Julian sat alone in his office, the city lights throwing jagged shadows across the floor.
Her phone rang again. For the fifth time.
Voicemail.
He stared at the screen. Why aren't you picking up, Aurora?
He didn't say it out loud. Not yet.
Instead, he pressed the phone to his ear one last time and left a message.
"Call me back. I don't like being ignored like this."
The gallery had shut down hours ago, the last echoes of Lily's heels long gone down the marble hall.
His stomach growled—it was nearly midnight.
Better burgers than sitting here another damn minute, wondering who she was with.
And why the hell she wasn't picking up.
...
It was past midnight. The streets were deserted, cloaked in cold and shadows. Ava walked fast, clutching her coat. She didn't care where she was going—she just needed to get away. From the apartment and clear her head.
She turned onto a narrow street. All the shops were shut, windows dark, doors bolted. That was when she heard it, footsteps.
Close.
Too close.
She glanced back. A man was trailing her, hood up, his pace too casual to be innocent. Something about him made her stomach twist.
She sped up.
"Hey," he called out.
She didn't answer.
"Hey!"
Then...
Bang.
The shot tore through her arm like fire. She dropped hard, a scream ripping from her throat. Blood blossomed through her sleeve, warm and fast. Her fingers shook as she tried to crawl away.
The man stepped into the yellow spill of the streetlamp. Scarred face. Cold eyes. Smile like rot.
"You shouldn't have run," he muttered, taking another step.
"Leave her alone."
The voice came low, sharp as a blade.
Julian.
He'd seen everything from the driver's seat of his blacked-out car where he sat eating a burger. And now, he was on him, fury in motion.
Julian slammed into the man, fists flying. The man fought back, but Julian didn't stop. His weekend training payed off. He wanted him to bleed
And he did.
When the man finally staggered off, holding his side and coughing blood, Julian didn't chase him. He turned to Ava, chest heaving.
She was curled against the curb, face pale, hand pressed against her arm.
Julian knelt beside her, his eyes wild.
"You're hurt," he said. "Stay with me."
Ava looked up at him, shaking. "Who are you?"
Julian took off his coat and pressed it to her arm. "Just someone who was in the right place at the right time."
...
Ava blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. The world came back to her in fragments—cold asphalt, the sharp crack of a gunshot, blood on her sleeve. Her body ached, her arm pulsing with a steady, muted throb. Hospital.
She tried to sit up. Pain sliced through her shoulder like fire.
"Don't," a deep voice said beside her, low and firm.
She turned her head, slow and wary. A man sat in the chair beside her bed. Disheveled hair, shadowed jaw, a bruise blossoming high on his cheekbone. He looked like he'd been through hell—and dragged someone with him.
Just then, a nurse stepped into the room, glanced at the monitors, and said gently, "Glad to see you're awake. The doctor will be in to see you shortly."
The nurse stepped closer to Ava's bedside, her tone warm but professional.
"Can you tell me your name?" she asked gently, checking Ava's wristband and jotting something down on a clipboard.
"Ava," she said hoarsely.
"Good. And do you know what day it is?"
Ava blinked, her mind slow to catch up. "Um… no. Not really."
"That's okay," the nurse said with a kind smile. "You've been through a lot. You were brought in with a gunshot wound to the arm. You're stable now, and the bleeding's under control. The doctor will explain more when he gets here."
She adjusted Ava's IV, glanced at the heart monitor, then continued, "Do you feel any dizziness? Nausea? Pain anywhere else besides your arm?"
"A little dizzy. My arm hurts," Ava mumbled.
"I'll let the doctor know. Just rest for now." The nurse turned to the man seated by the bed. "Are you family?"
Ava spoke before she could stop herself. "Yes. He's my husband."
Julian's head jerked slightly toward her, eyes widening. "Uh… yes. I'm her husband."
The nurse paused just a heartbeat too long before nodding. "Alright. I'll be back in a bit."
The door shut with a soft click. Silence pressed down like a weighted blanket.
Ava stared up at the ceiling, face burning.
Julian finally turned to her, voice low. "Husband?"
She didn't look at him. "I didn't want them calling anyone."
Her voice was thin, brittle. "They'd start asking questions. Make me list names. I panicked."
"You could've said I was a friend." His voice was quieter now, but there was something else underneath. Something unreadable.
"I didn't want them to send you away," she murmured.
That got his attention. His gaze lingered too long, unreadable.
"You wanted me to stay?"
She nodded, barely.
He sat back slowly, something unreadable in his eyes. "Good. Because I wasn't planning on leaving."
Ava gave a tired smile. "Thank you… I don't even know your name."
"Julian," he said rising to pick up a medicine cover from the floor.
She looked at him then, really looked. Every angle of his face was sharp, almost unreal in its perfection. Shadows pooled under high cheekbones, his jaw clenched just enough to hint at restraint. He was tall, easily over six feet, with a lean, sculpted frame that could've belonged to a model… or something more dangerous.
"Thank you, Julian," she murmured. "For saving my life."
He gave a small nod, his gaze flickering, softer now but unreadable. "Do you know who shot you?"
She shook her head slowly, a crease forming between her brows. "No. I've never seen him before."
Julian's eyes narrowed just slightly. "Did you get a good look at him?"
Ava hesitated. "Not really. It was dark, and it all happened so fast… I just remember the gun. And, he had a scar. Right here." She gestured to the side of her jaw.
Julian leaned back, fingers steepled under his chin. "A cop from the NYPD came by yesterday. Took my statement. He'll want to talk to you too."
She nodded, lips pressed into a pale line.
The silence thickened until a quiet knock broke it. The door creaked open and a man in a black suit stepped inside, flipping open a badge with practiced ease.
"Ms. Ava? Detective Moran, NYPD. Just a few questions, if you're feeling up to it."
Julian rose smoothly from his chair, the movement graceful, controlled. "I'll be outside," he said, his voice low, as he brushed his hand gently over her arm, a touch that lingered a beat too long. Then he stepped out, leaving the air colder in his absence.
A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, jaw already clenched as he answered.
"Rory. Where the hell have you been?"
"Baby, I'm so sorry," her voice dripped honey, too smooth, too rehearsed. "A friend had an emergency. I was helping her."
"You disappeared for an entire day," he said coldly. "No call. No text. Nothing. You think that's normal?"
"I know, I know," she said quickly. "I should've said something, but it was urgent, Julian..."
"Urgent?" His voice cut sharper. "Urgent enough to ghost me for twenty-four hours? Don't insult me."
There was a pause. Then: "I'm at your place. Where are you?"
"I'm at the hospital."
A sharp inhale. "The hospital? What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." His tone was flat. Hard. "I'm here with someone. A friend. Go home I will call you."
"Julian..."
He didn't wait for her to finish. The call ended with a single tap.
He stared at the screen, jaw tight, breathing slow and steady controlled rage simmering just beneath the surface. Then he slid the phone back into his pocket and turned toward Ava's room.