Chapter 8: “You’re Now Mrs. Cross”

Clara's POV.

The line went dead, leaving only the cold, automated hum of the dial tone echoing in my ear.

Slow poisoning. Over months.

A stroke that didn’t happen naturally.

The phone slipped in my trembling fingers as the doctor’s grave words replayed in my mind. My gaze snapped toward the closet doors where Julian had disappeared moments earlier.

He had known who I was from the very first day my fake application as Vivian Vance landed on his desk. He had let me stay, watching me the entire time, waiting for the right moment to make his move.

What if his game had gone far beyond destroying our family’s fortune on Wall Street?

What if he was the one who poisoned my father all along?

Panic exploded in my chest. I didn’t care that I was wearing nothing but the delicate white lace set he had chosen for me earlier.

I dropped the phone onto the bed and bolted across the suite, throwing open the heavy double doors in a desperate attempt to escape.

I didn’t even make it past the threshold.

A solid wall of muscle blocked my path.

Julian stood there, his broad shoulders filling the doorway, casting a shadow over my trembling frame.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, his eyes dropping briefly to the white lace still clinging to my body before meeting my eyes again.

“Get out of my way!” I screamed, shoving both hands hard against his chest. “I need to go! My father… the hospital… I have to leave right now!”

Tears burned hot down my cheeks, but Julian’s face remained an impenetrable mask of control.

His eyes searched my face for a second, then his hand closed around my wrist with effortless strength, stopping me before I could take another step.

“Look at yourself,” he commanded, his deep voice cutting through my panic. “You are Mrs. Cross now. You don’t run through the streets of Manhattan at midnight looking like a maniac.”

“He’s dying, Julian!” My voice cracked with desperation as I tried to yank my wrist free. “Someone poisoned him! Let me go!”

“I said no,” he said.

His grip tightened just enough to tell me he wasn’t letting go.

“You want to go to the hospital? Fine. But you will go as my wife, under my escort, without causing a PR disaster for Cross Holdings.”

He didn’t wait for my response. His hand stayed firm around my wrist as he led me back into the room, tossed a heavy cashmere coat at me, and ordered, “Put it on. We’re leaving.”

The private elevator ride down felt like we were descending deeper into Julian’s world. When the doors opened, my breath caught.

Row after row of expensive cars stretched as far as I could see beneath bright LED lights. I just stood there staring, completely overwhelmed.

How was all of this even underneath his house?

Julian walked purposefully through the sea of cars. I hurried to keep up.

“Which car?” I asked, my voice tight.

“The Ferrari,” he answered flatly.

He stopped in front of the Ferrari. A second later, the engine came to life with a deep rumble.

“Get in,” he ordered.

I froze, staring at the sports car.

“Really?” The word slipped out, laced with disbelief.

Julian didn’t even glance back as he pulled open the passenger door.

“Clara, do you want to get to the hospital fast?”

He had a point. The doctor’s voice had sounded terrifyingly urgent. Every second counted.

I slid into the tight passenger seat, wrapping the coat tightly around the revealing lace.

The heavy door shut with a solid thud.

The Ferrari shot out of the garage and onto the rain-soaked streets of Manhattan.

The sudden acceleration threw me back into the seat as Julian pushed the car even faster. The engine roared as Julian pushed the car even faster. I could feel the vibration through my passenger seat.

Rain hammered against the windshield, but Julian never took his eyes off the road. His hands stayed steady on the wheel as the Ferrari cut through the storm.

The city lights blurred past the windows in streaks of neon and gold as the Ferrari weaved through the nearly empty streets with ease.

Every sharp turn sent a jolt through my body, but Julian’s hand never left my thigh. It rested there, warm and steady, a constant reminder that even at this speed, he was still in control.

The inside of the Ferrari was every bit as expensive as the outside. Soft leather, glowing screens, and more buttons than I could even begin to understand.

The scent of expensive leather mixed with Julian’s warm amber cologne, while the smell of rain drifted through the vents. The engine rose and fell beneath us as he shifted gears, each one smooth enough that I barely felt it.

My mind raced even faster than the car. The doctor’s words wouldn’t stop echoing in my head.

Slow poisoning.

Medical irregularities.

A carefully planned attack on my father.

I looked down at the Harry Winston diamond on my finger. The same ring I’d admired earlier today. The one Julian had chosen for me after asking to see the most expensive one.

It shimmered beneath the dashboard lights.

Dazzling. Flawless and beautiful.

And somehow, it felt more like a cage than a gift.

The Ferrari flew around another corner, its tires gripping the wet road with ease. Julian’s hand tightened on my thigh, his fingers pressing into my skin just enough to remind me he was still there.

I tried to focus on the road, on getting to my father, but the man beside me pulled at every one of my senses. He barely said a word. His eyes never left the rain-soaked road ahead.

The silence between us stretched on, and neither of us said a single word. I wanted to scream questions at him, to demand the truth, but fear and fury kept the words locked in my throat.

Instead, I pulled the coat tighter around myself and stared out at the rain-soaked city, willing the hospital lights to appear.

Just you wait, Julian Cross, I thought bitterly as the Ferrari tore through the night.

If you are the one responsible for the poison inside my father’s veins, I will find the proof.

And when I do, I’ll make your life an absolute hell.

I promise.

The hospital finally came into view through the curtain of rain, its lights cutting through the storm like a beacon. Julian pulled up to the private VIP entrance reserved for the city’s elite.

As the Ferrari slowed to a stop, a chilling new question settled over me like the storm outside.

What other secrets was the Ghost of Wall Street hiding?