Book 2

Book 2

Julian woke up to a spinning headache that felt like a dull blade pressing against his temples. His senses were slow to return, but as the fog began to clear, he felt the unmistakable warmth of a slim body curled against him. He couldn’t remember the specifics of the previous night, his memory a black hole of spilled bourbon and flashing lights, but the physical evidence was impossible to ignore.

He knew he had shared the night with someone. He knew he had been badly drunk, perhaps more than he had ever been in his life, and the presence of the girl lying beside him meant they had shared the nightstand.

And the way his body felt suggested he had enjoyed every bit of it. He assumed that the girl lying next to him was the one who had been in his arms throughout the blackout.

Emma’s eyes opened slowly, her lashes sticky from the tears she had cried until she fell asleep. She had spent the night curled into Julian’s side, not out of affection, but out of a raw, bleeding heartbreak that had transformed into a cold need for revenge.

If Cal wanted Julian Voss so badly, if he was willing to throw away their entire history for a chance to be with this man, then she would take Julian instead. She wasn't doing this for the money or the status; she was doing it for pure emotional destruction. She wanted Cal to look at her and see the person who had successfully stolen the only thing he had ever truly desired.

“You’re still here,” Julian whispered, his voice cracking from disuse and the dehydration of a long night. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the silk sheets sliding down his bare chest as he looked at her.

He searched her face for any sign of regret or the frantic energy of someone looking for a payout, but all he saw was a girl who looked completely exhausted. His mind was racing, trying to fill the black hole of his memory with the image of her.

He remembered a touch—something deep and intense that had anchored him during the blackout—and looking at Emma’s small frame, he became convinced she was the one who had given him that comfort.

He didn’t question how she had ended up in his suite; he just felt a strange, hungover gratitude that she hadn't disappeared or called the tabloids the moment he closed his eyes.

Emma didn’t answer him immediately. She just watched him, her expression gave nothing away and her heart feeling like a block of ice.

She let the silence sit between them, watching as he drew his own conclusions. She knew exactly what he was thinking that they had shared a nightstand, that she was the girl who had stayed behind to make sure he was okay. She saw the way his eyes softened, the typical billionaire hardness melting into something that looked a lot like vulnerability.

He was a man who supposedly had everything the world could offer, but in this moment, he looked like he just needed someone to tell him he wasn't alone. Emma stayed still, playing the part of the devoted, weary girl, allowing him to believe the lie she hadn't even had to speak yet.

“I’m sorry,” Julian said, reaching for his wallet on the nightstand. “I’m not usually this reckless. I don’t even know your name, yet I feel like I... well, it doesn't matter. I’m glad it was you.” He pulled out a business card and a checkbook, scribbling a large number on the paper before handing both to her. “Take this. Get whatever you need, and please, get back to me. I want to see you again.” Emma took the papers reluctantly, her fingers brushing his as she pretended to be the one he shared the nightstand with.

The sound of a keycard swiping in the door broke the quiet, and the heavy wood swung open. Cal walked in, carrying a tray of coffee and breakfast like he normally did for Julian, his face set in a practiced, helpful smile. It was the smile of a man who thought he was about to step back into the bed he had warmed just hours before. But the smile died the second his eyes landed on the bed.

Cal stopped dead in the middle of the room, the tray rattling in his hands as the coffee slopped over the edges of the cups. He looked at Emma, then at Julian sitting up beside her, and the color drained from his face until he looked like a ghost. He didn't speak; he couldn't find the breath to. He just stood there, staring at the girl he had used as a cover, seeing her sitting in the very spot he had occupied while Julian was blacked out.

The betrayal on Cal’s face was a mirror image of what Emma had felt in the hallway the night before, but she didn’t feel a single ounce of pity for him.

Instead, she felt a cold, jagged sense of victory that made her want to smile. Julian didn't notice the tension radiating off the waiter; he was too busy trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Cal,” Julian said, his voice regaining the sharp authority that usually defined him. “You’re late with that coffee. But it doesn't matter. I want you to set a place for her too.” He paused, looking at her with a questioning tilt of his head, waiting for her to confirm her identity to the man who thought he knew her best.

“Emma,” she said firmly, her eyes locked onto Cal’s wide, terrified gaze. She saw the way his jaw tightened and the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped the tray, his body shaking with a rage he wasn't allowed to express. She wanted him to see her here, in the sheets he had prepared, being cared for by the man he had stalked for years.

She wanted him to feel the agony of being replaced by the "naive" girl he thought he could control and discard whenever it suited him. Cal looked like he wanted to scream, to throw the coffee in her face and tell Julian the truth that he was the one who had been there, that he was the one who had orchestrated the entire night.

But he was trapped. Emma watched him realize that if he spoke up, he’d have to explain how he’d drugged a billionaire and why he had been stalking him for years. He was suffocating in the very lie he had built to protect himself, and now that lie was being used to lock him out of his own dream.

Cal didn't say a word. He lowered his head, his eyes burning with a mixture of hatred and desperation as he avoided Emma’s stare. He moved toward the small dining table in the corner of the suite with shaky hands, setting the tray down so hard the china clinked.

His back was turned to them, but Emma could see the way his shoulders were shaking. He was losing his mind, watching his life’s ambition sit on a silk pillow next to his girlfriend, and Emma knew she was just getting started.

Julian watched her, completely unaware of the war happening in the room. “You should eat something before you go,” he said, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Emma nodded, sliding out of the bed and wrapping the duvet around herself like a queen’s robe, making sure Cal saw every inch of her confidence as she walked toward the table he had just prepared. She sat down and looked at the coffee Cal had poured for Julian, then looked up at her ex-boyfriend.

“Thank you, Cal,” Emma said, her voice dripping with a fake sweetness that felt like a serrated blade. “I’ll take my coffee with two sugars.”