Julian Thorne didn't walk. He stalked.
He moved with the predatory grace of a panther closing in on a wounded gazelle. The crowd melted away from him even faster than they had from me. As he got closer, I saw the details that the cameras didn't catch. The tiny scar above his left eyebrow. The way his grey eyes were flecked with shards of freezing blue. The way his hands were balled into fists at his sides.
I stopped breathing. Silas hadn't told me he was this intense. Silas hadn't told me that looking at him would feel like standing on the edge of a cliff.
He stopped three feet away from me. The smell of him hit me then. Sandalwood, expensive scotch, and the metallic tang of cold winter air.
The room was deadly silent. Five hundred people were holding their breath, waiting to see what the billionaire would do to the wife who had vanished three months ago.
"Elena," he said.
His voice was a low rumble, vibrating in my chest. It wasn't a greeting. It was an accusation.
"Julian," I replied. I forced myself to meet his gaze. It took every ounce of will I possessed not to look down. "You look tired."
A muscle in his jaw jumped. "And you look... remarkably well for someone who was allegedly kidnapped."
He took a step closer, invading my personal space. I smelled the danger rolling off him in waves. He leaned down, his face inches from mine. I could see the dark lashes framing those icy eyes. I could see the genuine loathing burning there.
"Where were you?" he asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "Tahiti? Or did you finally run off with that tennis instructor you were so fond of?"
My stomach twisted. Tennis instructor? I didn't know the backstory. I didn't know the lies Elena had told. I had to improvise.
"I needed space," I said, keeping my voice flat and bored. I lifted a hand to inspect my fingernails, just like Silas had taught me. "New York was suffocating. You were suffocating."
Julian let out a short, humorless laugh. It was a sharp sound, like glass breaking.
"I was suffocating?" he repeated incredulously. "That's rich, coming from you."
He looked at me, really looked at me, searching my face for something. For a second, panic flared in my chest. Did he see the difference? Did he notice that my nose was slightly different, or the scar on my hand?
His gaze dropped to my throat. To the diamond necklace Silas had put on me.
"You're wearing the necklace," he noted. His voice changed. It became softer, deadlier.
"It went with the dress," I said defensively.
"My mother gave you that necklace," Julian said. "You told her it was tacky. You told her you wouldn't be caught dead wearing 'old lady trash' around your neck."
Ice water flooded my veins. Silas didn't tell me that.
I had walked into a trap within minutes of arriving. If I apologized, he would know I was a fake. If I took it off, I would look weak.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and lifted my chin higher.
"I changed my mind," I lied smoothly. "It catches the light well. Besides, it serves as a reminder."
"Of what?"
"Of what I'm worth," I said.
Julian stared at me for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, a cruel smile spread across his face. It didn't reach his eyes.
"You haven't changed a bit," he whispered. "I was almost worried something had happened to you. But here you are. The same venomous snake you always were."
He straightened up, turning to the crowd. He raised his voice, slipping instantly into the role of the dutiful husband.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, gesturing to me with a hand that didn't quite touch my arm. "As you can see, the rumors of my wife's demise were greatly exaggerated. We thank you for your privacy during this... difficult time."
The crowd applauded politely, but the tension was still thick enough to choke on.
Julian turned back to me. The fake smile vanished instantly. He leaned into my ear, his breath warm and dangerous against my skin.
"Enjoy the party, Elena," he hissed. "Because once we get home, you and I are going to have a very long talk. You broke the contract by leaving. And I intend to make you pay for every single day you were gone."
He pulled back, his eyes flashing with a promise of retribution.
He turned and walked away, leaving me standing alone at the bottom of the stairs, shivering in my silk dress.
I looked up at the balcony. Silas was watching me. He gave me a tiny nod.
I had survived the first encounter. But as I watched Julian's broad back disappear into the crowd, I realized the terrifying truth.
The danger wasn't the loan sharks anymore. The danger was the man I had just agreed to go home with.
The rest of the gala was a blur of flashing lights and forced smiles. I felt like a doll that had been wound up too tight, waiting for the spring to snap.
Silas never left my side, acting the part of the concerned family friend, but his eyes were hard. He steered me through conversations with bankers and socialites, whispering names and details into my ear seconds before I had to shake their hands. I nodded, I sipped champagne I didn't drink, and I ignored the burning sensation of Julian's gaze on the back of my neck.
He was watching me. Always watching.
When it was finally time to leave, the relief was so sharp it almost hurt. But the relief was short-lived.
"The car is out front," Silas said, guiding me toward the grand exit. "Julian is driving you home."
I froze, my heels skidding slightly on the polished floor. "You aren't coming?"
"I don't live at the manor, Elena," Silas said, his voice dropping to a warning whisper. "You are a married woman. You go home with your husband. That is the deal."
Panic clawed at my throat. I looked at the heavy oak doors ahead. Beyond them lay the night, the paparazzi, and a car ride alone with a man who looked at me like he wanted to dissect me.
"I don't know the way to the house," I hissed. "I don't know the code to the gate. I don't know which room is mine. Silas, if you leave me alone with him, I will fail."
"You won't fail," Silas said, opening the door. The cold night air hit my face. "Because if you fail, you don't get paid. And if you don't get paid, your friends in the Eastside come collecting. Now, go."
He gave me a small shove.
I stumbled out onto the red carpet.
The world exploded into white light.
"Elena! Elena over here!"
"Elena, is it true you were kidnapped?"
"Look this way! Give us a smile!"
The screaming of the paparazzi was deafening. A wall of cameras flashed in unison, blinding me. I threw a hand up to shield my eyes, stumbling back.
A hand grabbed my elbow.
It wasn't gentle. The grip was iron-hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my arm. I looked up and saw Julian. He wasn't looking at the cameras. He was looking straight ahead, his jaw set in a grim line.
"Get in the car," he growled.
He pulled me toward a sleek black sedan that looked more like a tank than a car. A valet held the door open. Julian practically threw me into the backseat before sliding in beside me.
The door slammed shut, sealing us inside.
The silence was instant and suffocating. The tinted windows blocked out the screams of the photographers, turning the flashing lights into dull, rhythmic pulses of gray. The interior of the car smelled of leather and that sharp, metallic scent of Julian's cologne.
"Drive," Julian said to the partition separating us from the driver.
The car surged forward, leaving the chaos behind.
I pressed myself against the door, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a fist. Don't speak, I told myself. Rule number one. Be cold. Be distant.
I turned my head to look out the window, watching the city lights streak by.
"You're shaking," Julian said.
His voice was calm, conversational, which made it terrifying.
"I'm cold," I lied, clutching my bare arms.
"The heated seats are on," he replied. "And you never get cold. You used to complain that the penthouse was too hot in the middle of winter."
I bit the inside of my cheek. Every word was a landmine. I didn't know these things. Silas had given me a dossier, but he hadn't told me about her temperature preferences.
"People change, Julian," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Trauma changes people."
I heard the leather creak as he shifted, turning his body toward me.
"Is that what it was?" he asked softly. "Trauma? Or was it a vacation? Because the private investigator I hired couldn't find a single trace of a kidnapping. No ransom note. No credible threats. You just vanished into thin air, Elena. And you took three million dollars from the joint account before you left."
My eyes widened. Three million dollars? Elena had stolen three million dollars?
"I don't want to talk about it," I said, hoping I sounded dismissive rather than terrified.
"Of course you don't," Julian scoffed. "You never want to talk about anything real. You just want to spend the money, wear the diamonds, and play the victim."
He reached out. I flinched, pressing harder against the door.
He paused, his hand hovering in the air. He wasn't reaching for me. He was reaching for the control panel on the armrest between us. He pressed a button, and the partition window between us and the driver turned opaque black.
Now we were truly alone.
"Look at me," he commanded.
I didn't move.
"Look. At. Me."
I slowly turned my head.
In the dim light of the passing streetlamps, his face was a mask of shadows. But his eyes were piercing. He leaned in close, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
"I don't know what game you are playing," he whispered. "I don't know why you came back. Maybe you ran out of money. Maybe your lover got bored of you. But I want one thing clear."
He reached out and took my chin in his hand. His fingers were rough, warm, and possessive. He tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"You are my wife on paper," he said. "But in this house, you are nothing. You stay out of my way, I stay out of yours. If you try to pull another stunt like this, if you try to embarrass me or my family again, I will destroy you. Do you understand?"
His thumb brushed against my lower lip. It was an unconscious movement, I was sure of it, but a jolt of electricity shot down my spine.
"Do you understand?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave.
"Yes," I whispered.
He stared at my mouth for a second longer than necessary. Then, as if he had been burned, he released me and pulled back. He straightened his suit jacket and turned away, looking out his window.
"Good," he said. "We're here."
The car turned off the main road. Through the windshield, I saw massive iron gates swinging open. Beyond them lay a long, winding driveway lined with ancient trees that looked like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. At the end of the drive sat the manor.
It was huge. It was dark. It looked less like a home and more like a fortress.
"Welcome back to Hell, darling." Julian muttered.