Chapter 10: Force of Habit

The voice cut through the room, cold and sharp, and a hand closed around Wendy's wrist not Nathan's.

By the time she looked up, Julian had already pried her free of his grip with almost no effort at all.

Nathan's frown deepened as he glanced down at his own hand. A dark burn mark had bloomed across the back of it.

Wendy's eyes dropped to Julian's other hand a half-smoked cigarette, held loosely between two fingers.

A ripple of gasps moved through the crowd. No one had missed what just happened: Julian had put a cigarette out on Nathan Hale his sworn rival, and, as of two days ago, his wife's ex-husband.

Nathan lowered his hand, furious. "Care to explain yourself, Vance?"

"You put your hands on what's mine," Julian said, flat and cold.

Even now, some part of Nathan still refused to accept that Wendy wasn't his anymore. He said nothing, jaw tight.

Julian wasn't done. His eyes narrowed. "Wendy is staying with me for the rest of her life. Come near her again, and I won't be nearly this polite."

He hadn't bothered lowering his voice. By morning, every corner of high society would know exactly what had just happened and exactly whose side Julian Vance had picked.

He took Wendy's hand, walked her straight out of the hotel, got her settled into the car, buckled her seatbelt himself, and pulled away without a word.

Wendy stole glances at him the whole ride. His jaw stayed set, eyes fixed ahead, like she wasn't even in the car.

She held onto the seatbelt strap and said quietly, "I didn't mean to put you in an awkward position."

If anything, the temperature in the car dropped another two degrees.

Missing the tightness in his jaw, she pressed on. "It's not that I didn't want to get away from him he was holding my mother's medical records over me. I let him keep talking because I needed those records back."

She assumed his anger came from embarrassment on her behalf, and chose her next words carefully.

He said nothing for a long stretch. Finally, he pulled the car over and turned to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to burden you with it."

Silence again. Then: "We have a contract. I help you but that means you loop me in on things. All of it."

"Is that actually in there?" she asked, confused.

"Is helping you deal with Nathan in the contract?" he shot back.

She nodded, and he sighed. "Then it sounds like you don't trust me to follow through on it."

"That's not it," she said quickly. "I just really didn't want to be a burden."

He studied her, steady and unreadable, until she relented. "Fine. I was wrong. I'll talk to you before doing anything like that again."

"Saying it isn't enough."

Frustrated now, she asked, "Then what do you want from me?"

"Put it in writing."

"Fine. I'll sign something when we get back."

"No need." He reached into the back seat, pulled out his laptop, opened a blank document, typed a single line, and turned the screen toward her. "You can sign it right now."

Wendy stared at him. "You just... carry this around? Ready for anything?"

"Force of habit," he said simply.

She had no real objection. She saved a digital copy, printed two, and they each kept one.

It wasn't until after signing that she reread the new clause and paused. The part about discussing anything involving Nathan with him first that made sense. But there was a second line tacked on beneath it.

You are not permitted to meet with Nathan Hale alone, under any circumstances.

That one felt oddly specific.

They rode the rest of the way home in silence. When they walked in, Diane looked at Wendy with something like guilt, clearly working up to say something and losing her nerve twice.

"Whatever it is, just say it," Wendy offered gently.

Diane exhaled. "Wendy, I never meant for you to get dragged through the mud over this."

Wendy blinked, lost. Diane reached for the shawl still around her shoulders, eyes down. "This is my fault. You got embarrassed because of me..."

It clicked. Wendy caught her hand firmly. "There's nothing embarrassing about it. I genuinely love this shawl."

Diane looked unconvinced. "But people online are tearing you apart over it"

She pulled up her phone, and a headline greeted them both: an article mocking Wendy's taste, calling her out of her depth at an event like that.

The pieces fell into place fast. Nathan clearly hadn't wanted anyone dwelling on what happened to *him* at the gala, so he'd redirected the narrative toward Wendy instead an easy scapegoat.

Anyone actually in that world would have seen through it instantly. Manufactured outrage like that only worked on people who hadn't been in the room people like Diane.

Relieved that Wendy genuinely wasn't bothered, Diane still felt guilty enough to try taking the shawl back.

From across the room, Sophie muttered, "Wow. What a suck-up."

Both Julian and Diane turned matching unimpressed looks on her. She scoffed and retreated to her room.

The rest of the day passed without incident.

The next morning, Wendy found Julian in the living room and asked, surprised, "No office today?"

He glanced up. "Aren't you headed to the hospital?"

"I am."

She blinked, not sure what that had to do with him.

"I'll come with you."

She didn't argue. Eleanor's records were still locked up somewhere in Nathan's system having Julian along couldn't hurt.

They arrived together. Rounding a corner near the ward, a caregiver passed them muttering, clearly venting about a patient something along the lines of might as well just die already.

Wendy's expression darkened. Whoever that caregiver was assigned to, that wasn't language anyone in that role should be using and if they said it out loud, in a hospital hallway, what were they willing to do behind closed doors?

At Eleanor's door, assuming she was asleep, Wendy walked in without knocking. The bed was empty.

She froze. Julian offered, "Maybe she's out getting some sun. It's a nice day."

It was bright and clear, exactly the kind of day a caregiver might wheel a patient out to the garden.

But something felt wrong. Wendy pushed further into the room and caught a shape through the bathroom doorway. Her breath stopped, a dull roar filling her ears.

Eleanor. Alone. Collapsed on the tile, eyes shut, no telling how long she'd been down.

Wendy rushed forward and carefully gathered her up. Eleanor felt impossibly light, all bone beneath thin skin. Wendy's eyes burned, terrified to apply too much pressure anywhere.

Julian ran for help. By the time Wendy had Eleanor settled back on the bed, doctors and nurses were already flooding in.

The attending doctor did a quick check. "She's fine likely a mild concussion, nothing serious."

Wendy's frown didn't ease. "Run it again," Julian said.

Something in his tone left no room for argument. The doctor had Eleanor wheeled off for a full workup without further comment.

Wendy trailed after them, anxious the entire time. With the morning still quiet, the results came back fast a mild concussion, some scrapes on her hands, nothing more.

Once Eleanor was settled back in her room, Wendy lingered at the door, the fear still sitting heavy in her chest.

A voice cut in from behind them, sharp and unpleasant. "What's the holdup out here? You do realize the woman in there is basically a paycheck, right?"

Wendy turned, already bracing for it and found the same nurse from before.