Julian Vane

The drive home was the quietest thirty minutes of my life. The night still didn’t feel real. Every time I shifted in the driver’s seat, I could still remember the touch of his hands on my waist.

Five thousand dollars.

I thought to myself.

I paid five thousand dollars to feel alive again.

I pulled into the driveway of our house which was feeling like a very expensive cage now. I took a deep breath, wiped a stray smudge of eyeliner from under my eye, and walked inside.

The smell of stale scotch and burnt toast hit me immediately.

Mark was sitting at the kitchen island, his hair a mess, his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. He looked gray. Hungover. Pathetic.

He was staring at his phone, but his head snapped up when the door clicked shut.

"Well, well," he sneered, his voice raspy. "My wife finally returns. Where were you, Elena? Staying at your sister’s? Crying into a pint of ice cream while she told you what a big, mean bully I am?"

I didn't flinch. I walked past him toward the espresso machine.

“I didn't go to my sister's, Mark."

"Oh? Then where? A motel? Did you spend the night walking the streets trying to find someone to feel sorry for you?" He laughed, but it sounded forced.

He was looking for a reaction out of me.

I turned to face him, leaning against the counter. I didn't say a word. I just looked at him.

I felt... different.

For the first time in years, I didn't feel the need to defend myself to him. .

Mark’s smirk flickered. He squinted at me, his eyes traveling over my face. "Why are you looking at me like that"

"Like what?" I asked back.

"You look.... It’s annoying." He stood up, stumbling slightly. "Listen, I don't care where you slept. Truly. But don't think for a second that your little disappearing act changed anything. The contract stands. My life goes on."

"Is that so?" I took a sip of my coffee. "Well, I hope your life is going on well this morning, Mark. You look like you’ve been run over by a truck."

His face turned a dark, ugly red. "Watch your mouth, Elena. You're lucky I'm letting you stay in this house."

"Actually," I said, walking toward the stairs. “Not according to those papers I signed last night. Have a nice day at the office."

I didn't wait for his reply. I went upstairs, closed the door, and leaned against it. My heart was racing.

---

One Month Later

The world didn't end.

For four weeks, Mark and I lived like polite strangers.

He stayed out late, coming home smelling of various perfumes, and I spent my days meeting with a secret lawyer Chloe had found for me. I was moving my inheritance into private accounts, preparing for the day I would finally walk away.

But then, the morning of the brunch arrived.

Mark’s firm was hosting a "Power Brunch" for the senior partners. It was a test. Mark was desperate for a promotion to Managing Director, and he needed me to be the perfect, glowing wife.

I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to put on earrings, when the world suddenly tilted.

I felt a pain in my stomach. I immediately dropped the earrings and barely made it to the toilet before I lost my breakfast.

I sat on the cold tile floor, gasping for air.

It’s just stress.

I told myself.

The divorce, the lying, the brunch. It’s just nerves.

But then a cold, terrifying thought drifted into my mind. I did the math. My period was eight days late.

"No," I whispered, my hand flying to my stomach. "No, no, no."

I had taken the Plan B pill the very next morning.

I had been careful. My one night stand had been... well, we had been careful, mostly.

I stood up, my knees shaking. I looked at the calendar on my phone.

"Elena! Get down here!" Mark yelled from downstairs. "The partners will be here in twenty minutes! If the mimosas aren't chilled, I’m going to lose my mind!"

I splashed cold water on my face. I couldn't think about this now. I couldn't. I had to get through this brunch. I had to play the part.

---

The dining room was full of men in expensive suits and women with frozen, botoxed smiles.

I moved through the crowd, carrying a tray of appetizers. Every time the scent of the smoked salmon hit me, my stomach grumbled. I had to keep biting the inside of my cheek to keep from gagging.

"Elena, darling! You look a bit pale," said Mrs. Gabriela, the wife of the senior partner. She squinted at me. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

"Just a summer cold, Gabriella," I lied, forcing a smile. "Can I get you some more champagne?"

"Oh, no dear. But tell me, is it true? About the merger?"

I froze. "The merger?"

Mark appeared at my side, his hand gripping my waist so tight it hurt. He was smiling, but his eyes were frantic.

"Ah, Mrs. Gabriella! Yes, the rumors are true," Mark said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "The firm was officially bought out this morning. Vane Industries is our new parent company."

The room seemed to go quiet. Vane Industries wasn't just a company; it was a god. They didn't just buy firms; they dismantled them.

"I heard the new CEO is a monster," one of the junior partners whispered nearby. "He’s a ghost. No photos, no interviews. But they say he’s 'cleaning house.' He’s firing anyone with even a hint of scandal."

Mark’s grip on my waist tightened even more. I could feel him sweating through his shirt.

"That’s why tonight is so important," Mark hissed into my ear as Mrs. Gabriela walked away. "The Welcome Gala. The CEO, Julian Vane is going to be there. This is my only chance to prove I’m a family man. If he thinks I’m a liability, I’m finished."

"Julian Vane?" I repeated.

"The most powerful man in the state, Elena! Keep up!" Mark snapped. "I’ve bought you a dress. It’s on the bed. It cost ten thousand dollars, so don't ruin it with your 'stagnant' attitude. You are going to be the most devoted, loving wife in that room tonight. Do you understand me?"

I looked at Mark, the man who had cheated on me for a decade, the man who had demanded an open marriage and now he was terrified because his new boss liked "family values."

"I understand," I said quietly.

My stomach gave another sharp twist. I wasn't just worried about the gala anymore. I was worried about the possibility that a tiny life that might be growing inside me.

---

The dress was a masterpiece of midnight-blue silk. It clung to my curves in a way that made me feel exposed, but elegant. I did my hair in a sharp, high bun and wore the diamonds Mark had bought me to apologize for his last affair.

I looked like the perfect millionaire’s wife. Inside, I felt like I was walking toward a firing squad.

"Stop fidgeting," Mark snapped as our limo pulled toward the grand entrance of the Metropolitan Museum.

The street was lined with security. There were hundreds of people, flashing cameras.

"Look at that," Mark whispered, pointing out the window.

A motorcade of six identical black SUVs with tinted windows and government plates was pulling into the private VIP lane. The men stepping out of the lead cars were wearing earpieces, looking sharp and dangerous.

My heart stopped.

I knew those cars. I knew that security detail. I had seen them exactly one month ago, pulling into the driveway of a five star hotel at dawn.

"That’s him," Mark said, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and terror. "That’s Julian Vane."

The door to the middle SUV opened.

A man stepped out. He was dressed in a suit that probably cost more than our house.

He turned his head slightly, the flashbulbs of the paparazzi reflecting in his dark, intense eyes.

My breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred.

It was him.

The man I had paid five thousand dollars to. The man who had held me all night and told me I was meant to be worshipped. The man whose child was likely currently making me nauseous.

Julian Vane wasn't a call boy.

He was the man who held my husband's entire life in his hands.

"Elena? What’s wrong? You’re white as a sheet," Mark said, grabbing my arm. "Come on, the red carpet is waiting. We have to go introduce ourselves. This is the most important moment of my career."

I couldn't move. I couldn't speak.

As we stepped out of the limo, Julian Vane turned. His eyes scanned the crowd with a bored, professional coldness. But then, his gaze landed on me.

He stopped.

The world around us seemed to vanish. The cameras, the music, the shouting, it all went silent. Julian’s eyes locked onto mine, and for a split second, that dark, dangerous smile I remembered from the hotel room flickered on his lips.

He didn't look away. He stared at me so strongly that made me tremble.

"Elena?" Mark asked, confused. "Do you know him?"

"No," I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I’ve never seen him before in my life."

TBC

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