My bedroom always felt more like a gallery than a sanctuary. High ceilings, floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over a rain-drenched city, and enough grey marble to build a mausoleum. It was cold. Everything my father touched turned to ice eventually.
I stood in front of the vanity, my hair damp from the shower, dragging a brush through the dark strands. The rhythm was the only thing keeping my pulse steady. Today had been a bloodbath in the boardroom, and I was still tasting the copper.
Click. Flick. Hiss.
I didn't need to look at the doorway to know who was there. That sound had been the soundtrack to my life since I was twelve years old.
Julian was leaning against the doorframe, his silhouette sharp enough to draw blood. He was still in his charcoal suit, though the tie was loosened, the closest he ever got to looking "relaxed." In his hand was that silver Zippo, the one with the dented corner. He'd had it since his mother died. He never lit a cigarette with it. He just liked the sound.
Click. Flick. Hiss.
"The Henderson account is a mess, Sera," he said, his voice as flat as a dial tone. "You pushed too hard. They were ready to sign until you brought up the offshore liabilities."
"I pushed because they were lying, Julian," I replied, catching his blue eyes in the mirror. I didn't stop brushing. My movements were surgical. "If we'd signed without those disclosures, we'd be the ones facing the SEC in six months. You know that. You just hate that I was the one who saw it first."
Julian didn't answer immediately. He just watched me. It was a heavy, clinical kind of staring, like he was trying to figure out how my internal gears turned so he could jam them. He'd spend all day trying to dismantle my career, but at night, he always ended up here. Standing at the threshold. Never coming in, never leaving.
"You're getting arrogant," he muttered, the lighter snapping shut with a final clack.
"And you're getting predictable," I countered. "Go to bed, Julian. You have a merger to fail at tomorrow."
He let out a breath that might have been a laugh if he remembered how to make the sound.
He didn't move.
He just lingered, his gaze dropping to the curve of my shoulder before snapping back up to my eyes. He looked like he wanted to say something, something that wasn't about offshore accounts, but the Blackwood DNA wouldn't allow it.
"Don't forget the gala on Friday," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "Father expects you to be on Elias's arm for the entrance."
The brush stuttered against a tangle. My heart did a slow, sickening roll in my chest at the mention of the name. Elias.
"I'm aware," I said, my voice coming out tighter than I wanted.
Julian's eyes narrowed. He noticed. He always noticed when the mention of our 'uncle' made my armor crack. He hated Elias for a thousand reasons, mostly because Elias was the only man Silas Blackwood actually seemed to respect, but I think he hated the way I reacted to him even more.
"You're shaking, Sera," Julian said, his voice losing its bored edge. He finally took a step into the room, just one.
"I'm cold," I lied, setting the brush down with a controlled click. "The heating in this wing is pathetic."
"Liar." He looked at me for a long beat, his knuckles white around the lighter. For a second, I thought he might actually cross the room. I thought he might actually be human. Then, the mask slid back into place. "Goodnight, Sis. Try not to have nightmares about the CFO. It makes you look haggard in the morning."
He turned and vanished into the darkened hallway.
I stayed there for a long time, staring at the empty doorway. I told myself I was annoyed. I told myself Julian was just another obstacle. But as I reached over to turn off the vanity light, I saw my own reflection. My hand wasn't just shaking; it was trembling.
Because I knew Elias was probably somewhere in this house right now, watching the same rain, waiting for Friday. And Julian... Julian would watch me drown before he'd admit he wanted to save me.