Chapter 4

Elena

THE LIGHTS were too bright, the room too loud, and my smile far too practiced.

Champagne fizzed in my flute as I stood at Julian’s side, the picture of elegant contentment. Or so it must have seemed to the crowd. In truth, the glass barely touched my lips. My heels ached, my dress itched at the waist, and Julian hadn’t said more than five words to me since we stepped out of the car.

“Smile,” he had said beneath his breath, offering me his arm like it was some business arrangement. “We’re here to be seen.”

And seen we were.

The gala was everything my father would have dreamed of—men in tailored suits shaking hands over overpriced wine, women in gowns that sparkled under chandeliers, laughing too loudly at jokes that weren’t funny. It was held at the Marquette Hall, a towering monument of old money and newer ambitions. Every corner gleamed with gold trim and calculated opulence. A string quartet played something elegant in the background, drowned out by the sound of ambition.

Julian stood with the ease of someone who belonged, sleek in his black tuxedo, drink in hand, nodding at people who mattered. He looked like a man in control. But I knew better. That control came with a wall I still couldn’t scale. Stone, cold, and centuries thick.

Still, I played my part.

I let him lead me into conversation after conversation, nodding as he introduced me to foreign investors, local CEOs, and one terrifying woman from the board of his family’s company. Each time, I was ‘my wife, Elena,’ like a glossy add-on he never quite examined. I smiled when I was meant to. I complimented suits and dropped faint references to art as if I hadn’t been forced to give up the only career I ever wanted.

It was mechanical. But it was the only way I knew how to survive now.

Then he appeared.

A man I hadn’t seen before. Same raven hair as Julian, though slightly tousled like he didn’t care what it looked like. His suit was a touch more casual, his grin a little too charming. And when his eyes landed on me, something almost electric passed between us.

“Well, well,” he drawled, sauntering up with a glass of wine and a smirk. “This must be the famous Elena Carter-Blackwood. I must say, Julian, you’ve managed to outdo yourself for once.”

Julian stiffened.

“Callum,” he said, the name like a curse he didn’t want to utter.

Callum Blackwood. The brother.

The one who hadn’t shown up at our wedding. The one Julian never talked about except in clipped, bitter tones. The one who was apparently too busy gallivanting in France 'doing whatever the fuck he was doing,' Julian had once muttered under his breath.

And now he was here. In the flesh. Smiling at me like I was the most interesting thing in the room.

“You didn’t miss much,” Julian replied coolly, his hand brushing my waist as if to claim territory.

“Didn’t I?” Callum’s gaze didn’t shift. “Looks like I missed quite a lot.”

“Paris?” Julian said with a tilt of his head, voice dry. “Again?”

“You know me,” Callum said lightly. “I go where the art is. Where the wine flows. Where the women are enchanting.”

He looked directly at me when he said it.

I felt Julian’s arm tense slightly, but his face didn’t change. I didn’t say anything either, only smiled politely as if I didn’t feel the sudden crackle of tension building between them.

Callum turned his charm full force on me. “So, Elena. What’s it like being married to my brother? I imagine it must be... eventful.”

I opened my mouth, uncertain of how to navigate this, but Julian cut in before I could answer.

“She’s adjusting,” he said flatly.

Callum laughed. “I bet.”

“I’ve had worse assignments,” I said sweetly, surprising even myself. “Besides, he looks good in a tux.”

Julian’s head turned slightly toward me, but he said nothing.

Callum grinned. “Charming and diplomatic. Careful, Julian. You might accidentally fall for her.”

Something sharp passed between them, something old and unresolved. I felt it settle like cold ash between the three of us.

Eventually, Callum excused himself, claiming he saw someone he owed a drink to, but not before pressing a kiss to my hand and winking. “We’ll talk later, Elena. I’d love to hear about how you manage to live with my brother and stay sane.”

Julian didn’t speak until Callum was halfway across the room.

“Don’t talk to him.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t know what he’s like.”

“No,” I said slowly, “but I’m starting to get the idea that you do. And it bothers you.”

His jaw ticked. “He ruins everything he touches.”

“And you think I’m something he’ll try to ruin?”

Silence. Julian’s eyes locked on mine, unreadable.

“He has a habit of taking what isn’t his,” he said at last.

It was the most possessive thing he’d ever said, and yet it still felt hollow. Like he wasn’t angry because he cared. He was angry because of the principle of it. The game.

Julian turned away, muttering something about speaking to a client across the room.

And just like that, I was left alone again.

But not quite.

Callum reappeared like a ghost with perfect timing. “He’s fun at parties, isn’t he?” he asked, offering me another drink.

I didn’t take it. “You two don’t get along.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” he said with a lazy shrug. “He’s always been the golden boy. The heir. The one who gets everything first.”

“And you?”

“The one who gets everything second,” he said, his smile never quite reaching his eyes.

There was something dangerous about him, something too practiced. I could feel it even now. The charm was a smokescreen. But I didn’t know what he was hiding behind it.

I excused myself before things could get any messier.

Later that evening, after the crowd had thinned and the lights dimmed a shade, Julian appeared beside me again. He didn’t ask how I was. He didn’t apologize for vanishing.

“You’ll keep your distance from him.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I’m not a pawn,” I said quietly.

He didn’t reply.

We left early. No grand farewell. No kisses or displays of affection. Just two people climbing into a car, shoulder to shoulder but miles apart.

Back at the penthouse, I kicked off my heels and rubbed at the red marks they’d left behind. Julian poured himself a drink without asking if I wanted one. Of course he didn’t.

“I know how this looks,” I said softly.

He didn’t respond.

“I’m not trying to make your brother jealous.”

He took a slow sip. “You don’t have to try. He likes to steal things just to prove he can.”

“And you think I’m...stealable?”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Then he set the glass down and walked away.

I sat in the silence, watching the night fold itself over the city.

Maybe pretending to be a happy couple had worked for the cameras. Maybe it even worked for a few gullible socialites. But the truth was this... Julian Blackwood didn’t trust anyone.

And tonight, I wasn’t sure if I trusted him either.