In October last year, I met Julien Laurent again. My high-school crush.
I recall the days of stealing glances at him in the cafeteria. The days of slipping notes into his backpack or his locker. The days of taking secret photos of him—photos I'd quietly admire before going to bed.
Nobody ever knew about my crush on Julien Laurent. Nobody would have ever suspected. Not even my best friend, Ginny. And honestly, if I were in their shoes, I wouldn't have guessed either. To everyone, I was just the girl buried in textbooks, obsessed with grades.
Even though I was top of the class, I pushed myself harder, hoping to get scouted by university organizations for scholarships.
All they ever saw was a girl with her head in the books. But inside those books—tucked between notes and equations—were pictures of Julien. Pictures I stared at with quiet obsession.
I stared at his photos so often that I memorized every detail, even the number of moles on his face. Eleven in total. Seven on the left side, four on the right. One of them, so tiny it was almost invisible, sat just beside his ocean-blue eyes.
Glass. Glittering like sunlight on water. Intoxicating.
His eyes were his charm—the most beautiful orbs I'd ever seen.
And then, there was his smile. The way those dimples perked in. The way his lips moved with grace.
Julien Laurent Rowan is beautiful. So beautiful.
I crushed hard. So hard I couldn't even find the courage to tell him.
He read my letters—those anonymous confessions inked with trembling hands—a smile painting his perfect face as his eyes danced across each line. But he had no idea I was the one who wrote them.
I watched from across the hallway as he flipped through the pages, smiling sheepishly, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. His friends nudged him, teasing, "What's so funny?"
And he replied, effortlessly cool, "This girl sent me a love letter. It's so beautiful."
Arrgh. My heart melted right then and there. That voice. That grin. That warmth in his tone. I almost—almost—gathered enough courage to walk up to him and say, "It was me."
But then—she came.
Her fingers slipped into his. Laced through like a perfect fit.
Madison. My stepsister.
She pressed a small kiss to his lips, casual, like she'd done it a hundred times. Then she rested her head on his shoulder like she belonged there.
Madison and Julien were the definition of flawless. They were hotkek. The school's ultimate "IT couple." A pairing straight out of a teen drama.
And the worst part? Julien had asked her out. He made the first move.
My heart sank—crushed under the weight of what could've been.
So there it was. The one reason I'd held back from confessing… obliterated.
Still, he folded my letter so gently, almost like it meant something, and tucked it between his textbook like it deserved to be kept.
That's when I saw them—a pile of them. A neat stack of all the letters I'd sent. He'd kept them. Every single one.
What did that mean?
Did he like me?
Or did he just think the letters were "beautiful," like he said?
I got my answer on the day I met him again.
Three years after graduation. October 4th, 2023.
At Madison's funeral.
I received a call three weeks ago that Madison had taken an overdose and passed away.
I was dumbfounded for hours. I couldn't believe it.
I had spoken to Madison just a few hours before. And sure, it had ended with me calling her cruel and evil—but still, I'd heard her voice. I'd argued with her. It felt impossible that someone could hang up a call, walk away, and then just… decide to die. And succeed.
My lips quivered as Aunt Harvey went on and on about how she found Madison's body—lying still on the floor of her apartment. Cold. Gone.
The funeral was held by her mother. My stepmother.
Vera never liked me. Scrap that—she despises me with every fibre of her being. She turned my own father against me so thoroughly that he hadn't even called me in his last days.
He hadn't picked up my calls, either.
I only found out about his death two weeks later—after he'd already been buried.
Vera had the nerve to get angry when she heard I visited his grave.
And now, here I was again.
In another graveyard. Mourning the death of my sister.
After taking turns to drop flowers on the mahogany wooden coffin, my eyes caught the silhouette of someone approaching.
A hand gripped my wrist—smooth, firm. My heart nearly burst from my chest.
I spun around. And there he was.
Julien.
This bastard had grown even more beautiful over the years.
A few months after graduation, he became the founder of the world's No. 4 jewelry company—Laurent & Co.
Now? It was No. 1.
Over the years, he'd climbed to the top two on the city's richest men list—vying for the number one spot with only a razor-thin gap.
A damn lucky motherfucker.
Wealth and good looks.
My gaze locked on his eyes—they'd grown even more glassy over the years. Like polished crystal. And as they bore into me, it felt like the sun was staring directly into my soul. So mesmerizing. So beautifully dangerous.
My goodness.
He was so beautiful. Skin like silk—flawless. His cupid's bow lips were pink and fresh, like he'd just bitten into a strawberry. His nose? Sculpted like it had been carved by divine hands.
He wore a black tuxedo. Tailored to perfection.
And his scent... oh God. Divine.
Heavenly.
A mix of strawberry sweetness and something warm and spicy—like cinnamon laced with temptation.
His jet-black hair was styled into a clean off-center parting, effortlessly classy. My gaze trailed to his neck—he wore a necklace, a single rose pendant catching the light. Both wrists adorned with bracelets that didn't make him look try-hard—no, they made him look like art.
God, I was staring for too long.
A hymn, soft and mournful, started in the background, led by the priest. I cleared my throat, forcing my brain to function.
"Hi," I managed. His scent swirled around me again. Distracting. And could he please stop staring at me like he missed me?
"Hey," he said, low and soft, giving me a once-over so smooth it made my knees buckle inside.
I wore a boring, fitted black dress that stopped just above my knee, with long sleeves. Nothing special. Surely, I was hallucinating—he couldn't possibly be gawking at me.
"How are you?"
"I'm fine. You?"
He didn't answer.
He just kept staring. Hard.
Not imagining it. Not this time.
His hand moved, slipping down to my fingers.
He laced them together.
My breath caught. The sensation of his skin—rough in the right places—and the cold bite of his knuckle rings against mine.
"You look great, Pen."
"Thanks," I managed, barely above a whisper.
Can he just leave?
"Uhm," he glanced over his shoulder, then back at me, that glint still in his eyes. "Can we talk?"
"About what?" I spat—maybe a bit too sharply.
"You know… life." His tone was gentle. "I want to know how life's been treating you."
Well…
"We should meet in my car," he said smoothly, as if he'd already decided for both of us. "I parked it right outside the venue. It's black. An SUV. Plate number starts with 34. Just knock on the window. I'll be waiting, okay?"
And then, just like that, he slipped away.
I didn't even get the chance to decline. Or accept.
But truthfully, I already knew what I was going to do.
Why would I ever say no to a man who looked like a fallen god dipped in charm and mystery?
The priest had concluded with a closing prayer thirty minutes ago, yet I still sat on the chair, thinking hard. The crowd had long since dispersed.
Only Vera remained, quietly cleaning up after the guests.
Under any other circumstance, my presence would've disturbed her. She would've questioned it—maybe even thrown a glare or a few sharp words my way. But her daughter's death had reshaped her into someone else entirely.
Now, she treated me like I didn't even exist.
My thoughts drifted.
Julien was waiting for me. Or maybe he wasn't.
It had been over thirty minutes since we were supposed to meet in his car. He'd probably left. Or changed his mind. Or maybe he never meant it to begin with.
It was strange—the way he approached me at the funeral of his ex.
Sure, I'd heard they broke up on prom night, but still… this? It was a red flag dressed in a tux.
He had never even spared me a second glance before. So why now? Why here—of all places?
I lingered for another thirty minutes, aimlessly swiping through my phone, pretending not to care while every second stretched like static in my chest.
Eventually, I got up and began to leave.
As I stepped onto the walkway, something caught my eye.
A black SUV.
Polished and gleaming beneath the afternoon sun.
No way...
It couldn't be him. Right?