CHAPTER 3

 Chapter 3: The Cold Ember

The heavy oak doors of the private club shut behind me, sealing out the damp autumn chill of the city. Thick velvet curtains hung over the high arched windows, muffling the roar of passing traffic outside. Soft jazz played from a hidden speaker in the corner, and the air smelled faintly of aged scotch, polished wood, and old leather upholstery.

I took a slow breath, my hand smoothing down the front of my loose beige coat to cover my swollen waistline.

In my past life, Carousel had spent years building a wall of lies between us. He had painted Jules as a dangerous, ruthless monster who only wanted to ruin my life, isolating me until I had no one left to turn to. It wasn't until I was freezing to death in the snow, listening to Carousel's mocking laughter behind a locked door, that I realized Jules was the only man who had ever offered me genuine protection without demanding my soul in return.

I walked down the dim hallway toward the secluded corner booth near the back of the lounge.

He was already sitting there waiting.

Jules wore a tailored charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. His dark hair was brushed back cleanly, highlighting the sharp angle of his jaw and his piercing, dark eyes. A crystal glass of amber whiskey sat untouched on the polished mahogany table before him.

As my footsteps slowed beside his table, Jules lifted his eyes. His gaze was cold, sharp, and buried under layers of thick emotional armor. His dark eyes flicked down to my protruding belly, freezing for a fraction of a second before snapping back up to my face. A bitter, faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Well, well," Jules said, his voice deep, smooth, and laced with quiet steel. "If it isn't the dutiful Mrs. Carousel. I must say, I never expected a summons from a woman who swore she would never speak my name again."

I pulled out the heavy leather chair across from him and sat down slowly, resting my hands in my lap. "Thank you for coming, Jules."

"Don't thank me yet," Jules replied dryly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. He picked up his glass, swirling the liquid without taking a sip. "I only came because your message sounded... unusual. I wanted to see with my own eyes what kind of trouble my old flame managed to drag herself into this time. So, tell me, Anika. Does your precious husband know you're sitting in a private club with your ex-lover at three in the afternoon?"

The mockery in his voice stung, but I kept my face still. I deserved every drop of his bitterness. Five years ago, I had broken his heart with a harshness I now deeply regretted.

"Carousel doesn't know," I said, keeping my voice soft, steady, and level. "And I don't care what Carousel thinks anymore."

Jules let out a short, harsh laugh, shaking his head. "Is that so? That's quite a change of heart. Five years ago, you looked me in the eye and told me I was a cold, arrogant bastard who didn't care about your happiness. You threw my ring in my face and ran straight into Carousel's arms because he was supposedly 'safe' and 'honest.' Now you sit here, heavy with his child, telling me you don't care about him?"

"I was wrong," I whispered, looking directly into his cold eyes. "I was stupid, naive, and completely blind. He manipulated me, Jules. He systematically separated me from my friends, my family, and you. And I let him."

Jules' smirk faded, replaced by a dark, dangerous glare. He set his glass down on the table with a sharp thunk.

"Save the emotional confession, Anika," Jules said, his tone dropping an octave, razor-sharp with suppressed anger. "I'm not the young, soft-hearted fool who begged you to stay five years ago. I built an international logistics empire while you played house with a third-rate fraud. If you came here looking for an apology, a shoulder to cry on, or sympathy for a bad marriage, you walked into the wrong room."

"I didn't come here for sympathy," I said firmly, leaning forward across the table, meeting his hard gaze. "I came here because I need money, Jules."

Jules blinked, his expression shifting from anger to pure, mocking disbelief. He let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Money?" he repeated, shaking his head slowly. "Let me get this straight. You walked out on me for a man from a wealthy family, married him, and now you're sitting here heavily pregnant, asking your ex-lover for financial help? Did your golden-boy husband gamble away your inheritance already?"

"Not yet," I replied evenly. "I liquidated forty million dollars in public stocks this morning. But it's not enough."

Jules stopped laughing. His eyes narrowed, studying my face for any sign of a joke or a lie. "Forty million dollars isn't enough? Anika, what on earth are you trying to buy? A private island?"

"I need billions in wholesale purchasing power, industrial-grade credit lines, and immediate access to global supply chains," I said, my voice dropping into a fierce, urgent whisper. "My forty million in cash can buy a few warehouses of food, sure. But I need to secure millions of tons of non-perishable grain, medical supplies, heavy diesel generators, fuel reserves, and raw steel. I need wholesale contracts that only an industrial titan like you can authorize."

Jules leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his eyes locked onto mine with intense suspicion.

"Wholesale industrial contracts?" he asked slowly, his voice laced with cold caution. "Anika, retail investors don't buy raw steel and multi-year fuel reserves unless they're building a sovereign military base. What is going on? Is Carousel running some illegal import scam through his mother's company, and now he's using you to get behind my corporate credit lines?"

"This has nothing to do with Carousel," I said, shaking my head. "I am cutting him out of my life completely. But to do what I need to do, my personal liquidity is just a drop in the ocean. I need your corporate backing, Jules. I need you to invest your capital and leverage your logistics network to help me buy everything I'm asking for."

Jules stared at me for a long moment, the silence between us heavy and suffocating. Then, he crossed his arms, leaning back into the leather booth with a cold, absolute refusal written all over his face.

"No," Jules said flatly.

"Jules…"

"No, Anika. Listen to me," Jules interrupted, his voice cutting like a knife. "I run a legitimate, multi-billion-dollar global enterprise. I don't hand out blank industrial credit lines to a pregnant woman who shows up out of nowhere asking for billions in emergency supplies. If you're having a financial crisis with your husband, handle it in court. Do not drag me into your domestic madness."

"This isn't domestic madness," I pleaded, my voice rising slightly before I caught myself and forced it back down. "I am telling you, my money alone will only save me for a few months. But if we pool our resources—if you use your corporate clout to secure the massive agricultural and fuel shipments I need—we can build something that will outlast anything."

Jules let out a tired, irritated breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Outlast what, Anika?" he demanded, his patience finally snapping. "What are you preparing for? Why do you need tons of grain and fuel right this second? Give me one logical, real-world reason why I should risk my company's capital on your bizarre shopping spree."

I looked down at the mahogany table for a fraction of a second. Then, I raised my eyes, locking them onto his with absolute, terrifying seriousness.

"Because the world is going to end in nineteen days," I said.

The lounge around us seemed to vanish. The soft jazz music played on, but across the table, Jules froze completely.

He stared at me as if I had just spoken in a foreign language. Then, a slow, mocking smile spread across his face—a smile filled with deep disappointment and pity.

"Anika," Jules said softly, his voice dripping with condescension. "Are you listening to yourself? The world is ending? What is this? A nervous breakdown? Are you hallucinating from pregnancy stress?"

"I am completely sane," I insisted, my fingers tightening against the edge of the table. "Listen to me, Jules! On November 4th, at exactly eight o'clock in the morning, the global power grid will collapse. The temperature will plunge forty degrees below zero within hours. Massive blizzards, howling superstorms, and red atmospheric rifts will tear through every continent. Global supply chains will shatter in forty-eight hours. Society will fall apart before the month is over!"

Jules sat back in his chair, shaking his head in absolute disbelief. He looked at me not with anger anymore, but with the cold detachment of a man watching someone lose their mind.

"A global freeze? Atmospheric rifts?" Jules muttered, letting out a sharp breath. "You've lost your mind. Honestly, Anika, this is pathetic. If Carousel put you up to this insane acting routine to get access to my accounts, tell him his wife needs a psychiatric ward, not a business loan."

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and stood up from the booth with swift, decisive movements.

"We are done here," Jules said, looking down at me with heavy disappointment. "I came because I still remembered the woman you used to be. But you're a stranger. Go home, see a doctor, and fix your marriage. Do not ever contact me again."

He turned on his heel and took a step away from the table.

I didn't yell. I didn't reach out to grab his sleeve. I didn't cry or beg for him to stay.

I simply reached into my leather handbag, pulled out a thick, black leather-bound dossier, and laid it flat on the center of the mahogany table.

"I knew you wouldn't believe my words," I said quietly, my voice entirely calm, steady, and free of panic. "So I brought you facts."

Jules stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn around immediately, but his shoulders remained stiff and tense.

"In that folder," I continued, speaking clearly to his back, "you'll find a complete, verified breakdown of the global grain futures market over the past three days. You'll see that four major agricultural conglomerates have quietly stopped selling wholesale wheat contracts. You'll find three private weather satellite reports from the Arctic research station—reports that were quietly classified by international defense agencies four hours ago due to abnormal solar radiation flares."

I paused, letting my words sink into the quiet air of the lounge.

"I also included the complete transactional logs of my personal accounts," I added, looking at the back of his head. "By noon today, I liquidated forty million dollars in public stocks and converted them into private supply deposits. If I were having a mental breakdown, Jules, I wouldn't be risking forty million dollars of my own hard-earned cash."

Jules slowly turned around. His dark eyes darted from my calm face down to the thick black leather folder resting on the polished table.

"Why give this to me?" Jules asked, his voice low, cautious, and intensely guarded. "If you really believe what you're saying, why share it with me?"

I looked up at him, letting all the cold calculation melt away for a single second, showing him the raw, honest truth in my heart.

"Because in my heart, I know you are the only man with the power and the courage to actually do something about it," I whispered. "I don't expect you to hand me a blank check today. But when those satellite reports get leaked to the public in forty-eight hours, open that folder. Read the data. If you want to survive what's coming, then meet me."

Without waiting for his response, I pulled my coat tightly around my waist, stood up from the chair, walked past him, and pushed open the heavy velvet doors of the club, stepping out into the cold autumn afternoon.

Inside the quiet, dim lounge, Jules remained standing motionless beside the empty booth.

He stared at the spot where I had been sitting, the faint scent of my lavender perfume still lingering in the heavy air. His eyes moved slowly down to the black leather folder sitting alone on the mahogany table.

For a long moment, he didn't move a muscle. Then, with a slow, hesitant breath, Jules reached out his hand, picked up the heavy folder, and flipped open the front cover.

His mocking expression instantly froze, his dark eyes widening as his gaze locked onto the top-secret government clearance seal stamped across the first page.