Julian Novels & Stories

“You must be the legendary Zander Blackwood. I was just telling your wife how much I admire her vision.” “Is that so?” Zander’s eyes narrowed, scanning Julian with the precision of a predator. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Mr…?” “Julian. Just Julian,” he replied, refusing to give his last name this time. He gave me a final, knowing nod. “I’ll see you around the circuit, Victoria. Don’t let the sharks dull your colors.” As Julian walked away, blending perfectly into the crowd, Zander didn’t relax. His grip on my waist tightened.

Then louder, raw and cracking, “You have to be joking.” Julian’s hand left Aiden’s shoulder. He walked around the table, past the frozen guests, and stopped beside Katia. He did not take her hand. He simply stood next to her, close enough that the message was unmistakable. “This is my wife,” he said. His voice carried to every corner of the room without effort. “Katia Windsor. The mother of my son. The only woman who has ever held that title for seven years now.” Silence crushed the air out of the space. Seven years, which means Julian is the man Katia slept with in Vegas!

I moved closer; my voice lowered to a whisper. “Julie, Julian is dangerous; he's a wealthy, calculating heir, he's used to getting what he wants and that's exactly what he's doing now: playing a game”. “Please, heed me on this—don't give in to the feelings you're developing throughout. Don't let it run any further”.

And beside her stood Julian Vane. Julian Vane. The name alone was enough to make stock markets tremble. He was the country’s most eligible bachelor, a tech mogul with a face carved from marble and a reputation for ruthless efficiency. To the world, he was the perfect match. A savior for my family’s crumbling finances. A gentleman.

Elias’s heart stopped. It wasn't a monster. It wasn't a prop. It was Julian. Julian was a sixth-grader who had moved to the district only three months prior. He was a quiet, brilliant boy who always wore long sleeves, wide-brimmed hats, and heavy sunglasses. He was an albino. His condition was severe; his skin lacked any protective pigment, making the sun his most lethal enemy.

Julian wasn't dead. The wight I had just destroyed had been a decoy. The real Julian Crescent stepped out from behind the heavy iron pipe organ on the high balcony. He looked identical to the vessel the same charcoal-black hair, the same predatory golden eyes but his aura wasn't a static, oily frequency. It was hot, thick, and laced with the genuine, unyielding authority of an Alpha born to command. He didn't carry a silver axe; he held a standard Southern enforcer saber, the steel gray and unadorned.

A flood of text and emojis exploded on his screen. ★Chiper is watching you★: 0_0!!!!!! Julian-brother~! On it! Nothing gets past God Seven! 🦸🦸🦸🤫😻😻😻Ooh, a mole hunt! My favorite! Don’t worry, pretty new assistant, I’ll clear your Victoria’s name! 🤸🤸🤸 ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 I stared, confused, at the chaotic stream of characters. Julian pinched the bridge of his nose, a sign of pure annoyance.

“I am listening. Speak.” Julian bowed quickly again, then raised his head. His throat was dry, but his words came strong. “I knew you through Steve, my very good friend. I heard you recently came here to seek asylum. You seem like a promising man, may I know more about you?” “Your Majesty, my name is Julian. I was once under Alpha Cassius as his daughter’s professor and bodyguard. Going back to my backstory, he eliminated my family because my dad refused to betray his best friend who was from here.”

Thunderheads bruise the sky beyond the treeline—just heat lightning now, but the pressure feels like a held breath. And somewhere inside this house is Julian. She hasn’t seen him in person since the holidays, just a few photos her mom had posted on F******k before disappearing to Europe for the summer. Grace had zoomed in on them more times than she’d admit. Julian with his button-down sleeves rolled, scotch in hand, that unreadable half-smile curving his mouth. A little more gray at the temples, maybe, but still the same lean body, the same shoulders that seem too broad to belong to a man who prefers books to sports.

Celeste never rushed a case. Especially not one like this. Julian Cross wasn’t the usual mark—he didn’t reek of entitlement or wear his infidelity like a cologne. He was careful. Controlled. And, annoyingly, attractive. Not in the usual way. Not the spray-tanned, gym-polished hedge fund type she was used to. Julian was tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that curled slightly at the collar and a beard that looked like it was trimmed by someone with a PhD in symmetry. His eyes were green—sharp, unreadable. The kind of eyes that didn’t blink unless they meant to.