Ch21 - In the same boat

Violet had braced herself for the impact—ready to hit the pavement hard—when a strong arm caught her mid-fall.

For a moment she froze. The warmth of his palm came through the fabric of her blouse; his scent—clean, dry, with a hint of wood and cologne—filled her head. His arm was firm around her waist, the other steadying her by the forearm.

She looked up—and met Julian’s eyes. Her heart stuttered, a sharp, traitorous thump. With his help she found her balance again, still half leaning against him.

Benny and Polly, clutching the stolen ring, went rigid. The man standing between them and Violet wasn’t just tall—he carried a kind of quiet, heavy presence that made the air feel tighter. His gaze swept over them, sharp and cutting, before turning back to Violet to make sure she was okay.

Polly tugged on Benny’s sleeve, whispering, “Who… who is that?”

“No damn clue,” Benny muttered, eyes darting up and down Julian’s immaculate suit.

The ring in Polly’s hand suddenly felt like it weighed a ton. The man’s composure, the car idling at the curb—everything about him screamed money and power. Her gut told her they’d messed with someone they shouldn’t have. Maybe she should give it back—apologize, explain—something.

She hesitated, starting to lift her hand. But before she could, Benny snatched the ring from her palm.

“WHAT are you doing?” Benny hissed.

“Don’t forget why we’re here!” he snapped under his breath. Then, without another word, he spun around and bolted down the street. “I’m out. You wanna stay here and chat, suit yourself.”

“Wait for me!” Polly yelped, scrambling after him.

“Julian—wait!” Violet grabbed his sleeve, panic flaring. “They took my ring—my wedding ring!”

She tried to run, but his arm came up, stopping her with effortless strength. “Don’t,” he said, voice low and steady. Then he tilted his head toward the end of the street where his bodyguards lingered, signaling them to stand down.

Violet frowned. “But…”

She was still rubbing her bare ring finger, guilt twisting in her chest. That ring must worth a lot. It might’ve only been hers for a month, but now that it was gone, her stomach felt hollow. I should’ve known better, she thought. I should’ve been more careful.

Julian called over Craig, his ever-efficient assistant, and gave him a single look—no words needed.

Craig nodded immediately. “Understood, sir.”

Julian’s hand was still resting lightly at Violet’s waist. He gave a brief pat, “It’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

Something about his tone made her chest unclench. She realized her fingers were still gripping his sleeve; when she let go, she saw the faint creases she’d left behind and awkwardly smoothed them out.

Julian’s gaze flicked down at her slender hand, then he withdrew his own. Violet stepped back, murmuring a quiet “Thanks,” but the warmth of his touch still lingered faintly against her skin.

He crouched to pick up the things she’d dropped, then straightened and handed her bag back. “You’re welcome.”

When she reached for it, their fingers brushed for a fraction of a second. He slid his hands into his pockets, nodding toward the street. “C'mon. I need to swing by the apartment anyway.”

They walked side by side. Her posture was stiff, her eyes unfocused, still shaken. Julian gave her a sidelong glance, his voice even. “Those two just now—who were they?”

Violet blinked back to herself. “My aunt and uncle.”

Julian’s brow tightened. So it was them. He remembered—that her aunt had sold her to Hill for money. And now they’d tracked her down here. It didn’t take much imagination to figure out why. Families like that were always the same—if it wasn’t gambling, it was drugs. Bottomless holes.

And yet somehow, she’d crawled out of it still kind, still sane.

He spoke again, tone calm but edged. “That ring they took will probably end up in a pawnshop. It’s got a serial code engraved on the inside. The moment someone tries to sell it, they’ll get caught.”

Violet blinked, realization dawning. So that’s why he didn’t chase after them. He’d already set the trap—one that would hurt far more than a public scolding ever could.

And sure enough, not even half a day later, his words came true. Benny and Polly were caught at a pawn shop downtown. The owner, while checking the serial number, had noticed it matched a report filed just an hour earlier—and quietly called the police.

Julian’s phone buzzed. The caller ID read Jamie – Chief. He glanced toward the kitchen, where Violet was pouring a cup of tea, then stepped out onto the balcony before answering.

“Jamie,” he greeted lazily.

The police chief chuckled. “Well, well. For once I’m not calling you because you caused trouble. You’re the complainant this time.”

Julian laughed under his breath. “Don’t make it sound like I’m that hopeless.”

“Anyway,” Jamie said, “what do you want done with them? We’ve got the couple in custody. They’re denying everything—claiming their niece gave them the ring.”

“‘Gave them?’” Julian’s voice dropped, amused and cold. “That’s creative.”

Jamie exhaled. “It’s a high-value item—technically grand theft. They could face a year or more. But if you choose not to press charges, the DA might drop the case.”

Julian’s tone turned thoughtful. “Don’t release them yet. I’ll decide later.”

“Didn’t plan to,” Jamie replied. “The man’s being a pain—loud, rude, mouthing off to my officers. He’ll spend a couple nights in the holding cell. The woman’s quieter—she can post bail if she wants. We’ll see if she does.”

Julian ended the call, absently turning the phone once in his palm before sliding it into his pocket. He walked back toward the kitchen, the small round table he just sat.

As he rolled up his shirt sleeves, he noticed Violet at the counter, stretching on her toes, arm lifted toward the upper cabinet. Her fingers brushed the edge of a tin but couldn’t quite reach.

She was trying to make tea again—She remembered the butler Mrs. Jones telling her he liked it strong.

Before she could try again, a shadow fell over her. His hand passed close across the back of hers and, with effortless ease, took down the tin.

“Next time just call Mrs. Jones,” Julian said, placing it in front of her before stepping back.

“Alright.” Violet rubbed the back of her hand where his fingers had grazed it.

She still wasn’t used to having staff around. Mrs. Jones, two live-in maids, the chef and the buyer—all quiet, efficient, almost invisible. Maybe because Julian preferred it that way. 

Violet rarely asked them for anything; she didn’t feel entitled to, not when she was only technically the lady of the house.

“Come here,” Julian said, pulling out a chair. “We need to talk.”

She sat, posture stiff, fingers tightening around the edge of her skirt.

“You can probably guess what it’s about.” He sat opposite, tapping a knuckle lightly on the tabletop. “Your aunt and uncle. What do you want to do with them?”

When he’d told her they’d been caught trying to pawn the ring, she’d just stared—shocked, quiet. Benny would spend two nights in holding; the thought left her oddly hollow.

After a pause she murmured, “It’s your property… you should decide.”

Her lashes lowered, guilt flickering in her expression. She couldn’t stop thinking of her cousin, Lilia—sick, innocent, with a father who gambled away her treatment money.

Julian watched her, toying with a small ornament on the table. His tone was calm, almost lazy. “You’re not angry?”

She looked up, puzzled. “Shouldn’t you be the one angry? I only brought you trouble.”

One corner of his mouth curved. “I don’t waste anger on people who don’t matter. The ring can be replaced. But those two—” his voice cooled, “—they treat you like a cash machine.”

The words hit her harder than she expected. A cash machine. That was exactly what she’d been to them. For twelve years she’d called them family, and still—

She fell silent, hiding her face in her hands.

Julian paused, eyes narrowing slightly at the small, defeated curve of her shoulders. Something uninvited stirred in him, a tug in a place he didn’t like to acknowledge. He pushed it away with a quiet breath.

“Hey,” he said lightly, “we’re not that different, you know. Lost our parents early, ended up with bloodsuckers for relatives.” A faint, crooked smile touched his mouth. 

“But your aunt’s family—I can deal with them. I told you when we signed the papers: you help me, I help you. Consider this one of those times.”