5: The Queen of the Empire

The penthouse of the Sterling Grand was less of a home and more of a museum. It sat atop the city like a crown, cold and shimmering. As the elevator doors slid open directly into the foyer, Elara clutched her purse, her heart sinking.

Leo was still tucked into Julian’s shoulder, his small fingers curled into the expensive fabric of Julian’s suit. He had fallen back asleep, exhausted by the sudden move.

"Julian, you’re late for the gala," a sharp, melodic voice echoed through the marble hallway.

Elara froze. Standing in the center of the living room, framed by the sparkling lights of Manhattan, was Victoria Sterling. The matriarch of the family looked like she had been carved from ice. She wore a deep emerald gown, her silver hair pulled into a bun so tight it looked painful.

Victoria’s eyes traveled from her son to the sleeping toddler in his arms, and then finally to Elara. Her expression didn't soften; it hardened into a mask of pure disdain.

"I see the rumors from security were true," Victoria said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You’ve brought a stray home. And... a pup."

"Mother, watch your tongue," Julian warned, his voice vibrating with a low, primal growl. He didn't let go of Leo. If anything, he pulled the boy closer. "This is Elara Vance. My fiancée. And this is Leo. My son. Your grandson."

Victoria let out a short, dry laugh. "Fiancée? A girl who vanished for years and reappears the moment you become the most powerful man in the country? She isn't a fiancée, Julian. She’s a blackmailer."

"I am standing right here," Elara said, her voice trembling but her eyes fierce. "And I don't want your money, Mrs. Sterling. I never did."

"Of course not," Victoria sneered, stepping closer until the scent of her cloying rose perfume filled the air. "They never do. They just want the 'security' of a Sterling name. Julian, have you even seen a DNA test? Or are you letting your hormones make your business decisions again?"

"The boy has my face, Mother," Julian snapped. "He doesn't need a test to prove he's mine. But for the sake of the board of directors, the test is being handled tomorrow. Until then, they stay here. In the master suite."

Elara’s head whipped around. "The master suite? Julian, we discussed—"

"We discussed protection," Julian interrupted, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. "My mother isn't the only one who will be coming for you once the news breaks. My enemies will look for any weakness. Until the wedding, you sleep where I sleep. It’s the only way I can guarantee your safety."

Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she realized she had lost this round. She smoothed her silk gloves, her gaze lingering on Leo with a look that wasn't grandmotherly at all—it was predatory.

"The gala starts in an hour," Victoria said, turning toward the elevator. "If you intend to claim this... situation... as yours, you better make sure she looks the part. She looks like she walked out of a bargain bin, Julian. Fix it. Or I will."

As the elevator doors closed on Victoria’s cold stare, Elara finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

"She hates me," Elara whispered.

"She hates anything she can't control," Julian replied. He walked toward the massive master bedroom, his footsteps silent on the plush carpet. He laid Leo down in the center of the oversized king bed—a bed that looked like it could fit five people.

Julian turned to Elara, his hands moving to his tie, loosening it with a slow, deliberate motion. The "protective father" was still there, but the "starved lover" was beginning to resurface in the way he looked at her.

"There is a wardrobe in the dressing room," Julian said, his voice dropping an octave. "Victoria is right about one thing. Tonight, the world watches us. You won't be Elara the assistant anymore. You’ll be the future Mrs. Sterling. Put on the dress, Elara. Show them why I chose you."

"You didn't choose me," Elara reminded him, her voice a ghost of a sound. "You trapped me."

Julian stepped into her space, his hand catching a stray lock of her hair and tucking it behind her ear. His touch was a slow burn against her skin.

"Then consider this the most luxurious trap in the world," he whispered, his lips inches from hers. "Now, get ready. The lioness needs her gold if she’s going to survive the den."