Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Vivienne's Pov 

The ballroom had become a suffocating trap the moment Julian walked away.

He had left me standing there like a prized mare tied to a post, issuing a command so cold it had frozen the champagne in my glass. Do not move from this exact spot.

It lasted exactly three minutes.

The glittering stares of New York’s elite were peeling my skin back layer by layer. The whispered gossip brushed against the back of my neck like a physical weight. Victor Sterling’s disgraced daughter. Julian Vance’s new charity case. I couldn't breathe. The corset of the emerald silk gown felt like it was crushing my ribs into powder. I just needed air. I needed silence.

I slipped out of the ballroom, letting the heavy, gilded doors swing shut behind me, cutting off the swelling string quartet. The corridor leading to the VIP wing was empty, dimly lit by antique sconces that cast long, creeping shadows against the silk-lined walls. The thick Persian carpet swallowed the sharp clicks of my heels.

It was supposed to be a sanctuary. Just five minutes to gather my fractured nerves before I had to put the mask back on and return to my captor.

Then, I heard the noise.

It was a wet, heavy thud. It came from a parlor room at the very end of the hall. The mahogany door was cracked open just an inch, a sliver of harsh yellow light bleeding out onto the dark carpet.

My stomach plummeted. A sickening, primal alarm bell started ringing at the base of my skull, screaming at me to turn around. To run back to the lights and the music. But my feet moved on their own, pulling me toward that sliver of light. I thought maybe someone was hurt. I thought I heard a muffled, choked gasp.

I pushed the door open.

The scene inside didn't make sense at first. It was like looking at a photograph where the exposure was entirely wrong.

There was a man backed against the wall. His face was a bruised, unrecognizable mess, a thick trail of blood spilling from his mouth and staining his white collar.

And holding him there, by the throat, was my husband.

Julian’s broad back was to me. His immaculate charcoal suit was pristine. His posture was perfectly relaxed, terrifyingly steady. But it was his right hand that shattered my entire reality. He was holding a gun. A heavy, matte-black weapon raised perfectly level with the bleeding man’s chest.

“Tell Costa he’s next.”

Julian’s voice wasn't the icy, detached tone he used in boardrooms. It was a demonic hiss. A sound dragged straight from the depths of hell.

Before I could process the words, before I could even draw a breath to scream, there was a sharp, hollow thwip.

The man’s eyes rolled back. His body instantly turned to dead weight. Julian released his throat, and the corpse crumpled to the floor with a sickening, heavy impact that rattled the crystal glasses on a nearby bar cart.

Blood. There was so much blood. It bloomed across the cream-colored wallpaper in a violent, abstract spray.

A choked, pathetic gasp tore out of my throat before I could clamp my hand over my mouth.

Julian froze.

The deadly silence of the room was suddenly louder than a bomb going off. The man on the floor wasn't moving. Julian didn't move either, but the terrifying stillness that rolled off his massive frame told me he had heard me.

Slowly, agonizingly, he turned around.

The gun was still in his hand, a thin wisp of smoke curling from the silencer. Hot, bright red blood was splattered across his knuckles. But it was his face that paralyzed my heart. The cold, brilliant corporate genius I had married was gone. The eyes staring at me were pitch black, completely blown out with adrenaline and raw, unfiltered violence.

He was a killer. The rumors of his ruthlessness weren't about hostile corporate takeovers. My husband was a monster.

My silver clutch slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a sharp crack.

The sound broke the spell. Pure, blinding terror flooded my veins, hot as acid. I spun on my heel, grabbing handfuls of my emerald silk gown, and bolted.

I didn't even make it three steps down the corridor.

He moved with a speed that wasn't human. I heard the rush of his footsteps, heavy and predatory, right before a massive, unyielding arm wrapped around my waist, lifting my feet completely off the floor.

I screamed, thrashing wildly, but he slammed me back against the silk-lined wall of the corridor. The impact knocked the breath from my lungs. Before I could drag oxygen back in, his body crushed flush against mine, caging me completely.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, kicking blindly at his shins.

His large hand clamped over my mouth, suffocating my screams. The smell of cedarwood was overpowered by the sharp, metallic stench of fresh blood and gunpowder. I squeezed my eyes shut, fresh tears burning my lashes, terrified I was going to feel the cold metal of that gun against my temple.

"Matteo," Julian barked over his shoulder, his chest heaving heavily against my breasts. "Clean it up. Burn the body. We are leaving. Now."

"Boss—" Matteo’s voice came from the parlor, thick with warning.

"Now!" Julian roared.

He turned his attention back to me. His grip on my waist was bruising, his hand still tight over my mouth. I opened my eyes. He was staring down at me, his chest rising and falling in harsh, ragged breaths. He looked feral. The blood on his knuckles was smearing against my pale cheek.

I was trembling so violently my teeth chatted against his palm. I stared up at him, pleading with my eyes, silently begging for my life.

Instead of raising the weapon, Julian let it drop to the carpet. He reached up with his free hand and tangled his fingers roughly into the hair at the nape of my neck, tilting my head back, forcing me to look directly into his terrifying, pitch-black eyes.

"I told you," he whispered, his voice trembling with a dark, violent rage that was entirely directed at himself. "I told you to stay exactly where I left you."

He slowly dragged his hand away from my mouth, but he didn't step back. He stayed pressed against me, the heat radiating off his large body sinking into my freezing skin.

"You..." I choked out, a sob tearing through my chest. "You killed him. You murdered him in cold blood."

"Yes," Julian said softly, his thumb sweeping over the smear of wet blood he had left on my cheekbone. The touch was agonizingly, violently tender. "And now you know the truth, Vivienne."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against mine, the contact burning like a brand.

"You didn't marry a businessman," he whispered against my mouth, a venomous, possessive promise. "You married a butcher. And I am never letting you go."