Chapter 3

The silence in Julian Thorne's office was as absolute and unnerving as the man himself.

It was a space that reflected him perfectly: minimalist, powerful, and devoid of any personal warmth. One wall was a floor-to-ceiling window offering a god-like view of Veridia, the rain-slicked streets and buildings laid out like a map. The other walls were bare, painted a stark, gallery white. The only furniture was a massive desk of dark, polished wood, and two leather chairs. The air smelled of old leather, expensive ink, and the faint, clean scent of ozone from the humming servers somewhere deep within the building.

I sat in one of the chairs, the cold leather sticking to the thin fabric of my scrubs. I felt like a stray animal brought in from the storm, dripping onto a priceless rug. The vellum contract lay on the desk between us, a strange, ancient artifact in this temple of modernity.

Julian sat opposite me, not looking at the document, but at me. His icy grey eyes were relentless, stripping away my defenses layer by layer. He hadn't spoken a word since he'd dismissed the gawking crowd in the lobby with a single, cutting gesture and had his personal assistant, a severe-looking woman named Evelyn, escort me up in a private elevator.

My heart was still pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. *Say something. Anything. Is he angry? Is he going to throw me out? He looks like he could shatter glass with a single stare.* I twisted my hands in my lap, the knuckles white.

Finally, he picked up the contract. His long, elegant fingers handled the old paper with a surprising delicacy. He read it slowly, his expression unreadable. The only sound was the soft rustle of the vellum and the quiet, persistent drumming of the rain against the window. His jaw was set, a hard line of concentration. There was no surprise, no shock, just a quiet, intense focus.

After what felt like a lifetime, he placed the document back on the desk, aligning it perfectly with the edge.

"My legal team will need to verify this," he said. His voice was a low, resonant baritone, as cold and smooth as the marble in his lobby. "But I recognize my grandfather's signature. It appears to be authentic."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "It is."

He leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning softly. He steepled his fingers, his gaze pinning me in place. "And what, exactly, do you want from me, Miss Ashford?"

The question was a block of ice. He knew what the contract said. He was testing me.

*He thinks I'm here for money. He thinks this is a shakedown.* The thought stung, adding a fresh layer of humiliation to my terror.

"Protection," I said, my voice shaking but clear. "My... my husband, Mark, he's trying to have me committed to a psychiatric facility. He has men looking for me right now. The contract... it was my only hope."

Julian's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Mark. Of the Sterling Group." It wasn't a question. He knew exactly who my husband was. Of course he did. They were rivals.

"Yes," I whispered.

He was silent for another long moment, his gaze sweeping over my disheveled state-the cheap scrubs, the wild fear in my eyes. He was calculating, weighing variables I couldn't even begin to guess at.

"I will uphold the contract," he said, the words delivered with the finality of a judge's sentence.

Relief washed over me so powerfully my head swam.

"However," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "let us be perfectly clear on the terms of this arrangement. I will give you my name. I will provide you with my absolute protection. No one will touch you. In return, you will perform the duties required of Mrs. Thorne in a public capacity. You will be a wife in name, and in name only. This is a transaction. Do not expect affection. Do not expect friendship. Do not expect anything more. Is that understood?"

The coldness of his proposition was a slap in the face, but it was a slap I welcomed. It was honest. After Mark's suffocating web of lies, Julian's brutal clarity was a strange, bitter kind of relief. He wasn't pretending. He was offering a cage, but it was a safe one.

"Understood," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I had no other choice.

He nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. He pressed a button on his intercom. "Evelyn, bring the registry documents. And have my legal team meet us at the city clerk's office in thirty minutes."

It was happening. It was actually happening. In the space of a few hours, I had gone from being a prisoner in a hospital to the fiancée of Julian Thorne.

Just as his assistant entered with a folder, the doors to the office burst open.

Mark stormed in, his face a mask of fury. He was flanked by two expensive-looking lawyers. His perfect suit was slightly disheveled, his hair damp from the rain. He looked wild, cornered.

"There you are!" he snarled, his eyes, burning with rage, landing on me. "I knew you'd try something like this!"

He strode towards me, his hand outstretched as if to grab me. "Clara, this is insane. You're not well. We're going home."

His lawyers began talking at once, spouting legal threats at Julian, who hadn't moved a muscle. He simply watched the chaos unfold with a look of detached curiosity.

"She's my wife!" Mark bellowed, his voice echoing in the silent office. "She's mentally unstable! A gold-digger who is having a psychotic break!"

He threw a file onto Julian's desk. It slid across the polished wood, spilling its contents. Falsified psychiatric reports. Documents filled with lies designed to strip me of my credibility and my freedom. The sight of them made me feel sick.

"She needs help," Mark said, his voice now taking on a tone of feigned concern, a performance for Julian. "She needs to be in a hospital. I have a court order."

He lunged for me again, his fingers closing around my arm like a vice. The touch was electric, a jolt of pure terror. I cried out, trying to pull away, the memory of his shove, of the cold marble floor, flashing in my mind.

Suddenly, a wall of muscle and fine tailoring was between us.

Julian had moved with a speed that was both silent and shocking. He placed himself directly in front of me, shielding me with his body. His hand came up and closed around Mark's wrist, his grip so tight that Mark cried out in pain, his fingers instantly releasing my arm.

"You will not touch my wife," Julian stated. His voice was not loud. It was lethally low, a quiet rumble of thunder that promised a storm. The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.

Mark stared at him, stunned into silence, his face pale.

Julian, without taking his eyes off Mark, reached behind him and took the pen from Evelyn's trembling hand. He pulled the marriage certificate from the folder and signed his name with a single, sharp, deliberate stroke.

He released Mark's wrist, shoving him back a step. He then turned to his head of security, who had appeared silently at the door.

"Martin," Julian said, his voice calm, "Please escort Mr. Sterling and his associates from my building. And then, I want you to ruin him. Financially. Professionally. Personally. Use every resource at our disposal. I want him to have nothing left. Is that clear?"

"Crystal, Mr. Thorne," the security chief said with a grim smile.

Mark was dragged away, screaming threats and curses, his carefully constructed world crumbling around him in real time. The door closed, plunging the office back into a deafening silence.

I was shaking, my entire body trembling with shock and a terrifying, exhilarating sense of release. I stared at Julian's back, at the man who had, in the space of five minutes, become my protector, my husband, my avenger.

He stood still for a moment, his shoulders tense. Then, slowly, he turned to face me.

The icy mask was gone. For the first time, his cold facade cracked, and the look in his grey eyes was one of raw, unguarded intensity. He took a step closer, his gaze searching mine.

He leaned in, his voice a low, urgent whisper that was meant only for me.

"Now," he said, the single word cutting through my shock. "Tell me everything. Starting with the baby he killed."