The conservatory felt like a glass coffin. Silas's departure had left a silence so thick Elara could taste it—bitter, like the copper of her own blood.
Julian hadn't moved. He stood by the fountain, his back to her, the silver watch on his wrist catching the light with every slight movement of his hand. It was beautiful. It was a masterpiece of engineering. And according to Silas, it had been stripped from a dead man's arm.
"Is it true?" Elara's voice cracked the silence.
Julian didn't turn. "Silas is a liar, Elara. He feeds on chaos." Ohhh I believe the S from the note stands for Silas and that was the man that just walked out of this door but I'm not talking about S or Silas or whoever just walked out of this place!" Elara screamed. The sound tore from her throat, raw and jagged. The "mask" she had painted on her face felt like it was cracking. She stepped toward him, her heels clicking like a countdown on the marble floor.
"Who am I, Thorne?" she demanded, her voice shaking with a decade of buried trauma. "Who the fuck am I?"
Julian slowly turned. His face was a mask of stone, his eyes dark and unreadable. "You are my wife."
"No!" She slapped her chest, her fingers digging into the expensive silk of the dress he had forced her into. "For twenty-four years, I have been Elara Vance. I am the girl who grew up in a cold bed at St. Jude's Orphanage. I am the girl who has no memories of a mother's face or a father's voice. All I have... the only thing I have... are constant, screaming nightmares of a house going off in flames!"
She was inches from him now, her chest heaving. Julian didn't flinch. He didn't move. He just watched her collapse into her own history.
"It's been less than three days," she sobbed, a laugh of pure hysteria escaping her lips. "Less than Three days since you dragged me from that hangar. In less than seventy-two hours, I've been called 'threatened' by a man who looks like he wants to eat me alive.I've been told you're wearing my father's watch!"
She grabbed his wrist, her small hand straining against his massive frame, forcing the silver watch into the light between them.
"Look at me, Julian! Who am I? Am I a Fixer you caught by mistake? Or am I some ghost you've been hunting since the world burned down?"
Julian finally looked at her. His eyes weren't filled with guilt or regret. They were filled with bored annoyance. He looked at her as if she were a child throwing a tantrum.
"You are a witness I decided to keep," he said flatly. "Nothing more. Now, go to your room and wash that filth off your face. You're starting to look desperate."
He brushed her hand off his arm as if she were a piece of lint and began to walk away. He headed toward the grand staircase, his stride long and arrogant.
"Don't you walk away from me!" Elara shouted, her vision blurring with tears of pure rage. She chased after him, her heels clicking frantically on the marble.
Julian reached the middle of the staircase, his hand on the mahogany railing. He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down.
Elara caught up to him, grabbing the back of his expensive suit jacket. She was sobbing now, her "Fixer" composure completely shattered.Julian stopped. He turned slowly, his face a mask of lethal shadow. "You're overstepping, Elara."
"Tell me!" she wailed, yanking on his arm with all her strength. "Who is Isabella? Who am I?"
"Let. Go." Julian's voice was a low, vibrating growl.
"No! Not until you tell me whose watch that is!" She reached for his wrist, her fingers clawing at the silver band.
Julian had reached his limit. He didn't think; he just reacted. He shoved her away with a powerful, instinctive jerk of his arm, intended to throw her off balance so he could keep walking.
"Enough!" he roared.
But Elara was in heels. Her foot hit the edge of the marble step.
She let out a short, sharp gasp as gravity took over. She fell backward, her body hitting the steps with a sickening series of thuds. Thump. Crack. Thump. She tumbled down the long flight of stairs, her limbs flailing like a broken doll until she crumpled into a heap on the cold marble floor of the foyer.
Julian froze at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened, his hand still frozen in the air from the shove. For the first time since she had met him, the mask of the Shadow Boss cracked, revealing a flash of pure, raw horror.
"Elara!"
He flew down the stairs, jumping the last few steps, and skidded to his knees beside her.
Elara lay perfectly still. Her head was tilted at an unnatural angle, and a thin ribbon of blood began to leak from her hairline, staining the white marble. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing.
"Elara, look at me," Julian hissed, his hands shaking as he hovered over her, afraid to touch her. "Elara!"
Julian reached out and grabbed her hand, his thumb brushing over the gold wedding ring. As he did, a small, silver locket which has been with Elara right from before the orphanage but due to the rust in it,Elara hasn't been able to open it but kept it with her and the gravity of the fall popped it open.Inside the locket was a tiny, faded photograph of a man. A man with the exact same silver watch on his wrist.
But it wasn't just the watch that stopped Julian's heart. It was the inscription on the back of the locket, visible in the morning light:
"To my little Queen, Isabella. The throne is yours. Love, Papa."
Julian stared at the words, then at her pale, lifeless face.He shook the locket in his pocket and at that moment, the front doors of the mansion were kicked open by his security team.
Julian didn't even look at them. He picked up Elara's limp body, pressing her blood-stained face against his chest. "Get the doctor," he growled, his voice sounding like it was being dragged through gravel. "If she dies, I'll burn this entire city to the ground—starting with everyone in this room."