Play my wife for the gala

The transition from the salt-of-the-earth chaos of Brooklyn to the suffocating luxury of the Vance Plaza penthouse happened in a blur of motion and muffled orders. Julian’s men moved with the efficiency of a clean-up crew after a crime.

"Leave the plastic toys," Silas said, his voice void of emotion as he looked at Leo’s favorite battered fire truck. "Mr. Vance has already ordered a custom-built playroom. Educational sets. Hand-carved wood."

"He plays with the truck because I gave it to him, not because of what it's made of," Elara snapped, snatching the toy and shoving it into her duffel bag. She looked at Julian, who was standing by the door, watching her every move like a hawk counting its gold. "If you want us to come, my children’s memories come with us. Or you can call the police right now and see how well a scandal suits your stock price tomorrow morning."

Julian’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod to Silas. "Let her take the junk."

The ride back was silent. The twins were strapped into high-end car seats that had appeared out of nowhere, both of them staring wide-eyed at the glowing city lights. Marcus sat in the front seat, his eyes never leaving the rearview mirror where Julian sat next to Elara.

When the elevator opened directly into the penthouse, the twins gasped. The floor-to-ceiling glass showed the entire world at their feet.

"Is this a castle, Mommy?" Mia whispered, clutching her tattered rabbit.

"It’s a hotel, sweetie," Elara said, her voice tight. "A temporary one."

"It’s home," Julian corrected, his voice echoing in the vast, minimalist space. He walked toward the children, dropping to one knee. It was the first time Elara saw him try to be human, and it was terrifyingly effective. "Leo. Mia. I’m Julian. I’m a... friend of your mother’s. You have your own rooms down that hallway. They have everything you’ve ever wanted."

Leo stepped in front of his sister. "Does it have a kitchen? Mommy needs a kitchen for her cakes."

Julian’s gaze flickered to Elara, a strange emotion crossing his face. "It has the best kitchen in New York. And a chef who will make you anything you want."

"Go with Mrs. Gable, kids," Elara said, her voice trembling. "I’ll be there in a minute to tuck you in."

Once the children and the nanny disappeared down the hall, the air in the room changed. The "fatherly" mask Julian wore vanished, replaced by the cold predator. He walked to the bar, pouring two glasses of water, handing one to Elara.

"You’re shaking," he noted.

"I’m vibrating with the urge to hit you," she countered, refusing the glass. "You think you can just buy them? Hand-carved toys and chefs? They don't know you, Julian. To them, you’re just a stranger with a shiny building."

"I have time," he said, taking a slow sip. "And I have resources. They will have the Vance name by the end of the week. I’ve already contacted the registry office."

"Without a court order? Without my consent?"

Julian stepped closer, his presence overwhelming the room. "I told you, Elara. I am the law in this city. But I’m a man of my word. The soldier—Marcus—is staying in the guest quarters. But make no mistake: he works for me now. If he breathes a word of this to the press, or if he tries to take you out of this building without my permission, he disappears. Permanently."

Elara felt the walls closing in. "And what about me? Am I a prisoner too?"

Julian reached out, his fingers tangling in a stray lock of her hair. He pulled just enough to force her to look up at him. The tension between them was a mix of old love and new hate.

"You’re the guest of honor," he whispered. "But we have a problem. My father is hosting the 50th Anniversary Gala for Vance International on Friday. He expects me to announce my engagement to Cynthia Sterling."

Elara laughed. "The steel heiress? She’s perfect for you. She’s as cold as you are."

"The engagement is cancelled," Julian said, his eyes darkening. "Instead, I’m going to introduce the world to my wife and my children. You’re going to walk into that ballroom on my arm, wearing a gown that costs more than your Brooklyn apartment, and you’re going to look the man who tried to kill you in the eye."

Elara’s breath hitched. "You want me to use my children as a shield in your family war?"

"I want you to take your place," he growled, his hand moving to the back of her neck, pulling her closer until their lips were inches apart. "I want them to know that I won. That you’re back. And that anyone who touches you has to go through me."

For a second, Elara saw the man she used to love—the one who promised to protect her. Her heart hammered, and for a fleeting moment, she wanted to lean into him.

Then she remembered the five years of silence. The nights spent crying over a feverish child with no money for medicine.

She shoved him back, her eyes cold. "I’ll play your wife for the gala, Julian. I’ll help you humiliate your father. But don't think for one second that this makes us a family. When the curtains close, I want a contract. A legal, binding document that gives me full custody and the freedom to leave when this 'anniversary' is over."

Julian’s face turned into a mask of ice. He set his glass down on the marble counter with a deliberate clink.

"You’ll get your contract, Elara," he said, walking toward his bedroom. "But you might want to read the fine print. Because in my world, once you’re a Vance, the only way out is in a casket."

He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder.

"And Elara? Wear the red dress I sent to your room. It matches the fire in your eyes when you hate me. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen."

The door clicked shut, leaving Elara alone in the vast, silent palace.