After Dating Julian Vance For 6 Years Novels & Stories

“That’s Mr. Albert. The host.” “Oh…” I nodded and smiled when he reached us. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m grateful you came to my humble party!” The man said warmly, shaking Julian’s hand. “Congratulations on the Sweden branch.” Julian replied calmly. Mr. Albert smiled, then looked at me. “Is she your wife?” Julian hummed. “Elnoear Vance. My wife.” Mr. Albert extended his hand to me. I let go of Julian’s hand and shook his. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Albert.”

That Caspian had taken everything. That everyone had betrayed him. Vanessa had been easier to dismiss. She'd sent a letter. Actually wrote it out by hand, which somehow made it worse. "Julian, I can't wait for you. I can't throw away my life for a man in prison. I'm sorry, but I'm moving on. Don't contact me again." She'd found someone else. Some hedge fund guy. Vanessa's I*******m was full of photos of them in Cabo, at fancy dinners, at parties Julian would never be invited to again.

"Mr. Vance. A pleasure. I’m familiar with your firm's recent waterfront residential developments." Julian’s eyes swept over her face with unabashed appreciation, taking in the soft curve of her neck and the intelligent spark in her dark eyes. "And I’m familiar with your brilliant restoration work before you disappeared into Damon Rourke’s private vault," Julian murmured, stepping half a pace closer. His voice dropped into an intimate, silky register. "I must admit, when the press announced Damon’s sudden marriage, the entire city was shocked. A man like Rourke is a glacier. Cold, unyielding, ruthless." Evie tilted her head, her tone smooth and measured. "My husband is a very driven executive

Three years together, and my boyfriend, Julian Thorne, still acted like a Puritan in bed. Even in the heat of the moment, he never let me kiss him. He always made me turn my back to him, like looking at my face was some kind of sin. Today was supposed to be the day I funded the newly established "Vance Charity Foundation." But when I logged into the company account, I was locked out. A notification popped up on the screen: [Vance Industries Acquisition Complete. New Owner: Thorne Group].

"V? The architect of the Vance-Protocol? That’s… that’s worth trillions." "It gets better—or worse, depending on how you look at it," Marcus continued. "Five years ago, 'V' vanished from the tech world. At the same time, a quiet girl from a bankrupt family appeared in your social circles. She let you 'rescue' her, Julian. She let you believe she had nothing." Julian stared at the photo. Why? Why would a woman with the world at her fingertips choose to spend three years folding his laundry and waiting for him to come home?

She checked the dates again, her finger trembling against the warm paper. Vivian married Edward Vance in June 1995. Vivian married Richard West in August 1996. She frantically flipped through the rest of the file, looking for the Vance divorce. She found it on page twelve. 1999. Divorce Decree. Vivian Vance vs. Edward Vance. Finalized September 1999. The math was simple. It was horrifying. When Vivian married Noah’s father in 1996, she was still legally married to Edward Vance.

Vivienne released a long sigh and gently massaged her forehead before starting the engine. "This morning I have to deal with Julian, and then I have to go to Christian's villa this afternoon," she murmured tiredly while staring at the steering wheel. "It's exhausting having to divide both my body and my attention among three men from the Vance clan in a single day. At least Tristan is currently in China, so that's one less responsibility." Meanwhile, inside his luxurious penthouse apartment, Julian Vance was pacing back and forth across the living room with impatient strides. The hot-tempered man wore nothing but a pair of black satin pants, exposing his broad chest and well-defined abs.

I stood near the balcony, a flute of sparkling water in my gloved hand, and I let my gaze drift to the man who had destroyed me. Julian hadn't changed. He was still tall, broad-shouldered, with that jaw that could cut glass and eyes the color of a winter storm. His charcoal suit probably cost more than my first car. He was laughing at something—no, smirking—at a blonde who clung to his arm like decorative seaweed. His new fiancée, the whispers said. A supermodel. Much more appropriate for a man of his stature. I remembered when I was that arm-candy. Elara Vance, the quiet librarian he'd plucked from obscurity, married in a courthouse, hidden in his penthouse, and then… discarded.

Then he left. Julian sat alone in his office, rain beating against the window. He thought back to Founders' Day, three years ago — the day he'd brought me home and left me waiting in the car for forty minutes. The butler had led me in through the side door, and my place setting had come up short at the table. He'd sat at the head table beside Camille, peeling hand pies for her. He'd thought there would always be a next time — that if he missed this one, he could make it up later. He kept making it up later, until I didn't want to wait anymore.

Lucien found him at the corner booth of a bar neither of them had been to in years. Julian's jacket was gone, his sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, and three empty glasses were already lined up in front of him. “You said it was urgent,” Lucien said as he sat down across from him. “You didn’t say you’d already started without me.” “I needed something to do with my hands.” “Julian.” “She kissed him.” Julian’s voice was flat, stripped of its usual control. “Christian. My wife kissed Christian Vance.”