The first thing Clara noticed when she entered the apartment wasn't the silence.
It was the scent.
Faint traces of her lavender shampoo still lingered in the master bedroom, mixing with the sharper, sterile notes of Julian's cologne. The scent should have faded by now. But it clung stubbornly, like a ghost that didn't know it had been left behind.
Julian hadn't touched a thing.
Her scarf still hung over the back of the armchair. The book she was reading last week sat on the nightstand, still opened to Chapter 12. Even her half-empty bottle of prenatal vitamins remained untouched on the bathroom counter.
He hadn't moved on.
But neither had she.
Clara sank slowly onto the edge of the bed, her fingers curling over the quilted duvet. It felt like sitting inside a memory, one that hadn't decided whether to be warm or painful.
A soft sound echoed behind her.
Julian stood at the doorway, suit jacket slung over his arm, tie askew. He looked tired in a way she hadn't seen before—like the exhaustion came from somewhere deeper than just a long day at work. His eyes found hers, and for a second, neither of them spoke.
Then, in a low voice, he said, "You came back."
She nodded. "Just to pack a few things."
He stepped forward. "You don't have to."
Clara stood. "Julian, this isn't..."
Her words faltered. The space between them was too fragile. A single wrong sentence might cause the whole moment to collapse.
So instead of finishing her thought, she turned to the closet and opened the door. Her fingers brushed over a row of neatly hung dresses. She tried not to think about how many times he had probably opened this same door and stared at the emptiness she left behind.
"I don't know how to fix this," Julian said quietly behind her.
She didn't turn. "I don't want a fix, Julian. I want a partner. I want... honesty."
There was a pause. Then the rustle of movement as he stepped closer.
"I didn't lie to you."
"No," she said, her voice trembling. "You just didn't tell me the truth."
He was close now. Close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. But he didn't touch her.
Not yet.
"I wasn't protecting a secret," he said. "I was protecting myself. From... being vulnerable."
Her shoulders tensed. "I know what it feels like to be scared of being hurt. But I stayed. I gave you a chance to meet me halfway. And instead, you locked the door."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Julian said, "What if I open it now?"
Clara turned to face him.
And for the first time in days, he looked like the man she had fallen for. Not the CEO. Not the controlled strategist. But the man who once sat beside her on the bathroom floor, holding her hair as she threw up from morning sickness. The man who memorized how she took her tea and quietly refilled her heating pad without being asked.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
"I don't know if I can trust you again," she whispered.
"I'll earn it back," he said. "However long it takes."
She looked down at her suitcase, then back at him.
"I'm not unpacking yet," she said. "But I'll stay tonight. For the baby."
Julian gave a faint nod, his jaw tightening like he was holding back a thousand words.
"Do you want tea?" he asked gently.
She blinked at the sudden softness. "Only if it's chamomile."
"I remember."
He left for the kitchen.
And for the first time in a week, Clara breathed without feeling like her lungs were filled with shards of glass.
Something was broken.
But maybe it wasn't beyond repair.
Clara sat at the dining table, tracing the rim of her teacup as steam curled gently upward. The amber liquid inside barely rippled, but her insides churned like a storm about to break.
Across from her, Julian placed a small plate of biscuits between them. It was a silent offering, one he used to make during her early weeks of pregnancy, when she couldn't keep anything down but still tried to pretend she could.
"I didn't know if you still liked the almond ones," he said, almost tentative.
"I do," she said softly, but she didn't reach for them.
He didn't push. Just took the seat opposite her and let the silence settle around them. Not hostile. Not tense. Just full of things unsaid.
"I got a call from Harper," Clara said, breaking the quiet. "She said the press is circling again. Someone leaked a photo from the gala."
Julian nodded. "It's being handled."
Clara's brow furrowed. "I don't want to be handled. I want to be informed. We said this would be a partnership."
"You're right," he said, eyes locked on hers. "I should've told you. I was afraid it would push you further away."
"Julian... I'm already halfway out the door."
The words hung there between them like smoke. He didn't flinch, but his hand curled slightly on the table, knuckles whitening.
"I thought protecting you meant controlling the narrative. Shielding you from the chaos," he murmured. "But all I did was shut you out."
Clara looked at him, really looked. At the weariness in his shoulders, the way his tie was loosened like he had stopped caring how the world saw him the moment she walked away.
"Tell me something true," she said. "Not about the company. Not about the scandal. Just... something real."
He hesitated.
Then, quietly, "I've been sleeping on your side of the bed."
Clara blinked.
Julian's voice dropped lower. "Because it smells like you. And I... don't like waking up without it."
The ache in her chest swelled before she could stop it.
"I didn't want any of this," she whispered. "Not the tabloids. Not the secrets. I just wanted us to figure it out together."
"I know." His gaze didn't waver. "And if you give me the chance, I will. No more hiding. No more half-truths."
She looked down at her tea. Her fingers were trembling slightly.
Then Julian stood, slowly, and moved to her side.
He didn't touch her. Just stood beside her, close enough that she could feel his presence.
"Come to the scan tomorrow," she said, surprising even herself. "The doctor said we'll hear the heartbeat."
Julian inhaled sharply. Then nodded once. "I'll be there."
She looked up at him. "Not as a CEO. Not as the man fixing headlines. Just... as the baby's father."
His expression softened. "And as the man who hopes he can still be your husband."
Clara didn't respond. Not yet.
But as she stood and let him walk her to the bedroom, a part of her heart whispered the truth.
She wanted that too.
Not for the company.
Not for the child.
But for herself.
And for the man who was finally starting to open the door she thought had always been locked.