Chapter 4 Rules of a Playboy

Julien Moreau liked rules.

They gave shape to chaos, borders to emotions, and excuses to behavior. Rules meant he didn't have to improvise or explain himself too deeply. They had carried him safely through years of fleeting affection and clean exits.

Rule one: Never promise what you can't maintain.

Rule two: Never stay long enough for dependency to form.

Rule three: Never fall in love.

He had repeated them silently for so long that they felt less like choices and more like truths.

That morning, he woke with the taste of unease still lingering in his mouth. The kind that didn't disappear with coffee or routine. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting familiar patterns on the wall. Nothing had changed. And yet, something felt off.

Julien reached for his phone before he could stop himself.

No new messages.

He told himself he wasn't disappointed.

At work, the day unfolded smoothly. Meetings. Decisions. Praise. Julien thrived in environments where clarity existed-where people expected confidence, not vulnerability. He moved through the office with ease, admired and envied in equal measure.

During a break between meetings, he overheard two interns whispering in the hallway.

"He's impossible," one said softly. "Everyone wants him, but no one ever keeps him."

Julien paused, pretending to check his phone as their words settled.

Impossible.

The word stayed with him longer than it should have.

Later that afternoon, he found himself reviewing old habits as if they were a checklist. Invitations declined before they became dates. Texts unanswered before emotions deepened. A practiced distance is maintained even in moments of closeness.

His rules had protected him.

But protection came at a cost.

That evening, he attended a gallery opening-a place where his charm was currency, and expectations were low. Conversations flowed easily. Compliments followed him like perfume. A woman in a red dress stood close enough to touch his arm when she laughed.

"You always look so in control," she said.

Julien smiled. "Appearances can be deceiving."

She leaned in. "I doubt that."

Normally, he would have enjoyed this-the attention, the ease. Tonight, it felt hollow.

As he excused himself, he caught his reflection in a framed mirror. The same confident man stared back. The same practiced smile.

Yet behind it, something restless waited.

He stepped outside early, the cool night air grounding him. Paris buzzed softly, alive with energy that usually fueled him. Instead, it made him feel like a spectator in his own life.

He walked without direction, his steps slowing as thoughts surfaced uninvited.

When had his rules become walls?

He remembered being younger-before success, before reputation-when he had believed love might be something steady, something safe. That belief had died quietly, without ceremony.

Now, rules replaced hope.

His phone vibrated.

A message.

I'm starting to think rules are just fear with better vocabulary.

-Amélie

Julien stopped walking.

He hadn't told her about his rules. Not explicitly. But somehow, she had sensed them.

Maybe fear keeps people safe, he replied after a moment.

Or it keeps them alone, she answered.

The honesty of it struck him harder than any accusation could have.

Julien leaned against a stone wall, staring at the dark sky above the narrow street. He could hear laughter somewhere nearby, a reminder that life was still happening around him.

I don't believe in needing someone, he typed. Dependence ruins things.

The response came slower this time.

Needing isn't the same as choosing, Amélie wrote. One is a weakness. The other is courage.

Julien exhaled slowly.

Courage.

It wasn't a word anyone had ever used to describe him in matters of the heart.

He thought of the women he had left behind. Of Claire's quiet question. Of emails he never replied to. Of rules that had kept him admired but unreachable.

Maybe rules weren't strict.

Maybe they had worn armor for so long that he had forgotten how to remove it.

He typed one final message before putting his phone away.

I don't know how to choose without losing myself.

The reply came almost immediately.

Then maybe you haven't met someone who lets you stay whole.

Julien stared at the screen until it dimmed.

Paris hummed softly around him, indifferent to his confusion. The city had seen countless men like him-men who believed control was the same as freedom.

As he finally turned toward home, Julien realized something unsettling.

For the first time, he wasn't sure his rules were protecting him anymore.

They were keeping him exactly where he had always been.

Alone.