Chapter 144: I’m Happy
The night didn’t end with noise. It ended with something quieter. Something deeper.
Backstage, the energy was still buzzing, phones ringing, voices overlapping, Janet half-laughing, half-crying as she tried to keep up with the flood of orders pouring in.
"Amara... you need to see this..."
"I saw," Amara said softly. Her eyes were still on the screen. Numbers climbing. Refreshing. Climbing again.
For a moment. She couldn’t breathe. Not from stress. From disbelief. "We did it..." she whispered. Not just her. We. "You did more than that."
Julian’s voice came from behind her. Low. Steady. Familiar. She turned.
And there he was. Standing just at the edge of the chaos, like he always did, never demanding attention, but impossible to ignore.
"You were incredible out there," he said as he stepped closer, his gaze soft but certain. "I’ve seen a lot of things, Amara... but that?" A faint shake of his head.
"That was something else." She smiled. Tired. Real.
"I’m happy, Julian." He studied her for a second longer.
Then...His expression shifted. Slightly more serious. "You need your rest now," he said, his tone firm in a way she had come to recognize. "That was too much stress."
Amara exhaled, shaking her head lightly. "I’m okay," she insisted. "You don’t have to take me home. James is here...we’re all heading back together."
"No." It wasn’t loud. But it wasn’t negotiable either. Julian stepped closer, already reaching for her. "Not a chance."
Before she could protest. He lifted her. Effortless. Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Julian—"
"And besides," he added calmly as he carried her toward the exit, ignoring the curious glances around them, "your time is almost near." That quiet reminder settled between them. Real.
Unavoidable. "I’m not leaving your side," he continued. "And tomorrow is Saturday...no work until Monday." She let out a small breath, half amused, half defeated. "You’re very bossy, you know that?"
"I’m very right," he replied without missing a beat. By the time they reached the car, the night air had cooled, wrapping around them like a soft release after everything the day had demanded.
Julian opened the door and carefully set her inside, making sure she was comfortable before stepping back slightly. Amara looked up at him.
There was something in her eyes now. Something softer. More vulnerable. "Are you coming back to the Pedro mansion?" she asked quietly. The question lingered.
Not just about location. But about everything, they hadn’t fully said yet. Julian paused. Just for a second. Then he leaned down slightly, one hand resting against the car door, his gaze meeting hers fully.
"Do you want me to?" he asked. Simple. But loaded. Because this time. He wasn’t deciding for her. He was giving her the choice.
"Yes." The word didn’t come with hesitation this time. It didn’t hide. It didn’t protect. It simply... was.
Julian didn’t say anything immediately. He just nodded once, as he had expected it...like some part of him had been waiting for her to finally let him back in.
He walked around the car, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. For a moment. They just sat there. The quiet between them no longer heavy... but fragile.
"I know you wanted me away," he said finally, his voice calm, eyes still on the road ahead as the car pulled into the night. "But not anymore." A breath.
"Whatever may come... let’s face it together. Shall we?" Amara didn’t answer right away. She just watched him.
"I’m sorry," Julian added, quieter now. "I had doubts." The words were simple. But they cost him something. "I shouldn’t have. Not like that."
His hand moved...almost instinctively...resting gently over her belly. Warm. Steady. Grounded.
"I love you," he said. "And I love our child." A pause. Then firmer. "He is our child." Amara’s breath hitched.
"I know you told the doctors you didn’t want to know the gender until birth," he continued softly. "And I respected that. I thought... maybe you were holding on for my sake."
He glanced at her briefly. "You don’t have to do that anymore." The car slowed at a light. Everything slowed with it.
"I know it now," Julian said, his voice steady with something deeper than logic, something rooted in quiet certainty. "In my heart... he’s mine because you are mine."
His thumb brushed lightly against her stomach. Gentle. Reassuring.
"Could we... try?" he asked. "Like other expecting couples. Find out. Start preparing. Together." Silence. Not empty. But full.
Amara looked away, out the window, the passing lights reflecting softly in her eyes. Her chest felt tight. Too tight. Because of what he was offering. Was everything. And everything... Came with a risk she wasn’t sure she could survive.
"My feet are killing me," she said suddenly. Julian blinked. Then glanced at her. A small, knowing look crossed his face. "Hmm," he murmured. "You’re changing the subject."
A pause. Then.."Yes," Amara admitted quietly. He didn’t push. Didn’t press. Didn’t force the moment into something it wasn’t ready to become.
Instead. Julian pulled the car over. Amara frowned slightly. "What are you doing?" "Come here," he said softly. Before she could question it further, he shifted closer, gently lifting her feet into his lap.
"Julian..."
"Relax." His hands moved carefully, pressing into the arch of her foot with just enough pressure to make her inhale sharply.
"Oh..."
"There it is," he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "The real problem." Amara let out a soft breath, her body slowly melting into the seat despite herself.
For a few moments. Neither of them spoke. Just the quiet hum of the engine. The soft rhythm of his hands eased her pain. The unspoken things still linger between them. Then, without looking at her. Julian spoke again.
"We don’t have to decide tonight," he said gently. "About the baby. About anything." A pause.
"But I meant what I said." His hands stilled for just a second... then continued.
"I’m here, Amara. I’m sorry if I even made you feel alone in this." Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just true. And for the first time in a long time. Amara didn’t feel like she had to carry everything alone.