm up, asking for money.

Julian looked at my hand, then suddenly put his own on top, holding it tight. "With our relationship, talking about money is so tacky." He winked, squeezing my hand. His palm was warm, steady. For a second, I forgot to breathe.

Heh… "We don’t have a relationship," I shot back, but my voice caught in my throat.

Julian acted like he’d just been dumped, clutching his chest, stammering, looking as wronged as possible. He staggered back, hand on his heart. "You break my heart, Emily."

"I’ve given you everything, and you say we have no relationship? Emily, even though we broke up, my dignity was lost to you."

He wiped an imaginary tear, lips quivering. It was so dramatic, I almost laughed.

I stared at Julian. He was as wild and willful as ever, always carefree, living up to his Chicago elite status. He leaned back on the bed, arms behind his head, smirking at me. For a second, it was like nothing had changed.

Originally, Julian and I were parallel lines. We never should’ve crossed paths. But he’d offended too many people, and his mouth had no filter. Even though people feared his status, some just couldn’t stand him—so they beat him up when he was drunk. He’d always been a magnet for trouble. Some people envied his life, others wanted to take him down a peg.

I was a hardworking student. One night after work, I found Julian in an alley, his face swollen and nearly unrecognizable. He was slumped against a dumpster, blood trickling from his nose. I almost walked right past, but something made me stop.

The young master stared at his battered face in the mirror. Out of pride, he refused to leave my crappy apartment. He sulked on my futon, ice pack on his cheek, refusing to call his family for help.

I wanted to kick him out. But he paid so well. He flashed his platinum card, promising to cover rent, utilities—hell, even my student loans if I let him crash for a few days. With that card, I let him stay and nursed him back to health. I made soup, ran to Walgreens for ointment, even let him watch reality TV. He started to grow on me.

He probably never experienced anything like that before. He was amazed by my tiny apartment, by the way I could make ramen taste like a feast. Everything was new to him. He asked a million questions—about my classes, my job, my dreams. He was insatiably curious, like a kid seeing the world for the first time.

And since I believe the one who pays is king, for the sake of that platinum card, I treated him as well as possible. I kept things professional, but he made it hard. He was charming, funny, and—despite everything—genuine.

Then the pure-hearted young master said he was moved, and started chasing me relentlessly. He sent flowers to my work, texted me at all hours, even waited outside my building in the rain once. It was ridiculous—and kind of sweet.

It was surreal. I kept waiting for the punchline, but it never came.

The difference in our backgrounds was just too big. He was born into money, I was born into hustle. It felt like we were from different planets.

If I were still in high school, I’d have dreamed of a storybook romance. I used to doodle hearts around my crushes’ names in the margins of my notebooks. If I’d met Julian back then, I’d have written him love letters. But unfortunately, I’d already started working and seen too much of life’s harshness. I knew what family background meant.

By the time you’ve worked double shifts and counted pennies at the end of the month, fairytales lose their shine. I couldn’t be bothered with him. I tried to keep my distance, but he kept coming back.

But someone like Julian—the more you ignore him, the more persistent he gets. He sent me playlists, showed up with coffee, even learned to cook my favorite meals. He was relentless. I couldn’t resist, really couldn’t. Eventually, I let him in. I told myself I’d just see where things went.

In the end, I fell for him. I indulged in his tenderness and even fantasized about our future. I started to imagine what it would be like to wake up next to him every morning, to build a life together.

At first, when we got together, Julian treated me so well he wanted to announce it to the world. I stopped him. He was ready to post us on Instagram, to introduce me to his friends. I begged him to keep things private. I wasn’t ready for that kind of attention.

His name was too high-profile. Everyone in Chicago knew the Whitakers. Dating Julian meant being in the spotlight, and I wasn’t interested.

I just wanted a quiet life. I liked simple things—quiet nights, cheap pizza, walks by the lake. Fame wasn’t for me.

But good things don’t last. After three months, the cracks between us started to show. Little arguments became bigger ones. I started to feel the weight of our differences.

Julian always complained that I didn’t spend enough time with him, but I really didn’t have the time. I was working and studying to pay next year’s tuition and living expenses. I was juggling two jobs, night classes, and a mountain of student debt. My time was stretched thin.

I needed to survive. Survival came first, always. Love was a luxury. Only after that could I think about love.

I told him, "When I’m not exhausted, maybe I’ll have more to give."

But Julian never worried about money—our values were different from the start. He’d never had to budget, never had to choose between groceries and textbooks.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why I had to bend over backward for money. He didn’t get why I worked so hard for just a hundred bucks a day. He’d never worked a minimum-wage job, never counted change at the laundromat.

Didn’t get why I’d neglect him for such a small amount. He said, “Just a hundred dollars? Even three grand a month—I spend more than that on a meal.” He said it without malice, just genuine confusion. But it stung.

I knew he didn’t mean to insult me. He was just stating what he saw as a fact. Three grand wasn’t even one meal for him. But it could cover my expenses. Rent, groceries, tuition—three grand was a lifeline to me.

So he found my school and gave me grants under all sorts of excuses. The whole school knew I had a powerful backer. He pulled strings, made donations, all in my name. Suddenly, professors looked at me differently, and whispers followed me everywhere.

They gossiped behind my back, saying that if I wasn’t being kept, how else could I get a national scholarship? I heard the rumors in the bathroom, saw the looks in the hallway. It hurt more than I wanted to admit.