Storms of the Heart novel Chapter 22

Julian finally mustered the courage and shouted hoarsely, almost breaking into tears, toward Trina's window. "Trin… Trin, just open the window and hear me out—just one sentence!

"Come back with me… please? Let's start over… I'll give up everything—my rank, my position, my future… I just want you… Trin…"

His voice carried clearly through the silent, rainy night, tinged with a deep, almost crushing humility.

He had thrown away nearly every ounce of pride a man could let go of.

Upstairs, the window remained motionless.

The warm light in her window still glowed, yet it couldn't illuminate the cold darkness that surrounded Julian.

After a while, the window slammed shut from the inside with a sharp click, and the heavy curtains were drawn, cutting off both his view and the last faint thread of hope he had left.

Julian stood below like a statue, soaked through by the rain and utterly hopeless, his head tilted back. He fixed his gaze on the window, completely motionless.

The rain blurred his vision, and it also blurred the window he would never be able to reach.

He remained there through the long, cold night in a foreign city, standing alone under the autumn drizzle.

It wasn't until dawn that the diplomatic delegation's car arrived to pick him up. Like a walking corpse, Julian was half-supported, half-carried by the guards into the vehicle.

Back in Flarora, Julian had become utterly cold and relentless in his work, yet in private, he was like a trapped beast teetering on the edge of madness.

He handled military affairs with even greater severity and precision than before, bordering on ruthlessness, using an extreme workload to numb himself to everything else.

But when alone, alcohol was his only solace.

The minibar in his small townhouse drained at an alarming pace, yet he kept refilling it again and again, as if trying to drown the emptiness inside. The surveillance channels he had built to track Trina's every move became even more meticulous and efficient.

Every detail of Trina's life abroad was documented daily and placed on his desk. What she had painted that day, who she had lunch or dinner with, even which dress had caught her eye while shopping—he knew it all, down to the smallest detail.

His obsessive need for control stemmed from extreme insecurity and a deep fear of loss.

Whenever a report mentioned a man approaching her, even if it was just a normal classmate or a colleague at work, Julian would lose control, smashing whatever was within reach. Both his office and his home were often left in shambles.

He lived in constant agony, tormented day and night by the fear of losing her and the frenzy of his longing.

Eventually, his obsession began to cloud his professional judgment.

During a high-risk military exercise, Julian was in command at the front lines. Distracted, his mind consumed by Trina's resolute face and the latest surveillance reports, he made a critical misjudgment at a crucial moment, ordering his troops to advance into a trap carefully laid by the enemy.

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