Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Julian's pov 

Control is a religion, and for fifteen years, I had been its most devoted priest. I built a multi-billion-dollar empire and an international syndicate on the foundation of absolute, unbreakable discipline. Every variable in my life was calculated. Every weakness eradicated.

Until yesterday. Until her.

Sitting across from me in the shadowed, silent cabin of the Maybach, Vivienne was a masterclass in defiance. She was staring out the tinted window at the flashing lights of the city, utterly ignoring my existence. My stylists had draped her in a liquid emerald silk gown that clung to every curve, leaving her shoulders bare and vulnerable. Diamonds, cold and heavy, rested against her collarbones—the chains I bought to tie her to me.

She was breathtaking. It infuriated me.

She was the daughter of Victor Sterling. She carried the blood of the man who had slaughtered my family, the man I had sworn my life to destroying. She was nothing but a pawn. Bait. A means to an end.

Yet, as I stared at the pulse jumping in the delicate column of her neck, my hands physically ached to reach across the leather seat and drag her into my lap. I still felt the ghost of her heat from yesterday, the memory of her wearing my shirt in my kitchen, smelling like my cedar soap. The sheer audacity of her rebellion was a drug I hadn’t prepared for.

"We are three blocks from the Plaza," I said, my voice cutting through the heavy silence. It sounded far rougher than I intended. "The press is waiting. You remember the terms."

Vivienne slowly turned her head. Her dark eyes were pools of molten anger, sharp and entirely unyielding. "It's hard to forget, Julian, when the ink is stained with my sister's freedom."

"Then perform," I commanded, leaning forward, invading her space until I could smell her vanilla and spice perfume. "When those doors open, you are not a hostage. You are a woman madly, dangerously in love with her new husband. If you slip up, if you so much as flinch when I touch you, the media will tear us apart. And the deal is off."

A muscle ticked in her jaw but she didn't cower. She just stared right back into my eyes, matching my dominance blow for blow. Damn, that was hot and annoying. "I survived my father's ruin. I can survive an evening pretending you have a soul."

The car rolled to a smooth halt. Before I could formulate a response to her venom, the doors were pulled open.

The flashbulbs hit us like a physical assault. The roar of the paparazzi was deafening, a chaotic wave of shouting reporters and blinding white light. I stepped out first, buttoning my suit jacket, the mask of the untouchable corporate billionaire snapping perfectly into place.

I turned and offered her my hand.

Vivienne hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then, her delicate, warm fingers slid into my palm. A violent jolt of electricity shot straight up my arm at the contact. I pulled her out of the car, hauling her flush against my side. The cameras went absolutely rabid. The elusive Julian Vance, finally tamed. If they only knew the war raging between us.

I wrapped my arm tightly around her waist, my fingers biting into the soft curve of her hip through the silk. She gasped softly, her body stiffening.

"Look at me like you mean it, Vivienne," I murmured, leaning down so my lips brushed the shell of her ear. To the cameras, it looked like a breathless lover's secret. "Or I'll drag you back to the penthouse and show them exactly how I tame what's mine."

She shivered. It wasn't fear. It was sheer, unadulterated hatred, and it was hot enough to burn me alive. She turned her face up to mine. Her eyes were blazing, but her lips curved into a flawless, radiant smile that could fool the devil himself. She reached up, her fingers grazing my jawline, a picture-perfect caress.

"I'd rather swallow glass, darling," she purred, her voice a silky whisper meant only for my ears.

My blood hammered against my temples. The tension was a living, breathing entity between us, thick and suffocating. It was sickening how much I wanted her at that moment. How desperately I wanted to shatter the cameras, rip the emerald silk down the middle, and devour her right there on the hood of the car.

I guided her down the red carpet, my possessive grip never faltering. Inside the ballroom, the masquerade only worsened. The Plaza was filled with the stench of old money, crystal chandeliers, and flowing champagne. I was supposed to be networking, laying the groundwork for a legitimate tech merger, but my focus was entirely shattered.

Every time a competitor looked at her, every time a senator’s eyes lingered on the plunge of her gown, a feral, violent instinct clawed at the inside of my chest. I wanted to gouge their eyes out. I kept her anchored to my side, forcing her to endure my touch as we navigated the crowd. The heat radiating between us was palpable. We were two matches striking against each other, waiting for the spark that would burn the entire building to the ground.

Then, everything changed.

Matteo appeared at the edge of the ballroom. He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, but his eyes were dead, scanning the crowd before locking entirely on me. He tapped his left cufflink twice.

The signal.

The air in my lungs turned to ice. Someone had breached the perimeter. A cartel rat, likely a scout from the Costa syndicate, hunting for weaknesses. Hunting for the woman currently standing by my side.

The billionaire evaporated. The monster woke up.

I grabbed Vivienne’s shoulders, my fingers digging into her bare skin just hard enough to make her gasp and look up at me.

"I have to take a meeting," I said, my voice dropping back to the freezing, dead tone I used to run the underworld. "Stay in this room. Do not speak to anyone. Do not move from this exact spot until I return."

She blinked, her fake smile dropping instantly. "Julian, what—"

"Do you understand me, Vivienne?" I demanded, the lethal edge in my voice bleeding through.

She clenched her jaw, her eyes flashing with rebellion. "Perfectly."

I didn't trust her, but I didn't have time to argue. I turned and walked away, slipping through a set of concealed service doors that led into the restricted, dimly lit VIP wing. The classical music faded into a dull, echoing thrum.

Matteo had the rat cornered in a private parlor at the end of the hall. The man was already bleeding from the mouth, babbling desperately about Costa. I didn't hesitate. I didn't feel a shred of pity. I reached beneath my tailored jacket and drew the suppressed Kimber 1911 from my shoulder holster.

I crossed the room in three strides, grabbed the man by the throat, and slammed him back against the expensive silk wallpaper.

"Tell Costa he’s next," I hissed, raising the barrel directly to his chest.

The suppressed gunshot was a quiet, deadly thwip. Blood splattered hot and wet across my knuckles. The body went entirely limp, dropping to the carpet with a heavy, wet thud.

I stood over him, exhaling slowly, letting the familiar, hollow calm of the violence settle over my racing pulse. It was done. I heard a sharp, terrified intake of breath echoing from the hallway.

My blood froze in my veins. My head snapped toward the open doorway.

Vivienne stood there, bathed in the dim light of the corridor. The color had completely drained from her beautiful face. Her trembling hands were pressed over her mouth, her wide, horrified eyes violently bouncing between the bleeding corpse on the floor, and the smoking gun in my hand.

She hadn't listened. She never listened. And now, there was nowhere left for either of us to hide.