Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 77: The peace everyone needs with their love one’s

Chapter 77: The peace everyone needs with their love one’s

The door had barely been closed for ten minutes before Julie felt it again—the ache of absence.

It was ridiculous, really. Roman had only just stepped out, but his leaving had carved a hollow space in the room, in her chest, in the quiet hush of the pre-dawn hour.

She tried to sleep.

She really did.

But the cold had crept back in. Not just into the air—but into her bones. Into the place where fear used to live.

So when she heard the door creak softly open again, her lashes fluttered—and stayed open.

Roman stood there, backlit by the low hallway light. His suit jacket was gone, shirt sleeves rolled up.

There was something quieter about him now—his expression softer, his steps slower.

"I thought you left," she murmured.

"I did," he said, stepping in, "but I kept hearing your silence."

Julie’s lips parted slightly. The way he said it—it felt like poetry and protection all wrapped in one breath.

Roman walked to the side of the bed and without asking, without hesitation, slipped off his shoes and sat beside her again.

Julie shifted, making room.

"You don’t have to..." she began, but he was already pulling back the blanket and sliding in beside her.

"I know," he said. "But I want to."

She swallowed the lump in her throat as he curled around her from behind, his arm looping over her waist, drawing her close like a puzzle piece he’d been missing.

His breath warmed the curve of her neck.

His palm settled against her stomach, thumb stroking slowly, soothingly.

Julie let out a soft sigh.

For the first time in a long time... the bed didn’t feel too big.

Roman’s voice was low, nearly lost to the quiet. "Is this okay?"

Julie nodded.

"Yes."

She reached up and gently touched the hand that held her, twining her fingers with his.

"I didn’t know I needed this," she whispered.

Roman nuzzled closer. "I’ve been needing it for days."

They didn’t speak after that.

No more confessions. No more declarations.

Just silence. And warmth.

Sleep came easy this time—gentle and deep.

---

The next morning dawned slow and golden.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting buttery rays across the hardwood floor and the soft cream duvet.

Julie stirred first, her eyes fluttering open to the unfamiliar sensation of waking up safe.

Roman was still there.

One arm under her head. The other draped protectively around her. His breath slow. Rhythmic.

Julie didn’t move right away. She just... watched him.

His lashes were dark against his skin. His jaw had softened in sleep.

The lines of tension that usually etched his brow were gone.

He looked younger.

Human.

Breakable.

And hers.

She smiled to herself and leaned in, gently brushing her lips against his cheek.

Roman’s eyes blinked open at the touch, warm and unalarmed.

"You’re still here," Julie said, her voice sleepy.

He hummed. "Of course I am."

"Morning."

"Morning."

For a few seconds, they just looked at each other—no roles, no wars, no masks.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked breaking the beautiful morning silence between them.

Julie nodded. "I didn’t know I could anymore."

A small smile played on Roman’s lips.

"Come on," he murmured. "Let’s clean up before Grandma starts scolding us for showing up to breakfast like strays."

Julie chuckled under her breath. "She would."

---

Half an hour later, the scent of soap and peppermint clung to Julie’s skin.

She stood in front of the mirror, brushing her hair as Roman adjusted the cuffs of his freshly pressed shirt nearby.

He’d changed into a slate-gray polo and black slacks—simple, clean, deliberate.

The kind of effortless power he wore like a second skin.

Julie chose a soft cream blouse and linen trousers—comfortable, yet elegant.

Her hair, still slightly damp, framed her face neatly.

Roman caught her reflection watching him and raised a brow. "You ready?"

Julie gave a quiet nod.

And together, they walked downstairs.

---

The kitchen was already alive with warmth.

The clatter of pans. The murmur of voices.

The soft laughter of women who had known each other long enough to move in rhythm without needing words.

Lisa stood at the center of it all, sleeves rolled up, wielding a wooden spoon like a general in command.

Her slight gray hair was pinned back in a messy bun, and her eyes sparkled with the kind of purpose only early morning cooking could give.

She had woken long before dawn.

Because this—this breakfast—was for her children.

And when Lisa cooked for her family, she cooked with soul.

Rose chopped vegetables by the sink. Carla was pouring orange juice into a pitcher.

Elizabeth leaned into the oven, checking the banana bread while humming a hymn under her breath.

The table was already half-set. Sunshine streamed through the large kitchen windows, making everything glow.

"Look who finally decided to wake up," Lisa said, not even turning around.

Julie smiled. "Good morning, Grandma."

Lisa turned then, catching sight of them both in their fresh clothes.

Roman, perfectly pressed.

Julie, radiant and rested.

Lisa’s brow arched.

"At least you two had the sense to bathe," she said, waving her spoon at Roman.

"Though no man with sense keeps a girl from her breakfast just ’cause he’s long-winded in the dark."

Roman smirked. "I’ll take that as a good morning."

Lisa rolled her eyes but kissed his cheek on her way to the stove.

"Sit, both of you. Food’s nearly ready."

Julie sat beside Roman at the long wooden table, her eyes drifting over the warm colors of fresh eggs, steaming pancakes, golden syrup, and ripe strawberries in a glass bowl.

Carla set a plate in front of her. "Try the banana bread first. Grandma threatened to throw it at the wall if it wasn’t moist enough."

Julie laughed. "It smells like heaven."

Lisa glanced at Roman. "And you—don’t think you’re off the hook just because you shaved. You didn’t sleep at all yesterday, did you?"

Roman didn’t deny it—but Julie knew he had, at least beside her.

Lisa shook her head. "Keep burning yourself at both ends and you’ll take the rest of us down with you. You’re lucky I didn’t come in swinging a broom."

Julie chuckled softly as Roman picked up his fork, unbothered. "You’d need two."

Lisa narrowed her eyes and jabbed her spoon in the air. "Don’t tempt me."

---

The room vibrated with light and ease.

Julie reached for the honey jar—but then paused. The front door clicked open with a soft finality, followed by the sound of footsteps—measured, deliberate.

Heads turned.

Lisa straightened slightly, her brow arching.

Then—Azazel appeared in the doorway.

He was calm as ever, dressed in fitted black jeans and a gray hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows.

His dark curls were slightly disheveled, like he hadn’t slept much either.

His eyes scanned the room—then locked onto Lisa.

"Grandma," he said, voice low but sharp, "you left without saying a word."

Lisa blinked. "You’re up early."

"You’re lucky I am," he muttered, stepping into the room fully. "Why didn’t you take me with you?"

Lisa placed the last plate down. "You were out late again. And don’t act like you’d have helped me stir banana bread without arguing over the batter."

Azazel gave her a flat look, the kind that didn’t need words.

Then his eyes fell on Julie—who was sitting up a little straighter now, fingers hovering near her fork.

His voice softened. "Julie."

She gave a small smile. "Hi."

He walked over and stopped a few feet from the table. His shoulders were tense, but his expression sincere.

"I heard what happened," he said. "People were brutal. You didn’t deserve that."

Julie opened her mouth, surprised—but he kept going.

"I wouldn’t have even known if bro hadn’t called me. If it were up to me, I’d have found whoever started it and fed their devices to a virus. Something slow and painful."

Julie blinked.

Azazel grinned faintly. "That was a joke. Mostly."

Julie burst into laughter—genuine, full, and unexpected.

It surprised even her.

Azazel smirked. "See? Still got it."

Lisa smacked his arm as she passed by. "You and your cyber threats. Sit down and eat."

Azazel slid into the chair beside Julie, his tone quieter now.

"I’m glad you’re okay."

Julie’s smile lingered. "Thanks."

---

The morning settled into something sacred.

Sunlight warmed the tiled floor, casting soft amber stripes across the table.

The scent of cinnamon and brewed coffee drifted through the room like an old song.

Cutlery clinked gently. Butter melted into warm banana bread.

A bird chirped lazily outside, like even the sky had slowed down to listen.

Julie leaned back in her chair, the fork cradled in her fingers.

She wasn’t hungry anymore—not because the food wasn’t perfect, but because something deeper had settled inside her.

Peace.

Across the table, Lisa hummed a slow tune under her breath. Rose chuckled as she refilled mugs.

Elizabeth leaned over to join the melody, her voice an echo of old comfort.

Julie looked around—at Roman, at Azazel, at the women she didn’t grow up with but now called her own.

This wasn’t the life she’d planned.

It was better.

Roman nudged her plate. "You’ve barely touched your eggs."

She smiled faintly. "Too full. From... the peace, maybe."

Lisa raised a brow behind her cup. "Peace has calories now?"

Julie laughed softly, her cheeks warm.

Azazel leaned back, arms draped over the chair. His voice was lazy but certain.

"Let the whole world scream online. This kitchen? This is the only timeline that matters."

Julie turned to him—and laughed again.

A real laugh.

She pressed a hand to her chest, holding onto the moment like it might fly away.

Because for once, she wasn’t bracing for impact.

She wasn’t shrinking.

She was here.

And for now, the storm outside could wait.

But even as the light filtered in through the windows and filled the room with golden ease, somewhere beyond these walls, unseen ripples stirred.

Because peace never stays unchallenged.

And the world had not yet had its final say.