Chapter 7 A Change of Scenery

The morning of the trip was terrible. I’d maybe gotten two hours of sleep, my mind racing between the security breach, Victoria’s terrified face, and the strange image of Julian talking to his cat.

My apartment was a mess. One corner was for my stuff—a practical black suitcase overflowing with blouses and one dress I hoped was nice enough for a fancy dinner.

The other corner was all for a spoiled cat.

A smooth, white pet carrier—the kind that was probably better built than my car—had been delivered by a quiet courier at 5 AM. With it came a box of expensive salmon treats, a collapsible water bowl that felt very high-quality, and a bag of top-tier cat food that smelled better than my breakfast.

A sticky note was on the carrier in sharp handwriting: ‘Her calming supplements are in the side pocket. Give her one exactly thirty minutes before takeoff. - J.T.’

Right. Because the cat’s anxiety was the most important thing.

I stood on the curb in the drizzly, grey dawn, exhausted. My left hand was numb from the weight of my overstuffed suitcase. My right arm ached under the stack of binders for the Shimura Holdings deal. The ridiculously nice cat carrier was hooked over my elbow, digging into my arm. The drizzle was turning my carefully straightened hair into a frizzy mess.

A black sedan, as shiny and cold as its owner, pulled up smoothly right next to the curb. The window rolled down with a soft hum. And there he was.

Julian Thorne. He looked like he’d stepped out of a business magazine. Perfect charcoal suit, crisp white shirt, hair perfectly in place. Not a single sign of the long, chaotic night we’d just endured.

On the plush leather seat beside him was Duchess Isabella III’s matching carrier. The cat herself was visible through the mesh window, her fluffy white face looking completely bored.

He didn’t get out. He didn’t offer to help. His cool look swept over me, taking in my damp hair, the shaky stack of binders, my general look of someone barely holding it together.

“Get in,” he said, his voice flat. “You’re letting in the damp.”

My irritation flared, a welcome spark in my exhaustion. If it was Liam Thorne, he would have been out of the car immediately, with a warm, easy smile, taking the bags from my hands. But this wasn’t him. This was his colder, harder brother. The reminder was a shock.

Mr. Kim, the driver, was already out, his kind face a sharp contrast to his boss’s chill.

“Let me help you with those, Miss Sharpe,” he said quietly, quickly putting my luggage away while I got into the car, trying not to drip rainwater on the perfect leather.

The inside of the car was quiet and luxurious. It smelled expensive. The only sounds were the soft noise of the engine and Isabella’s purring from her carrier, which Julian had placed on the seat between us.

The silence was overwhelming. I couldn’t take it. I started going over the schedule, my voice too cheerful for the small space.

“Our flight to Tokyo is at 10:45. I’ve pre-cleared security. The forecast is clear, so we should have a smooth flight. We land at 3:20 PM local time. Mr. Shimura’s head of operations will meet us. We are staying at the Andaz Tokyo. The main meeting with Shimura-san is tomorrow at 10 AM. I’ve included the updated documents here…”

I tapped the top binder. I was determined to be perfect.

Julian listened, his eyes closed, nodding slightly. He wasn’t even looking at me. When I finished, he opened his eyes.

“Adequate.”

It was the best praise I would get. He then turned all his attention to the carrier, opening a small part to let Isabella sniff his finger.

“She dislikes turbulence. The climb is hard for her. You have the treats I sent?”

The switch from ruthless CEO to worried cat-owner was so sudden it left me speechless for a second.

“I… yes, sir. I have them. And the special water you asked for.”

A faint hint of something—approval?—showed on his calm face. The silence returned, but this time it felt different. Less hostile.

I don’t know why I asked. The question just came out.

“Why is Duchess Isabella III so important to you?”

He didn’t look at me, his focus entirely on the cat. His fingers stroked her fur through the mesh.

“She is… predictable. Her needs are simple. Food, water, a warm place to sleep. She is a friend without the difficult weight of expectation or betrayal.”

He paused, his thumb moving along Isabella’s jaw. His voice was quieter, softer than I’d ever heard it.

“She was a gift. From Adrian.”

The name hung in the air between us, heavy and important. His dead best friend. The reason for the Foundation. A part of Julian’s past I wasn’t supposed to know. I held my breath. I wanted to ask more.

But before I could, his phone buzzed. Not a ring, but a specific, urgent vibration.

He looked at the screen. And his whole face changed. The softness vanished. His shoulders became tense. The man worried about cat treats was gone, replaced by something cold and sharp.

He answered the phone. “Report.”

A pause. I could hear a frantic voice on the other end. Julian’s expression grew darker.

“When?” he said, his voice sharp.

Another pause. The car felt colder.

“Unacceptable.” The word was ice. “Their CEO wouldn’t make a move that bold without a reason. What did we miss?”

He listened, his eyes narrowing. I saw his free hand clench into a fist. I held my breath.

“The Frankfurt deal was a distraction,” he said, his voice becoming terrifyingly calm. “He knew we’d focus there. This is the real move. Send the Aethelstan projections to me. Now. And get me everything on their board meeting in Singapore last week. I want to know who gave in.”

He hung up. The silence that followed was heavier, charged with a new, dangerous energy.

He stared out the window, but he wasn’t seeing the streets. He was planning. He was no longer just my cold boss or a cat guy. He was Julian Thorne, CEO. A predator who had just found his target.

And I was trapped in the car with him.

He finally turned his head. He looked at me, but he was seeing a tool. A part of his plan.

“The plan has changed,” he said, his voice all business. “Cancel the dinner for tonight. I need the conference room at the hotel for a video call at 8 PM. The people are on the list in the ‘Sigma’ folder. Tell no one. Not even Victoria.”

He was pulling me into the real fight. This was different from last night's panic. This was a calculated war.

“Y-yes, sir,” I stammered, my heart pounding. “The Sigma list. Understood.”

He gave a short nod and turned back to the window, his mind already far away. I looked for the right binder, my hands shaking. I found the ‘Sigma’ folder. The names inside were powerful people in global finance. My mouth went dry.

Julian’s phone buzzed again. A different alert. A text. He looked down.

And for the second time that morning, I watched his face change completely. All the cold anger was gone. He looked… horrified.

His eyes widened. He lost color in his face. He stared at the screen as if it were a threat.

“Mr. Kim,” he said, and his voice was empty. “New plan. Take us to the private hangar at Gimpo. Not the usual one. The other one. Now.”

Mr. Kim looked in the rearview mirror, confused, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Julian didn’t explain. He didn’t look at me. He just stared at his phone, gripping it tightly.

The car turned suddenly, cutting across lanes of traffic. We were heading away from the main airport.

“Sir?” I finally asked, my voice small. “What’s happening? Is it Aethelstan?”

He slowly turned to look at me. The emotion in his eyes was strange. It wasn’t anger. It was fear.

“No,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. He held up his phone so I could see.

It was a single text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: A change of scenery for the journey. A gift from an old friend. Enjoy the flight. P.S. The cat is adorable. It would be a shame if anything… startled her.

Below the text was a picture. It showed the private jet we were supposed to board. And around it were men in dark clothes. They weren’t airport staff. One was by the landing gear, looking right at the camera with a cold smile.