Chapter 6

Julian POV:

I found her door locked. Of course, it was locked. I stood outside, the silence of the hallway pressing in on me, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my head. Humiliation was a bitter, unfamiliar taste in my mouth.

I used the master key Patrick O'Hara had given me years ago, a symbol of trust I had so thoroughly betrayed. The lock clicked softly, and I pushed the door open.

She was standing by the window, looking out at the sprawling vineyards, her back to me. She didn't turn, but I felt the temperature in the room drop by ten degrees.

"Get out, Julian." Her voice was flat, devoid of the warmth I had always taken for granted.

"Scarlett, please. Just let me explain." I took a step forward.

"Explain what?" She finally turned, and her eyes were like frozen lakes. "Explain how you and Lily were using me? Explain how you tried to publicly humiliate me and steal my birthright? There's nothing to explain. There's only the truth."

"It's not that simple," I said, my own voice sounding desperate. "You don't understand my relationship with Lily."

I told her about the orphanage, about the things we had to do to survive. "We made a promise, Scarlett. A promise sealed in blood and fear. I swore I would protect her from that life, from the consequences of what we did. Always."

"I owe your father everything," I continued, my voice cracking. "He saved us. I promised him I would take care of you, that I would marry you and run this estate. It was my duty."

"Your duty," she repeated, the word a curse on her lips. "So I was just a task to be completed."

"No! That's not what I meant. I do care for you, Scarlett. I always have. But Lily... she needs me."

As if on cue, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at the screen. It was Lily. Her name flashed like a beacon, a summons I was conditioned to obey.

Scarlett's eyes followed my gaze. A slow, bitter smile spread across her face. "Go on," she said softly. "Your real priority is calling."

I hesitated, torn. The buzzing was insistent. Lily would be panicking after the gala. She'd be crying.

"I..." I started, but no words came.

"Go," Scarlett said again, her voice like steel. "Go to her."

I did. I turned and walked out of the room, out of her life, closing the door behind me. It felt like walking off a cliff.

Before I left completely, I pulled a checkbook from my jacket, scribbled a number with far too many zeros, and slid it under her door. A pathetic, inadequate apology. A consolation prize.