Chapter 4 Touch me not

Julian disappeared after breakfast.

He left no note, no message, no clue-just the echo of his last words haunting Isla as she roamed the penthouse like a ghost trapped in glass.

"You're not the first woman who's wanted me, Isla...

But you're the first I've ever wanted to want me back."

Who says that?

Who walks away after saying that?

By midday, frustration had turned into a storm inside her. She was a journalist. A fighter. She chased answers. So why the hell was she pacing barefoot like some blushing intern?

The elevator was locked down. The security panel in her suite was dark. He had effectively sealed her inside this tower-and she wasn't sure whether to be furious or turned on.

Then she found the room.

A heavy oak door, cracked just enough to tease. Inside: a gallery of sorts. Not art in frames-but projections. Dozens of holograms flickered silently across the space, all looping scenes from Julian's life.

Home videos. Surveillance footage. Code strings dancing in the air. His past, digitized and exposed, like a digital confession.

And there-at the center of the room-was him.

Sixteen years old. On a hospital bed. Wired up. Pale, eyes sunken. A nurse adjusting his IV. A voiceover played in a younger Julian's voice, brittle and soft.

"They said I wouldn't survive the transplant. I did. But afterward, everything changed."

Isla's breath caught. She sat on a low velvet bench as the scenes melted into one another.

"My body recovered. My mind didn't."

Julian, older now-twenty-one-talking to a camera. His voice steadier. Sharper. More jaded.

"I couldn't handle touch. Not for years. Couldn't bear skin on skin. Panic attacks. Blackouts. It was like electricity. Like trauma branded me from the inside out."

Isla covered her mouth.

This wasn't just a billionaire being mysterious.

This was a man who'd been rebuilt from the inside-and taught to fear intimacy.

The lights shifted. A new scene emerged.

Now Julian sat in a chair-present-day Julian-staring straight into the camera. This time, the message was for her.

"If you've made it this far, Isla... now you know."

She stood slowly as his voice continued.

"I'm not a virgin because I'm afraid of sex. I'm a virgin because for most of my life, I couldn't survive it."

"And now, I want the first time to matter. Not because of love, or vows, or purity bullshit."

"But because I finally found someone who sees me-not what I built."

The recording ended. The room fell silent.

And then-

A whisper behind her.

"I didn't think you'd find this room today."

Isla spun around.

Julian stood in the doorway, shirt open at the collar, eyes shadowed. Watching her. Vulnerable and fierce.

"I didn't mean to spy," she said.

"You didn't," he murmured. "I left the door open."

She took a step toward him. Then another.

He didn't move.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said quietly.

"You should be."

"Why?"

"Because the moment I touch you, Isla, it's over."

She reached up, brushed her fingertips lightly over his chest-just above his heart.

Julian's breath hitched.

"I'm not asking you to sleep with me," she whispered.

"I know."

"I'm asking you to feel me."

Then she leaned in, lips brushing his cheek.

And for a long second-he let her.

His hands hovered just above her hips. Trembling. Wanting. Terrified.

Then finally-finally-they landed.

And Julian Cross, the man who built walls no one could scale, let them crumble.

One. Brick. At a time.