Page 34 of Candy Cane Chains

And while Julian allows me these glimpses of my old life, this illusion of freedom, we both know I belong to him now. And the scariest part? I wouldn't have it any other way.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I close another holiday story. The weight in my chest isn't grief or longing - it's relief. Especially as memories flood in.

Last Christmas I couldn't even really enjoy the holiday. Travis picked a fight with me over disappearing on me athiscompany party, storming out of the company party after too many drinks, leaving me to explain his absence to his coworkers.

There have been far too many years like that. Going to parties alone. Being ditches when I thought we had plans. So many exes that would get drunk or start fights or leave me otherwise disappointed.

But this year…it's been the best Christmas ever.

The laptop screen dims, and a shadow falls across the keyboard. Julian's fingers brush my neck, trailing along mybirthmark before he closes the computer with a decisive click. The leather couch dips as he settles behind me, drawing me back against his chest.

"You don't need their chaos anymore." His voice rumbles through me, deep and certain. His arms cage me in, one hand splayed across my stomach. "Their parties. Their drama. Their disappointments."

I sink into his embrace, letting my head fall back against his shoulder. He's right. The endless cycle of organizing perfect gatherings only to have them ruined, of trying to please everyone while feeling so alone in a crowded room - it's over.

"Only me." Julian's lips graze my ear, and his grip tightens. Not painful, just... absolute. "I'm all you need now."

His words should frighten me. Instead, they unlock something in my chest, release a tension I've carried for years. No more pretending to laugh at drunk jokes, no more making excuses for someone else's behavior, no more crying in bathroom stalls at holiday parties.

"Yes," I whisper, and Julian's fingers thread through mine, his other hand sliding up to rest against my throat. His touch grounds me, claims me, promises me I'll never have to navigate another holiday season alone.

I shift in his lap, turning to face him with a grin spreading across my face. "You're right. This is better than any party." My fingers trace the edge of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble beneath my touch. "So tell me something - what's your favorite part of Christmas?"

Julian cocks his head, studying me with those piercing eyes. The question seems to catch him off guard, a rare moment where his calculated control wavers. I expect him to say something conventional - presents under the tree, Christmas morning excitement, or even something materialistic given his wealth.

His hand slides from my throat to cup my face, thumb brushing across my bottom lip. The gesture is possessive yet gentle, a contradiction that defines everything about him.

But then Julian's expression shifts, a rare smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Get dressed. Something warm."

"What?" I blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. "I don't have any-"

He rises from the couch, pulling me up with him. His hand wraps around mine as he leads me down the hallway, past his bedroom to a door I've never opened. With a twist of the handle, he guides me inside.

My breath catches. A walk-in closet stretches before me, filled with racks of clothes in my size. Sweaters in soft cashmere, designer jeans, boots lined up beneath hanging dresses. Everything organized by color and style.

"You're not much of a snooper, are you?" His hands settle on my hips from behind.

I shake my head, running my fingers over a cream-colored sweater. "I'm supposed to be a good girl, remember?"

Julian spins me to face him, backing me against the clothing rack. His lips capture mine in a searing kiss that makes my knees weak. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with satisfaction.

"You are good." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "My good girl."

Heat floods through me at his words, at the way he makes ownership sound like salvation. I lean into his touch, dizzy with the realization that he's planned for this, for me to stay. These aren't borrowed clothes or afterthoughts - this is a wardrobe built for someone meant to remain.

He spins me back around, bringing his lips to my ear. "Get dressed."

He steps back, leaving space between us as I look around. The rows of carefully curated clothing stretch before me likean invitation. When I turn to Julian, his broad frame fills the doorway, those ice-blue eyes watching my every move.

"What should I wear?" The question slips out, my need for his direction as natural as breathing.

His lips curl into a knowing smile. "Choose something. Show me what you think I want to see."

My stomach drops. The freedom of choice feels wrong, unsettling. Each garment suddenly looks like a test I could fail. My fingers trail across hangers, touching cashmere and wool, silk and leather. Everything expensive, everything perfect - but what would please him?

I pull out a cream turtleneck sweater dress that hugs curves while staying elegant. Warm enough for whatever he has planned, but still feminine. The material feels like butter against my skin.

My hands tremble slightly as I reach for the shirt of my silk night set. Julian's gaze burns into me as I pull the fabric over my head and drop it to the floor. The matching shorts follow, leaving me bare before him.

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