Roman and Julienne's heart desire
Chapter 86: Truth Uncovered

Chapter 86: Truth Uncovered

Logan & Rachel – Truth Uncovered

"Have a seat. Let me bring you a cup of water," Logan said gently as he helped Rachel lower herself onto the couch.

She was trembling slightly, her shoulders tense, eyes dull with exhaustion and...something else.

Something that didn’t quite fit the Rachel he knew.

"Here. Drink it." Logan offered her the water, his voice smooth and calm, masking the storm behind his sharp eyes.

"Thank you," Rachel muttered, surprisingly meek. She gulped the water down in several greedy swallows.

Logan sat beside her, watching closely, his brows slightly drawn. He studied her as she drank—there was something off.

Not just her disheveled appearance but her behavior. Her sudden gratitude.

"How are you feeling now?" Logan asked as she placed the glass gently on the side table.

"I’m alright... Logan, thank you for helping me out of there," Rachel said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Logan forced a small smile. Did she just thank me?

He blinked slowly, masking his disbelief. Did she get slapped by an angel or something? He wondered.

Rachel, the arrogant daughter of power and pride, thanking someone sincerely? It was absurd.

Normally, Rachel would act like help was a service owed to her—either because she was wealthy or because people feared her family’s name.

Gratitude was not in her vocabulary. Acknowledgment? Even rarer.

"Did something... bad happen?" Logan asked cautiously, trying to sound casual.

He didn’t want her to suspect he was digging for information, but the curiosity burned too fiercely to ignore.

He needed to know—what exactly happened that could rattle Rachel into this temporary humility?

"What kind of question is that, Logan?" Rachel snapped, her voice instantly laced with that signature superiority.

Logan raised a brow. Ah, there she is.

He bit the inside of his cheek to suppress the smirk. Rachel always slipped eventually.

The sassy, spoilt demeanor always poked through no matter how shaken she seemed.

"I just want to know what happened," Logan said calmly, his voice edged with steel as he met her eyes directly.

He hated it when she spoke to him like he was her naughty child—especially when she had no moral ground to stand on.

"Whatever," Rachel huffed, rolling her eyes before leaning back against the cushions. "It’s that Roman Thompson I met..."

Logan’s focus sharpened instantly.

Rachel began talking, her words rushing out unfiltered. She told him everything that happened in the park.

Every word she’d exchanged with Roman. Including the part where she told Roman that Julie wasn’t a real Jenkins.

She didn’t even realize what she was doing.

Her mouth ran without restraint, pouring out secrets that not even Logan knew. Family secrets. Dangerous secrets.

"What?" Logan’s voice slipped out before he could stop himself. His expression turned hard as stone.

Rachel nodded, oblivious. She looked like she had more to say.

And Logan, well-trained in manipulation, knew the rule of silence—don’t interrupt someone when they’re talking too much.

Let the dam break. Let the confessions flood.

So he listened quietly.

As she spoke, Logan slowly shifted his hand toward his pocket, where his phone rested.

When Rachel turned around for a moment, he leaned in, but instead of recording or reacting, he smiled sweetly and sat back again.

She continued, oblivious.

Her crimes spilled from her lips like a twisted lullaby—how she had manipulated situations, hurt people, lied, twisted narratives.

"So Logan, you see... you don’t actually know the girl you’re pretending to date," a voice whispered inside him.

He watched Rachel as she confessed. Is she a psychopath? All that to someone you grew up with?

His expression remained unreadable, but his thoughts boiled dark and heavy.

"I hope you don’t think I’m a bad girl..." Rachel said softly, her voice vulnerable. She looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

She was in love with him—completely unaware that Logan was the worst person to trust with confessions like these.

"And now that Father’s facing problems with the company, I wonder if it’s also Roman’s doing..." she muttered, leaning into him like a kitten. "Can you help us?"

Her eyes glistened, and she blinked up at him. "Please?"

Logan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. "Of course. Why not?" he whispered against her hair.

"It’s okay... everything will be alright," he murmured, patting her back gently.

"Don’t worry."

He held her quietly, comforting her until her body went limp with exhaustion.

He whispered her name a few times, confirming she was asleep before he gently lifted her and placed her in bed.

He tucked the covers around her, his expression solemn.

As he stepped out of the room, the door clicked shut behind him.

Logan walked straight to the kitchen, filled a glass, and gulped it down in one go.

He exhaled sharply, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

"My, my..." he muttered. "So she’s actually behind everything that happened."

He stared at his phone screen, his eyes glowing with quiet rage.

"That sounds nice... Rachel," he said coldly. "I’m sure you’ll pay for everything you’ve done."

His voice darkened.

"And you, Lewis. Wait for me. But I will never help you people."

His lips curled into a grin. "The girl was so innocent... hmm... if only she was still with me... I would’ve loved to settle down with her. Forever."

His fingers trailed down the phone screen, and his smile sharpened.

"I will make you pay... all of you. Since everything started from here..." Logan whispered, then turned and walked away, leaving behind the warmth of Rachel’s fake vulnerability and stepping fully into the cold fire of vengeance.

Meanwhile, at Roman’s mansion...

Julie collapsed to her knees, panting heavily, sweat dripping down her face.

Her hands were bruised, wrapped in beginner gloves, and her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. Every inch of her body burned.

But Roman didn’t let her rest.

"Let’s continue," Roman said firmly, though his tone held something softer—encouragement layered beneath the command. "You have to bear with this, Julie."

"I—I need... a second," Julie gasped.

Roman stood tall before her, arms crossed over his bare chest.

His eyes, however, were unwavering—focused solely on her.

"If you give up now, what’s the point of fighting?"

Julie clenched her jaw and slowly stood up again. Her knees wobbled.

Roman took a step forward. "Balance first. Your center. You’re not made of glass, Julie."

"I’m not," she muttered.

He stepped closer and placed a hand on her back, adjusting her posture.

"You’re stronger than you think. Don’t shrink yourself."

Julie’s breath hitched. His touch was gentle but commanding, and the proximity sent warmth through her spine.

"Now," Roman stepped back. "Again. Come at me."

Julie steadied herself, exhaled, and threw another punch. It missed. But her stance was better.

"Better," Roman nodded.

They kept going. A few more punches, a few dodges.

Roman corrected her movements with small, guiding touches and murmured instructions.

Her strikes grew more confident—even if weak.

When she finally landed a hit against his palm, Roman’s smile widened.

"Good," he said. "Again."

"I’m going to feel this tomorrow," Julie muttered through gritted teeth, sweat dripping down her temple.

Roman’s expression softened for just a second. "That’s the point."

Julie took her stance again.

This time, she didn’t look like a helpless girl.

She looked like someone learning to survive.

Julie’s body screamed in protest with every movement, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

Roman was watching her—not just her posture or technique, but her resolve.

She threw another punch, her breathing uneven.

"That one lacked force," Roman said, catching her fist in his palm. "You’re hesitating again."

Julie tried to pull back, but his grip held firm. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

"Why are you holding back?"

Julie looked up at him, her chest rising and falling. "Because you’re not the enemy."

Roman’s eyes flickered. There it was—her heart, laid bare between sweat and effort.

He slowly let go of her hand.

"I won’t break, Julie," he said, his voice softer now. "You won’t hurt me. But you need to learn to fight like you mean it. Not just against your fear, but against the people who want to see you fall."

Julie swallowed thickly. "I’m tired."

"I know," Roman said. "But tired doesn’t mean weak. One last round. Then I’ll carry you to the bathtub myself."

Julie snorted despite herself, wiping her forehead with her wrist.

"Fine."

This time, she didn’t hesitate. She ran at him with a full punch, followed by a clumsy kick that Roman dodged.

She stumbled forward and would have hit the mat hard—except Roman caught her by the waist.

"You’re supposed to land on your feet," he whispered near her ear.

Julie didn’t respond. She was panting again, and this time she didn’t get back up. Her body sagged in his arms, drained completely.

"I’m done," she breathed.

Roman held her gently, his arms tightening around her.

"Alright," he murmured. "You did well."

Without waiting for her to argue, he lifted her into his arms.

She didn’t protest this time. Her head rested against his shoulder, eyes half-closed.

Her voice was a murmur against his collarbone. "You’re not going to say ’I told you so,’ are you?"

Roman smirked. "No. But I’m thinking it very loudly."

She groaned, curling closer into his chest.

He walked out of the training space and into the hallway, the early morning light casting a soft hue across the walls.

The house was quiet except for the soft sound of his steps.

Julie’s fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt.

"Roman," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"Why are you doing all this... for me?"

He paused in the hallway. The question hung in the air like a held breath.

Roman looked down at her, his expression unreadable for a moment.

"Because," he said finally, "no one ever taught you how to protect yourself.

They just expected you to endure. I’m not one of them."

Julie’s eyes burned.

And he didn’t look away.

Later that night, after a long bath and some rest, Julie sat curled on the couch wrapped in a warm blanket.

Her muscles ached, but her heart felt strangely light.

Roman entered with a tray—hot chocolate and a bowl of fruits.

"For the warrior," he said, placing the tray on the table.

Julie raised a brow. "Hot chocolate after torture?"

He chuckled, settling beside her. "Recovery is part of training."

She smiled softly, sipping it. The warmth spread through her body.

Then she looked up at him.

"You didn’t have to train me, you know."

Roman turned to her, meeting her gaze with quiet seriousness. "I did. Not because you’re weak. But because one day, someone might come at you again, and I might not be there in time."

Julie blinked.

"I want you to stand," he said, "even if I fall."

Her heart stuttered.

And for a moment, the room was quiet, filled only with the soft ticking of the antique clock behind them.

Julie reached for his hand. "Then you’ll have to train me every day."

Roman smiled. "Every day. Until you’re stronger than me."

She laughed. "That might take a while."

"Good," he said, intertwining their fingers. "I like challenges."