Chapter 284

[ 1,007 words ]

Julian’s POV

The rain was hitting the floor-to-ceiling glass of my Manhattan office in a steady, monotonous sheet.

I was standing by the window, my hands shoved deep into my trouser pockets, my mind tracking the forty-eight-hour clock. It was eleven forty-two. In eighteen minutes, Jude Wolfe’s deadline was going to expire, and I was already preparing the corporate and physical infrastructure orders to systematically erase his racing division from the East Coast ledger.

The heavy, double-oak doors of my private office didn’t just open. They were slammed back with a sudden, violent force that sent the brass handles cracking hard against the wood stops.

I didn’t flinch. I slowly turned my head, my eyes locking onto the threshold.

Zane was there, his hand locked around Sam’s arm, his face pale and tight as he tried to physically hold her back from stepping across the line. But Sam was completely beyond his control. Her hair was slightly messy, her blazer was wrinkled, and her face was a flushed, burning mask of pure, breathless fury. She tore her arm out of Zane’s grip with a sudden, violent wrench.

“I don’t care if you are just having fun fucking her, but right now, I need you to act like a man,” Sam spat, her voice carrying a raw, echoing rage that filled the quiet office.

Zane closed the door behind them, his shoulders tense, his eyes darting to me with a silent, warning look. He knew what my temper looked like when the boundaries of my space were violated.

I didn’t move an inch. I stood like a stone pillar by the window, my face a frozen, unreadable wall of slate. “Sam,” I said, my voice a quiet, level rumble.

“Jude Wolfe walked into Katia’s office,” Sam said, her chest heaving under her silk blouse, her breathing so sharp and shallow she could barely hold the words together. “He said all sorts of nonsense and she slapped him. He slapped her back. He wanted to start beating her up, but I hit his head using a fire extinguisher. If you care for her, save her from that demon called Jude p>

Inside my chest, something did a sudden, violent twist.

It was a literal, physical spasm, a hot, agonizing knot of pure, primitive rage that turned the blood in my veins to liquid iron. Jude Wolfe had put his hands on her. He had raised his hand and struck my wife across the face. The image of it—the split lip, the bruising cheek, the physical violation of the woman who carried my name, my ring, and my son—made my vision go black at the very edges, my knuckles clenching inside my pockets until the dry cuts on my palm split open.

The beast in my chest was screaming for blood. It wanted to walk straight down to the street, find the hospital bed where Jude was lying, and physically pull his tongue out of his throat.

But I didn’t let the mask slip. I couldn’t. I was Jules. I was her legal husband, but she didn’t know it, and Sam didn’t know it. If I blew my cover now—if I let the raw, nuclear possessiveness of a husband leak into the room—I would lose the chess board. I needed to know exactly what Jude was holding. I needed to understand why Katia was letting a broken, wired turnip write his name on her life.

“And who said I am fucking my sister-in-law?” I asked, my voice dropping to a low, warning register that was entirely empty of warmth.

Sam didn’t step back. She crossed the remaining distance, stopping three feet from my desk, and looked straight into my eyes with a fierce, unblinking focus that carried no give in it.

“Do I look like I was born yesterday to you?” she asked, her tone flat, dry, and entirely unimpressed by my corporate armor.

I gave her nothing. I kept my face a flawless wall of ice.

“I called the NYPD,” Sam went on, her voice shaking slightly but her focus remaining razor-sharp. “And guess what? Katia is scared of that man. I don’t know what he has on her, but it doesn’t look good. And I think the only thing that can make Katia give up everything is her son. That demon must be threatening her with the boy p>

My chest tightened further, the cold, calculated logic of her warning hitting my stomach like concrete.

Aiden.

Jude had gone straight to the family mansion to claim the boy yesterday. Now, he was using him as a physical and legal shield inside her office. He was threatening her with a custody suit, dragging my son’s name through the very tabloids she had spent eighteen months surviving.

“I do not expect you to do much,” Sam said, her voice dropping to a quiet, steady whisper of absolute finality. “But if you do not take action, you will not like what I will do p>

She didn’t wait for my response. She turned on her heel, her heels clicking rapidly and violently against the hardwood floor as she walked out, pulling the double doors shut behind her with a sharp, heavy click.

The silence that returned to the room was heavy, thick, and suffocating.

I stood by the window for three long seconds, my breathing slow, deep, and deliberate, forcing the wild, murderous static in my brain back into that cold, absolute focus. I took my hands out of my pockets. My taped knuckles were stiff, the dry skin aching, but my face was entirely settled.

Zane was still standing near the door. He had his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were tracking my face with the quiet, assessing focus of a best friend who knew exactly how close the beast was to the surface.

I slowly turned my head to look at him.

“Tell me again,” I said, my voice a quiet, mocking murmur that cut through the silence of the office. “Why are you sleeping with her p>

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