Chapter 4: The Predator’s Breakfast

The morning light that filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the master suite was cold and unforgiving. It hit Julian’s face like a physical reprimand.

He stirred against the silk sheets, his body aching in places he hadn't known existed. The weight of the previous day—the wedding, the disguise, and the terrifying moment Victor had ripped away his wig—felt like a fever dream. But as Julian opened his eyes and saw the dark, masculine expanse of the Sterling master suite, the reality settled in his gut like lead.

He was alone in the massive bed. The space beside him was cold, the pillows undisturbed. Victor, it seemed, had no interest in the traditional "wedding night." He had claimed Julian as a ward, not a lover—at least, not yet.

Julian sat up, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. Without the makeup and the heavy lashes, he felt exposed. On the obsidian nightstand sat a neatly folded stack of clothes: a crisp white dress shirt, tailored charcoal slacks, and a silk tie. No lace. No corsets.

Next to the clothes was a heavy vellum card with two words written in a sharp, commanding hand: 8:00 AM. Dining Room.

Julian checked the clock. It was 7:40.

Panic, sharp and cold, flared in his chest. Victor had made it clear: he did not tolerate tardiness. Julian scrambled out of bed, his legs still feeling a bit weak from the constriction of the corset the day before. He dressed quickly, the high-quality fabric of the shirt feeling strange against his skin. It was male clothing, but it was Victor’s style—expensive, restrictive, and intimidating.

He didn't have time to worry about his hair or the lingering shadows under his eyes. He splashed cold water on his face, rubbed the last traces of kohl from his lower lids, and stepped out into the hallway.

The Sterling mansion was even more labyrinthine in the daylight. Julian hurried down the grand staircase, his heart drumming against his ribs. He could hear the low murmur of voices coming from the breakfast room.

He stopped at the arched doorway, his breath catching.

Victor was seated at the head of the long marble table, reading a physical newspaper. He looked impeccable in a navy pinstripe suit, a stark contrast to the casual elegance of the man sitting to his right.

Chase.

His ex-boyfriend was nursing a cup of black coffee, looking decidedly hungover. His eyes were bloodshot, and his expensive shirt was wrinkled. He looked up as Julian entered, and for a split second, Julian saw a flash of genuine confusion cross Chase’s face.

"Who the hell are you?" Chase asked, his voice gravelly.

Julian froze. He was standing there in men's clothes, his short hair messy, looking nothing like the "Juliet" Chase had seen at the altar.

Before Julian could speak, Victor lowered his newspaper. His gray eyes swept over Julian, taking in the fit of the shirt and the paleness of his face.

"This," Victor said, his voice a smooth, dangerous velvet, "is my new personal assistant. Since your 'stepmother' is feeling quite unwell this morning after the excitement of the wedding, I’ve brought in extra help to manage my correspondence."

Chase’s eyes narrowed, scanning Julian with a predatory intensity that made Julian want to crawl out of his skin. "An assistant? In the master suite? He looks more like a runaway from a choir, Father. And he looks familiar. Have we met?"

The air in the room seemed to thicken. Julian’s hands, hidden behind his back, began to shake.

"Everyone looks familiar to you when you’re drowning in gin, Chase," Victor remarked dryly. He folded the newspaper and looked directly at Julian. "Sit. Eat. We have a long day ahead of us at the office."

Julian moved to the far end of the table, as far from Chase as possible. A silent maid placed a plate of poached eggs and dry toast in front of him. He couldn't imagine swallowing a single bite.

"He's very pretty, isn't he?" Chase continued, his gaze never leaving Julian. He leaned back, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Almost as pretty as Juliet. You have a type, Father. Delicate, fragile... easily broken."

"Chase," Victor said. He didn't raise his voice, but the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. "You are dismissed from this table. Go find a cold shower and a sense of purpose. You’re expected at the firm by ten. If you’re late again, I’ll cut your allowance to the bone."

Chase’s jaw tightened. He glared at his father, then turned that venomous look back to Julian. "I’ll see you around, 'Assistant.' I’m sure we’ll have plenty to talk about when my father isn't watching."

He shoved his chair back with a harsh scrape and stormed out of the room.

The silence that followed was heavy. Julian stared at his plate, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him.

"Look at me, Julian," Victor commanded.

Julian raised his head. Victor was watching him with an expression that wasn't exactly kind, but it wasn't the cold mask he wore for Chase either.

"You handled that poorly," Victor observed. "You let him see your fear. In this world, fear is an invitation to be hunted."

"I... I was caught off guard," Julian whispered. "I didn't think he would be here."

"He lives here. He is a parasite, and like all parasites, he will try to find a weakness in the host," Victor said. He stood up, towering over the table. "You are my weakness now, Julian. At least, that is what the world will think. They think I married a girl to secure an empire. They don't know I brought a spy into my home."

Victor walked around the table, stopping behind Julian’s chair. He leaned down, his large hand resting on the back of Julian’s neck. The heat of his palm was a stark contrast to the cold room.

"Today, you begin your training," Victor murmured into his ear. "I am not just your husband in name. I am your employer. You will come to the office. You will sit at the desk in my suite. You will learn how I run this city, and you will learn how to serve me without a single word of complaint."

Julian felt a shiver of something that wasn't entirely fear. It was the "shameful arousal" your Editor mentioned—the thrill of being dominated by someone so vastly superior.

"Do you understand your duties?" Victor asked, his fingers tightening slightly on Julian’s neck.

"Yes, Sir," Julian breathed.

"Good. Finish your breakfast. I want you in the car in ten minutes," Victor said, releasing him. "And Julian?"

Julian looked up.

"If you ever look at my son with that much emotion again—even if it is hatred—I will remind you exactly who you belong to. My son doesn't deserve your thoughts. I am the only master you answer to now."

Victor walked out, leaving Julian alone in the massive dining hall.

Julian looked down at his shaking hands. He had survived the first morning. He had faced Chase without his mask. But as he thought about the "training" Victor had promised, he realized that the office wouldn't be a sanctuary. It would be a different kind of battlefield—one where the stakes weren't just his identity, but his very soul.

He forced himself to take a bite of the toast. He needed the strength. Because today, the "Substitute Bride" was going to work.