Chapter 2: The Interview
The interview was scheduled for the next day, but Julian wasn't a man who waited. He led her away from the chaos of the conference, through a series of pristine corridors, to a private lounge. It was a study in minimalist luxury: black leather, brushed steel, and a wall of glass overlooking a sprawling view of the city. The sun, setting behind the skyscrapers, painted the sky in streaks of orange and purple.
"So," Amelia said, sitting in one of the low-slung chairs, her notepad open in her lap. "Are we starting the interview now, or is this your way of trying to distract me with a view?"
He smiled, a genuine, easy expression that was far more dangerous than his guarded facade. "A bit of both, perhaps. The best stories aren't found in a pre-approved script. They're found in moments like this." He gestured to a half-finished glass of whiskey on a side table. "Can I offer you a drink?"
"Water is fine, thank you," she replied, her pen hovering over the page. She was determined to keep a professional distance, but it was proving difficult. In this intimate setting, away from the crowds and the press, Julian Vance was a different man. He wasn't the distant mogul; he was an impossibly handsome man with a gaze that held a quiet intensity.
He poured her a glass of water, the movement of his hands precise and fluid. "Let's start, then. Ask me anything."
Amelia's journalistic instincts kicked in, pushing her attraction aside. "You mentioned in your keynote that 'Apex' will change how we interact with technology. But what about the human element? Are we not losing a part of ourselves to this constant connectivity?"
Julian took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes thoughtful. "That's a fair question. My goal has never been to replace human interaction, but to enhance it. The world is a vast, complex place. Technology is just a tool to help us bridge the distance, whether that's connecting with a loved one across the globe or finding a solution to a problem that's been plaguing humanity for centuries."
He spoke with passion, but it was the small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture the way his shoulders relaxed, the way he leaned forward slightly that told her this wasn't a rehearsed line. This was his truth.
"And your company's rapid growth," she continued, "has been called ruthless. There are stories of hostile takeovers, of smaller companies being swallowed whole. Is that a necessary part of business, or a character trait?"
The atmosphere in the room shifted. His expression hardened, and a flash of the guarded man from the conference returned. "Business isn't a charity. Sometimes, tough decisions have to be made for the greater good of the company, and its employees. I've never made a decision that wasn't in the best interest of Vance Industries."
His answer was a wall, solid and unyielding. She pressed on. "But what about the people who get left behind? The founders of those smaller companies, whose dreams you bought and then discarded?"
He set his glass down, the click of glass on wood echoing in the sudden silence. He was staring at her, but she didn't flinch. She'd interviewed corrupt politicians and shady executives, and she wasn't about to back down now.
"I can see why you're considered one of the best, Ms. Hayes," he said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. "You don't let go of a topic." He paused, then sighed, the tension in his face easing a little. "The truth is, business is a lot like a jungle. You can't survive by being a gazelle. You have to be a lion, or you'll get eaten."
He looked at her, and for a moment, the mask was completely gone. She saw something raw and vulnerable in his eyes a deep-seated loneliness that resonated with her own. It was a fleeting glimpse, but it was enough to make her heart ache.
"And which are you, Mr. Vance?" she asked softly. "The lion, or the gazelle?"
His smile returned, but this time, it didn't reach his eyes. "That, Ms. Hayes, is what you're here to find out."
Across town, in her penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Seraphina Thorne stared at a photo of Julian and Amelia on her tablet. The picture was a candid shot from the conference, a fleeting moment of Julian laughing at something Amelia had said. It was an expression Seraphina hadn't seen on Julian's face in years.
A single, perfectly manicured finger tapped the screen, hovering over Amelia's face. Seraphina's own smile was thin, a predator's grin.
"She thinks she can find out the truth," Seraphina whispered to herself, her voice like silk over shattered glass. "She thinks she knows you, Julian."
She took a sip of her champagne, the bubbles fizzing against her tongue like a spark of poison. She was a woman who was used to getting what she wanted, and she wanted Julian. Not for his wealth, but for his power, for the control he represented. She had been the only one who truly understood him, the only one who had been by his side through everything. This little journalist was a nuisance, a fly in her perfect ointment. And Seraphina Thorne was very good at swatting flies.
"No," she said, looking at the photo again, her emerald eyes glinting with a cold, calculated fury. "She doesn't know you at all. But she will."