Chapter 1
Singing in the car with her father, belting out the lyrics of old songs from a different era of life, was not the way Juliette Bennett had imagined her life would look at twenty-three.
But it had been the kind of life she loved the most.
There was something comforting about mornings like these, when the world outside the car windows was covered in snow and the only thing that mattered was the music playing through the speakers. No responsibilities. No difficult conversations. No memories she would rather forget.
Just her and the man who had always been there.
Juliette smiled as her father sang the wrong lyrics to a song he had been listening to since before she was born.
“Daddy, that’s not even the right verse!”
Richard Bennett glanced at her, one hand resting on the steering wheel. “Excuse me? I’ve been listening to this song since before you were a thought in your mother’s head.”
“And yet, somehow, you still don’t know the words.”
“I know the important ones.”
“Which are?”
“The ones I’m singing.”
Juliette burst out laughing, shaking her head as she turned towards the window.
God, she loved him.
If there was one thing her father had taught her, it was that life didn’t always have to be complicated. Sometimes, happiness was found in the smallest moments. A song played too loudly. A cup of coffee shared in the kitchen. A long drive through the mountains with nowhere particularly important to be.
And sometimes, happiness was simply having someone who loved you enough to keep showing up, even when you weren’t particularly good at loving yourself.
Her father reached for the radio and turned the volume down.
Juliette’s smile slowly faded.
She knew that gesture.
It was the universal Richard Bennett signal for I need to talk to you about something, and you’re probably not going to like it.
She turned towards him.
“Oh, no.”
Richard glanced at her. “What?”
“Whatever you’re about to say, no.”
“Juliette.”
“Daddy.”
“Can you let me finish a sentence before deciding you don’t want to hear it?”
“Can you let me enjoy one morning without turning it into a therapy session?”
He chuckled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
And just like that, Juliette knew this wasn’t going to be a conversation about her spending too much money on makeup or forgetting to eat breakfast.
It was something else.
“What have you heard about Cameron?”
The question landed between them like a stone dropped into still water.
Juliette’s fingers stilled in her lap.
For a moment, she simply stared at her father, wondering whether she had heard him correctly.
Cameron Mitchell.
Six months.
It had been more than six months since their relationship had ended, and somehow, hearing his name still managed to find the one tender spot in her heart she hadn’t figured out how to protect.
She hated that.
She hated that someone who had once meant so much to her could still affect her mood without even being in the same room.
She hated that a part of her still remembered the good things, even when she knew she shouldn’t.
Most of all, she hated that her father could see it.
Juliette looked down at her hands and began fiddling with her fingers.
“Not since the breakup, Daddy.”
Richard said nothing.
“Really. I haven’t spoken to him. I haven’t seen him. I don’t know what he’s doing, and I don’t particularly care to find out.”
The last part came out a little too quickly.
Her father gave her a sideways glance.
“Okay,” she muttered. “Maybe I care a little. But not enough to do anything about it.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not asking because I want to upset you.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking because I care about you.”
“I know that, too.”
Richard sighed softly.
Juliette turned towards him, forcing a smile she hoped looked convincing.
“Please don’t worry about me. I’m okay.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
She was getting there.
Some days were easier than others. Some mornings, she could wake up and go about her life without thinking about Cameron at all. Other days, something as ridiculous as a familiar song or a particular smell could drag her straight back into memories she’d rather leave behind.
Healing wasn’t a straight line, no matter how many people insisted it should be.
But she was trying.
That had to count for something.
Richard reached over and squeezed her hand.
“All right.”
Juliette smiled.
“Thank you.”
“You’re still going to tell me if anything happens, though.”
“Daddy.”
“I’m serious.”
“And I’m serious when I say that you need to stop acting like I’m twelve.”
“You’ll always be my little girl.”
She groaned dramatically and leaned her head against the seat.
“There it is. I was wondering how long it would take.”
Richard laughed, and the tension in the car finally eased.
Juliette took the opportunity to change the subject.
“Anyway, where are you travelling to now?”
“Singapore.”
She blinked.
“Singapore?”
“That’s what I said.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Daddy!”
“What?”
“You couldn’t have told me that before we got in the car?”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Would it have changed anything?”
“Yes! I would have complained about you leaving me before you actually left me.”
He laughed again.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be back before Monday to come and get you.”
Juliette narrowed her eyes.
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
She studied his face for a moment before nodding.
Her father travelled frequently. It was part of his life, and it had been part of hers for as long as she could remember. She had grown up watching him pack suitcases, checking flight schedules, and taking calls at inconvenient hours.
When she was younger, she had accompanied him on many of his trips. She had seen places she might never have visited otherwise, experienced different cultures, and learned that the world was much bigger than the little corner of it she called home.
But this time was different.
Richard would be travelling alone while Juliette spent a few days with her friends.
She was looking forward to it.
A few days away from her usual routine might be exactly what she needed.
The car slowed as they approached the large black gates of the Laurent family home.
Juliette immediately sat up straighter, peering through the window at the familiar property.
The house sat behind a sweeping driveway, surrounded by snow-covered trees and a garden that looked particularly beautiful in winter. Beyond the property, the landscape stretched towards the lake, its surface partially frozen beneath the pale January sky.
She had been coming here for years.
So many mornings had begun with her being dropped off at this very gate that she had lost count.
It was practically a second home.
Richard brought the car to a stop.
“Here we are.”
Juliette unbuckled her seat belt and leaned over to kiss his cheek.
“Thank you for bringing me, Daddy.”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
She climbed out of the car, the icy air immediately biting at her cheeks. Opening the back door, she retrieved her overnight bag and swung it over her shoulder.
The gates began to open.
And there, standing just inside them with her arms wrapped around herself, was Lola Laurent.
Juliette grinned.
“There’s my girl!”
Lola’s face lit up.
“Finally! I was beginning to think you’d decided to abandon me.”
“Never. Who else would you annoy?”
“Plenty of people, actually.”
“That’s concerning.”
Richard laughed from the driver’s seat.
“Keep safe, sweetheart.”
Juliette turned towards him.
“Always, Dad.”
“And call me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
“Anything.”
“Daddy, I’m staying with the Laurents, not moving to another planet.”
“Still.”
She leaned down to kiss his cheek once more.
“Go to Singapore. Do your important businessman things. I’ll be fine.”
Richard smiled, though his eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer than usual.
Then he nodded.
“Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you more.”
“Impossible.”
“Debatable.”
He laughed as she stepped back, and a moment later, the car began moving down the driveway.
Juliette watched until it disappeared beyond the gates.
Then she turned towards Lola, who was practically bouncing on her feet.
“Come on,” Lola said. “It’s freezing out here.”
Juliette laughed.
“You say that every single time.”
“Because every single time, you stand outside like a lunatic instead of coming inside.”
“I was saying goodbye to my father.”
“You were standing there watching his car disappear. I’m pretty sure you could have done that from the warmth of the house.”
“You’re so compassionate.”
“I try.”
Lola grabbed Juliette’s bag before she could protest and hurried towards the front door.
“Come on! Everyone’s been asking when you’re getting here.”
Juliette followed, shaking her head.
The truth was, she had been making these early-morning visits for years. There had been a time when she practically lived at the Laurent house, appearing at ridiculous hours and staying until someone eventually reminded her that she had her own home.
Not that she paid much attention to those reminders.
The Laurents had never made her feel like an inconvenience.
They had never treated her like someone who was simply visiting.
Somewhere along the way, the house had become as familiar to her as her own bedroom. She knew which floorboards creaked, which cupboard held the good mugs, and where Isabelle kept the emergency stash of chocolate that she pretended not to know about.
She knew the sound of Adrien’s laugh from the other side of the house.
She knew Layla’s habit of leaving books in places books had absolutely no business being.
She knew Colette could turn a simple disagreement into a full-blown argument if she believed she was right.
And she knew Lola was incapable of minding her own business for longer than approximately four minutes.
They were different in almost every possible way.
And somehow, they had become her people.
Juliette stepped inside, immediately grateful for the warmth that enveloped her.
The smell of coffee drifted through the hallway, mingling with the faint scent of vanilla candles and whatever Isabelle Laurent had been baking the previous evening.
She brushed the snowflakes from her coat and looked around.
The Laurent home had always been full of little reminders of the family who lived there. Photographs lined the walls, capturing birthdays, holidays, family outings, and ordinary afternoons that had somehow become worth preserving. There were framed pictures of the girls at different ages, some taken professionally and others clearly captured by someone who hadn’t quite mastered the art of keeping a camera straight.
Juliette recognised almost every photograph.
In one, Layla and Colette stood side by side, their arms thrown around each other, both grinning at the camera. In another, Lola was considerably younger, missing a front tooth and looking thoroughly unimpressed about something.
There were photographs of Isabelle and Adrien, too, their expressions softer in the older pictures, as though they were still getting used to the idea of being parents.
And then there were the photographs that included Juliette.
She had never asked for them to be displayed, but Isabelle had insisted that if Juliette was going to spend so much time in their home, there was no reason to pretend she wasn’t part of the family.
It had embarrassed Juliette at first.
Now, she couldn’t imagine the house without them.
The Laurent family had consisted of Isabelle, an estate lawyer, and Adrien, a mechanic with aspirations of becoming a writer.
They were a rather unlikely pair, at least according to Lola, who had once informed Juliette that her mother could probably argue a mechanic into signing away his entire garage while her father would be sitting in the corner writing a story about it.
Isabelle was the practical one. She was intelligent, organised, and observant, with a quiet authority that made people think twice before attempting to argue with her. She could spend hours working through complicated legal documents and still remember that one of her daughters had mentioned needing a particular brand of shampoo three days earlier.
At home, she was the woman who worried when people skipped breakfast, noticed when someone was upset, and always seemed to know when a conversation needed to be approached gently rather than head-on.
Adrien was different.
He spent his working hours fixing engines, but his ambitions extended well beyond the garage. He dreamed of becoming a published writer, often filling notebooks with ideas and stories whenever he found a spare moment.
He had a gentler, more easygoing nature than his wife, although Juliette had learned that his quietness didn’t mean he lacked opinions. When Adrien had something to say, people tended to listen.
Together, Isabelle and Adrien had raised three daughters.
Technically, four.
Layla Laurent was the eldest of the three sisters who had grown up in the house. At twenty-two, she was the main reason Juliette had come to stay.
Layla had been a full-time student before getting a job forced her to reconsider her schedule. She had eventually moved to part-time studying so she could balance her education with her new responsibilities, and although the adjustment hadn’t always been easy, she had been determined to make it work.
Juliette admired that about her.
Layla was the sort of person who could have an exhausting day, complain about it for twenty minutes, and then get up the next morning and do everything all over again. She had her own ambitions, her own responsibilities, and her own way of navigating the world.
Despite the changes in their schedules, she and Juliette had never allowed the demands of adulthood to pull them apart.
Their friendship had survived busy weeks, missed calls, last-minute plans, and all the little inconveniences that came with growing older.
Layla had been one of the people who made Juliette feel that growing up didn’t necessarily mean growing apart.
Colette Laurent came next.
Born in December, just eleven months after Layla, she and her older sister were what people often called Irish twins. They were close enough in age that strangers sometimes mistook them for ordinary twins, but anyone who knew them quickly realised how different they were.
Layla and Colette could not have been more opposite if they had tried.
Where Layla approached things with a certain practicality, Colette had her own way of looking at the world. Where one might pause to consider a decision, the other could already have formed an opinion and be halfway through defending it.
They shared a family, a childhood, and countless memories, but they were unmistakably their own people.
They loved each other, of course.
That didn’t mean they always agreed.
In the Laurent household, the difference between the two was practically a family sport.
And then there was Lola.
At seventeen, Lola was the youngest of the three sisters, still trying to survive her junior year of high school through homeschooling.
She had the energy of someone who was perpetually bored, the curiosity of someone who considered privacy an optional concept, and a talent for getting involved in conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with her.
She was also the sister most likely to appear in a room without knocking, ask an inappropriate question, and then act offended when someone told her to mind her own business.
Juliette adored her.
Lola had grown up with Juliette around so often that their relationship had long since crossed the line between family friend and actual sister. She was the girl who would complain about Juliette stealing her snacks while simultaneously raiding Juliette’s bag for whatever sweets she happened to have brought along.
She could be exhausting.
She could be ridiculous.
And she could make Juliette laugh even when laughing was the last thing she felt like doing.
But there was one more Laurent daughter, someone whose absence was felt even in a house that was otherwise so full of life.
Amelie.
She would have been the eldest of all the girls.
Before Layla, before Colette, before Lola, there had been Amelie, the little baby Isabelle and Adrien had welcomed into the world with all the hopes and dreams that came with becoming parents for the first time.
Amelie had lived for only three days.
Three days.
She had never grown up alongside her sisters. She had never had the chance to argue with them, steal their clothes, or complain about school. She had never run through the halls of the house or sat around the kitchen table with the rest of the family.
Juliette had never met her.
By the time Juliette had become part of the Laurent family’s life, Amelie was already a memory, a name spoken with tenderness and an ache that had never entirely disappeared.
The family didn’t pretend she had never existed. Her name was still mentioned, and her place in their history was never erased simply because she hadn’t been given the chance to grow up with them.
Amelie was their daughter.
Their first little girl.
And she always would be.
Juliette had learned over the years that grief didn’t necessarily disappear just because people stopped talking about it every day. Sometimes it settled quietly into the spaces between ordinary moments, becoming part of the family in much the same way as old photographs and familiar traditions.
The Laurents had learned to carry that loss together.
And perhaps that was one of the reasons Juliette had always felt so safe with them. Their home had never demanded that people be perfect or that difficult feelings be hidden away. There was room for laughter, arguments, affection, and sadness. There was room for all the complicated things that made a family a family.
Juliette had never been one of the Laurent daughters by blood.
But Isabelle had never treated that as a reason to love her any less.
“There’s my other daughter!”
Juliette barely had time to turn before Isabelle rose from her desk and wrapped her in a warm embrace.
“Hi, Mom,” Juliette murmured, hugging her tightly.
The nickname had started years ago, so naturally that neither of them could remember precisely when. Isabelle had simply become another mother to her, someone who worried when she didn’t eat, noticed when she was upset, and never let her leave the house without asking whether she had enough warm clothes.
Juliette smiled against her shoulder.
She had her own father, a man she loved more than almost anything in the world. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t room in her heart for another person who made her feel cared for.
And in the Laurent household, there was always room for Juliette.
Isabelle held her at arm’s length, examining her face.
“Have you been eating properly?”
Juliette groaned.
“Oh, my God. Not you, too.”
“Not me, too, what?”
“Nothing. Daddy’s been interrogating me about Cameron, and now you’re going to interrogate me about food. I haven’t even been here five minutes.”
Isabelle’s expression softened at the mention of Cameron, but she didn’t push.
Instead, she brushed a strand of hair away from Juliette’s face.
“Well, you can never have too many people worrying about you.”
“That’s debatable.”
“Coffee?”
Juliette smiled.
“Please.”
“You must be freezing.”
“Only a little.”
From somewhere behind her, Lola snorted.
“If I hadn’t practically dragged her inside, she would still be standing out there.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Juliette protested.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“You were saying goodbye to your dad for approximately seventeen years.”
“Goodbyes are important!”
“Not when the person you’re saying goodbye to is already halfway down the driveway.”
Juliette opened her mouth to respond, but a sound from outside interrupted her.
A man’s voice.
Angry.
Sharp enough to cut through the quiet of the house.
“No, fuck you!”
Juliette froze.
Lola rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.
“Oh, for God’s sake.”
Juliette slowly turned towards the window.
Outside, standing in the freezing January weather, was Dante Moretti.
He had one hand shoved into the pocket of his dark coat, the other holding his phone against his ear. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, and his expression suggested that whoever was on the other end of that call was rapidly running out of chances.
Juliette couldn’t hear the other person’s voice, but she didn’t need to.
Dante’s expression said enough.
He paced a few steps across the snow-covered path, muttering something she couldn’t quite make out before stopping abruptly.
“No. Listen to me carefully. I don’t care what you were promised. That wasn’t the agreement.”
A pause.
His jaw tightened.
“Then you should have thought about that before you decided to make it my problem.”
Juliette raised her eyebrows.
Well.
Good morning to him, too.
She watched as Lola marched towards the front door and pulled it open.
“Are you fucking starting this early?”
Dante didn’t even turn around.
“Not now, Lola.”
“Absolutely not. You can take your little phone tantrum somewhere else. We have a guest, and I’d appreciate it if you remembered how to behave like a normal human being.”
“Lola.”
“Dante.”
He finally turned to look at her.
For a moment, they stared at each other.
Then he closed his eyes briefly, as if silently asking for patience from whatever higher power might be listening.
“Please go inside.”
“Gladly. After you stop swearing loud enough for the entire neighbourhood to hear.”
“I’m on the phone.”
“And I’m cold. We all have our problems.”
Juliette pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.
Dante looked as though he was reconsidering every decision that had brought him to this moment.
Then his gaze shifted past Lola.
Straight to Juliette.
Something in his expression changed.
Not dramatically. Not enough that someone who didn’t know him would necessarily notice.
But Juliette noticed.
His shoulders relaxed by the smallest fraction, and the hard line of his mouth softened.
He lowered the phone from his ear.
“Oh.”
Lola stepped aside, looking between them.
“Yes, oh. Now, are you going to come inside and stop freezing to death, or do you plan to have your entire conversation out there?”
Dante ignored her.
His attention remained on Juliette.
“Hey, Juliette.”
There was something almost amusing about the way he said her name, as though the last thirty seconds had never happened.
She folded her arms.
“Well, well, well. I hope you’re in a better mood with me than you are with your phone.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“Trust me. My phone loves me no less than the man I was speaking to.”
“That’s a very generous interpretation of what I just witnessed.”
“You’re welcome to interpret it however you like.”
“How kind of you.”
He slipped his phone into his coat pocket and stepped inside, bringing a gust of cold air with him.
Lola immediately shut the door behind him.
“Finally. Some common sense.”
Dante shrugged off his coat and hung it near the entrance before walking towards Juliette.
Then, without hesitation, he pulled her into a hug.
It was familiar. Easy.
The kind of embrace shared between two people who had known each other long enough that they no longer needed to think about it.
Juliette smiled against his shoulder before stepping back.
Dante looked down at her.
“How are you?”
She considered the question.
There were several answers she could have given.
She could have told him that she was fine, that she was excited to spend a few days with her friends, and that she was doing her best to put the past behind her.
She could have told him that her father had just asked about Cameron, a name she would rather not have heard before breakfast.
She could have told him that she was tired of pretending that six months was enough time to get over someone who had once been such a significant part of her life.
Instead, she smiled.
“Guess I can’t complain too much.”
Dante studied her face for a moment.
“That bad, huh?”
She laughed softly.
“Oh, don’t start. I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”
“Then I’ll reserve my judgement until you’ve had at least two cups.”
“Three, preferably.”
“Demanding.”
“You have no idea.”
His smile lingered.
For a few seconds, they simply stood there, looking at each other while the warmth of the house settled around them.
Juliette had known Dante Moretti for two years.
Long enough to recognise the difference between his real smiles and the ones he used to keep people at a distance. Long enough to know that his temper could flare without warning, that his patience was often nonexistent, and that there were parts of his life he guarded with an intensity that made asking questions feel pointless.
She also knew that beneath all that, there was a man who remembered how she took her coffee.
A man who had once spent an entire evening helping her look for a necklace she’d misplaced, even though he’d complained about it every five minutes.
A man who could be infuriatingly difficult one moment and unexpectedly thoughtful the next.
Dante was complicated.
But then again, so was everyone worth knowing.
“So,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets, “how long are you staying?”
“Until Monday. Daddy’s travelling to Singapore, so he’s coming back to collect me then.”
“Singapore?”
“Apparently, some people have jobs that require them to leave the country.”
“Some people have jobs that require them to stay in the country and deal with everyone else’s problems.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“You have no idea.”
She tilted her head.
“Is that what the phone call was about?”
His expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
“What phone call?”
Juliette stared at him.
He stared back.
Then she laughed.
“Oh, you’re good.”
“At what?”
“Being irritating.”
“I’ve had years of practice.”
“Clearly.”
He smiled, but something in his eyes had grown distant again.
Juliette noticed.
She always noticed more than people expected her to.
But she also knew when someone wasn’t going to answer a question, and she had no intention of interrogating Dante before she’d even settled into the house.
Whatever was happening in his world, he would tell her if he wanted her to know.
At least, that was what she assumed.
“Coffee,” Isabelle announced, appearing beside them with a steaming mug.
Juliette turned towards her gratefully.
“You are my favourite person in this house.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“And I’ll say it again next time.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetheart.”
Juliette accepted the mug and wrapped both hands around it, letting the warmth seep into her fingers.
Dante watched her for a moment.
Then his gaze dropped to the mug.
“That’s your second one today?”
“First.”
“Good.”
Juliette looked at him suspiciously.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“Dante.”
“Juliette.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He smiled into his own coffee.
Oh, he was going to be a problem.
She could already tell.
And somehow, despite the freezing weather, the conversation with her father, and the name she had spent six months trying not to think about, Juliette found herself smiling.
For the first time that morning, the ache in her chest seemed a little less noticeable.
She didn’t know what the next few days would bring.
She didn’t know that the familiar warmth of the Laurent household would one day become tangled up with memories she would struggle to survive.
She didn’t know that some people could enter your life so quietly that you failed to notice the moment they became essential to it.
And she certainly didn’t know that the man standing in front of her, with his dark coat and guarded eyes and infuriating smile, would one day become a name that hurt far more than Cameron Mitchell ever had.
For now, Dante Moretti was simply Dante.
And Juliette Bennett was simply Juliette.
Two people standing in a warm house on a freezing January morning, unaware that their lives were already moving towards something neither of them would know how to stop.
Sometimes, the beginning of the end didn’t look like an ending at all.
Sometimes, it looked like coming home.
