A Cold Room and Hot Skin

Claimed by My Ex’s Uncle

Chapter 6: A Cold Room and Hot Skin

The silence inside the private penthouse elevator was deafening.

The penthouse at the top of the Vance Tower was built like a fortress. Black marble, floor-to-ceiling glass looking out over the glowing grid of Manhattan, and a heavy, suffocating air of absolute wealth.

I stood near the corner of the elevator, my heels aching, the deep crimson silk of my dress rustling softly every time I shifted my weight. Julian stood near the control panel, his hand casually resting in the pocket of his tailored trousers. He had tossed his bow tie onto the leather seat of the Maybach twenty minutes ago, leaving the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt undone.

He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The silver glint in his eyes whenever his gaze tracked the movement of my pulse point spoke loud enough.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open directly into the private foyer of his apartment.

"Your room is down the east hall," Julian said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that echoed off the high ceilings. He unbuttoned his platinum cufflinks, sliding them into his pocket. "Sophia had your belongings moved from your apartment while we were at the gala."

I turned, frowning slightly. "You moved my things without asking?"

Julian stopped walking. He slowly turned his head to look at me, a calm, terrifying stillness settling over his broad shoulders.

"You signed a contract this morning, Elena," he reminded me softly, taking a single step toward me. "Your father's debt is cleared. Your family company is secure. In return, your life is linked to mine. Moving your clothes into my home is the least intrusive thing I will do to you this week."

My chest heaved. The sheer audacity of his confidence made my blood run hot. "You like being in control of everything, don't you?"

"I don't just like it," Julian murmured, closing the distance between us until the toes of his hand-crafted leather shoes were touching my heels. He loomed over me, his shadow completely blotting out the warm ambient lighting of the foyer. "I demand it."

"And what if I don't break so easily?" I challenged, tilting my head back, meeting his icy stare without a single flinch. "Marcus thought he could control me by keeping me in a box. I broke out of that box in five minutes."

A slow, lethal smile spread across Julian’s face.

He didn't grab me. He simply reached out and caught a lock of my dark hair between his long fingers, brushing it gently over my shoulder, his knuckles grazing the sensitive bare skin of my collarbone.

"Marcus tried to cage a bird he didn't understand," Julian whispered, his thumb pressing lightly against the hollow of my throat, feeling the rapid thump-thump-thump of my racing heart. "He wanted a decorative doll to show off at dinner parties. I don't want a doll, Elena."

"What do you want?" My voice rasped out, barely louder than a whisper.

"I want the wild creature that walked into a dirty speakeasy in a red dress looking for blood," he growled low, his silver eyes darkening until they looked almost black. "I want the woman who dragged my nephew's reputation through the mud in front of the entire high society without blinking. And I want her in my bed, begging me to take every single piece of her."

The heat radiating off him was overwhelming. My breath hitched in my throat, my hands instinctively lifting to rest flat against his solid chest. I could feel the rigid muscle under his shirt, the steady, heavy thud of his own heart beating against my palms.

"This is supposed to be a strategic alliance," I reminded him, though my own words sounded weak, hollow even to my own ears.

"It is strategic," Julian agreed, his large hand sliding up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling into my hair, holding me in place. "It's strategically brilliant. Because while Marcus is spending the next month scrambling to keep his dignity intact, you and I are going to plan a wedding that will seal the Vance empire forever."

"And after the wedding?"

"After the wedding," Julian said, his mouth dipping down until his hot lips were resting just a hairsbreadth away from mine, "you stop sleeping in the east wing."

My pulse hit absolute rock bottom before skyrocketing into overdrive. "Julian..."

He didn't kiss me. He teased me with the proximity, letting me taste the faint hint of smoky bourbon on his breath before he pulled back just an inch, his eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.

"Go to sleep, little bird," he murmured, his grip on my hair relaxing as he stepped back, leaving my skin feeling suddenly freezing cold where his heat had been a second ago. "Tomorrow morning at eight, the wedding planner arrives. My mother is coming with her."

My eyes widened. "Your mother?"

"Victoria Vance," Julian said dryly, turning on his heel and walking toward his master suite at the end of the main corridor. "She makes Marcus look like a golden retriever. Bring your armor, Elena. You're going to need it."

The morning sun hit the floor-to-ceiling windows of the guest suite like a flashbang.

I woke up at seven, my body aching slightly from the emotional whiplash of the last forty-eight hours. The heavy diamond on my finger caught the sunlight, throwing brilliant geometric spots of light across the white silk sheets.

By seven-forty-five, I was dressed in a sharp, ivory tailored pantsuit—a armor of my own choosing. I did my makeup, pulled my hair back into a sleek, elegant knot at the base of my neck, and stepped out into the main living room.

The apartment was already buzzing.

Two assistants were setting up racks of white lace, silk swatches, and thick leather-bound albums on the obsidian coffee table. Sitting on the velvet sofa, holding a porcelain teacup like it was a weapon, was a woman in her late sixties with silver hair styled to perfection and a face carved out of bitter ice.

Victoria Vance. The matriarch of the family.

Beside her stood Marcus, looking pale, tired, and thoroughly miserable.

When I walked into the room, the clinking of teacups immediately stopped.

Victoria raised her sharp gaze, assessing me from my ivory heels to the top of my head in three agonizing seconds.

"So," Victoria spoke, her voice like glass breaking on stone. "This is the girl who caused a scandal at the Plaza last night."

"Good morning to you too, Mrs. Vance," I said smoothly, walking into the center of the room with my head held high.

Marcus glared at me, his fists clenched at his sides. "Elena, stop this absurd game. Talk to my grandmother. Tell her the truth about what you're doing."

"The truth?" I asked, turning my gaze to Marcus, letting a cold, dismissive smirk touch my lips. "The truth is that you were incompetent enough to lose your engagement, your position on the board, and your standing in this family in less than twelve hours."

"You arrogant little—" Marcus took a step forward.

"Sit down, Marcus," a deep, commanding voice cut through the air.

Julian walked out of his private study, wearing a dark navy suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and commanding height. He walked straight over to where I stood, slipping his arm around my waist and pulling me flush against his side. The familiar warmth of his body flooded through me, grounding me instantly.

Victoria set her teacup down with a sharp clink. "Julian, this is absurd. She was engaged to your nephew three days ago. The press is calling it a blood feud."

"The press is writing whatever keeps their stock prices high, Mother," Julian replied casually, his hand tightening subtly over my hip in a clear display of ownership. "Elena is my choice. The wedding will take place in two weeks at the estate in the Hamptons."

"Two weeks?" Victoria gasped. "That is barely enough time to organize a proper—"

"It is plenty of time," Julian interrupted, his silver eyes locking onto his mother's with absolute finality. "Because it isn't a debate."

Marcus looked like he was about to vomit. "Grandmother, you can't let him do this! She's doing this out of spite!"

Julian slowly turned his head toward Marcus, his expression flat, dead, and lethal.

"Marcus," Julian said softly, his voice dropping an octave into a register that made the assistants in the room freeze. "You are currently standing in my home, drinking my tea, after failing to protect a vital business partnership. If you open your mouth in this room again, I will have security remove you to the curb."

Marcus’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. He turned his eyes to the floor, his face burning with absolute humiliation.

Julian looked down at me, his expression shifting from cold authority to something dangerously intense. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my temple, his breath warm against my skin.

"Are you ready to design our wedding, my love?" he whispered for the room to hear.

I looked into his silver eyes, feeling the sheer weight of the game we were playing. It was dangerous. It was crazy.

And I had never felt more alive.

"Let's make it unforgettable," I murmured back.