Cynthia Sterling

Chapter 7: The Poisoned Gift

Julian stood in the security hub, the blue light of the monitors washing over his sharp features. On the main screen, Cynthia Sterling was all expensive blonde waves and heavy, indignant makeup. She was practically vibrating with rage, her designer bag swinging dangerously near a security guard’s face.

Julian watched for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his expression a mask of cold calculation. He tapped the intercom. "Open the gate, Matt. I’ll deal with this."

He met her on the front steps, stepping out into the cool evening air before she could set a single heel inside his lobby.

"Julian!" Cynthia shrieked. She surged forward, but he stepped into her path, his body a solid wall. "Your men! They touched me! They actually stopped me at the gate! Do you have any idea how humiliating…"

"They’re new, Cynthia," Julian interrupted, his voice smooth, devoid of the disgust curling in his gut. He tucked his hands into his pockets, looking down at her with a practiced, indulgent smile. "And they were given very specific instructions. No one enters today. No exceptions."

Cynthia’s jaw dropped. "No one? Surely you didn't mean me. I’m your girlfriend, Julian. Your future wife. You tell those monkeys right now that the rules don't apply to me."

Julian let out a short, airy sound that was almost a laugh. He took a half-step closer, lowering his voice into that intimate tone that had always been her weakness. "The instruction included you specifically, Cynthia. Especially you."

She blinked, her anger faltering. "Why?"

"Patience," Julian whispered, reaching out to brush a stray blonde hair from her shoulder. The touch was clinical, but to her, it looked like affection. "I have a surprise for you. One I’ve been preparing for five years. If you barge in now, you’ll ruin the ending. Is that what you want?"

Cynthia’s eyes lit up with a greedy shimmer. She leaned into him, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hum. "Oh? Does this have something to do with the announcement your father mentioned? He said you were planning something... life-changing for the Gala."

Julian’s smile didn't reach his eyes. "I’m almost jealous. It seems you and my father communicate more than we do."

"Oh, don't be like that," she cooed, touching his lapel. "I'm sorry I ruined the surprise. You’re going to propose tomorrow night, aren't you? That’s why you’re being so mysterious."

"You didn't ruin a thing," Julian countered, his voice dripping with hidden meaning. "If anything, you’ve confirmed that you have no idea what I really have in store for you. What if I told you the surprise is even bigger than a ring? Would that be enough to make you a good girl? To make you go home and wait for the curtain to rise?"

Cynthia bit her lip, a look of pure triumph on her face. "It better be worth it, Julian Vance."

"Trust me," he said, his gaze fixed on the street. "It will be the only thing New York talks about for the next decade."

Just then, Cynthia’s phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen. "A delivery? At my door?"

"Your first gift," Julian noted, checking his watch. "Something you’ve wanted for a long time. If I were you, I wouldn't let it sit on the doorstep. It’s... delicate."

Cynthia squealed, throwing her arms around his neck in a suffocating hug. Julian stood rigid, his arms hanging at his sides, every nerve in his body screaming to shove her into the gutter. He managed a stiff pat on her back before her driver opened the car door.

As the taillights of her Mercedes faded, the mask fell. Julian’s face went stone-cold.

"Matt," he said, not turning around.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Shut the gate. If that face appears on my monitors again, you don't call me. You call the police for trespassing. Clear?"

"Crystal, Sir."

---

The penthouse was silent when he returned, but the air was charged. Elara was standing by the window. She didn't wait for him to take off his coat.

"Who was it?" she demanded, turning to face him. “Who was downstairs, Julian? Who is so dangerous that you had to lock the elevators?"

Julian walked past her, headed for the bar. "An unimportant parasite, Elara. A ghost from a life I’m currently burning down. You don't need to worry your head about her."

"Don't you dare patronize me!" Elara followed him, her voice rising. "While you’re out there playing games with your 'parasites,' my children are in this house. If your lifestyle brings trouble to my door, I am taking them and I am leaving. I don't care about your guards or your gates."

Julian set his glass down with a controlled thud. He turned, closing the distance between them in two steps, invading her personal space until she was backed against the marble island.

"Nothing," he hissed, his face inches from hers, "could possibly happen to our children in this house. Not while I am breathing. Do you understand me? I have spent five years becoming the man no one dares to cross. You are safe. They are safe."

The word our hung in the air like a live wire. Elara’s breath hitched, her anger momentarily paralyzed by the fierce, terrifying conviction in his eyes.

"They aren't…" she started, but the words died in her throat.

Julian wasn't looking at her anymore. His gaze had shifted over her shoulder, his body going perfectly still.

Elara turned.

Mia was standing at the entrance of the hallway, her small hand clutching the frame. Leo was a shadow right behind her, his face pale and unreadable.

Elara froze. She looked at Julian, then at her children, the secret of their parentage screaming to be let out in the heavy silence.

"Mommy?" Mia whispered, her voice trembling.