CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN LAUREN’S POV The private flight back to the city was suffocating. Julian had spent the entire nine hours sitting across from me, a glass of scotch in his hand, reading through files on his tablet like he hadn’t just shattered my entire reality against a bathroom door. He knew. He sat at that desk, drank his coffee, went to meetings, and watched me with those dark, calculating eyes, knowing exactly what Serena had put under his floorboards. When the private elevator finally chimed and the polished steel doors slid open to the penthouse, the silence between us snapped. "You knew for three months," I said. Julian didn't stop walking. He stepped out of the elevator, tossing his keys onto the glass console table near the entrance. He shrugged off his suit jacket, draped it over a chair, and rolled up the sleeves of his dark shirt. "Three months and four days, to be exact," he replied, his tone casually indifferent. He walked over to the built-in bar and
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