- 8.
As I treated my wounds, the full extent of
Julian’s rampage became clear. The exclusive
club, notorious for its extravagant spending,
was shut down overnight. The friend who’d
brought Savannah to the party was
hospitalized, barely escaping with his life.
Savannah had vanished.
Manhattan’s elite was buzzing, the whispers
reaching even the gossip columns. Everyone
rallied around me.
I patiently answered texts and calls
expressing sympathy.
Except for Julian’s.
I received a flurry of calls from Julian’s
168
friends, their voices trembling as they
recounted the events of the night.
His closest friend was distraught. “Mrs. T–to-
be, it was my fault. I should have kicked that
girl out the second she arrived. I went soft
because she’d saved Julian’s life once. He
was really asleep; he had no idea about the
kiss. I just went to the restroom for a minute.
If you hadn’t come, he would have gone
completely ballistic.”
I opened the curtains and saw a lean figure
standing outside the gates. I called Julian.
I knew he’d been waiting there. He wouldn’t
dare approach, afraid of pushing me further
away.
He answered immediately, his breathing tight
and shallow.
“Julian,” I asked, “are you hurting?”
His voice was rough. “Yeah.”
He was hurting everywhere. Physically,
emotionally.
“I’m getting so many messages,” I said. “It’s
overwhelming.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Get some rest.”
After that call, not only did the calls from
Julian’s circle stop, but all other inquiries
ceased.
The world was finally quiet.
<
