Chapter 3 - The Midnight Confession in the Penthouse
By midnight, we were back in the sanctuary of the Tribeca penthouse.
The glittering lights of Manhattan stretched out below us like a sea of diamonds, but inside, the apartment was dead silent except for the faint hum of the climate control system. I kicked off my four-inch Jimmy Choo heels, let out a long, shuddering breath, and tossed my evening clutch onto the velvet sofa.
“Well,” I said, rubbing my aching feet. “I think that officially qualifies as a Masterclass in Petty Vengeance. Ryan looked like he swallowed a live grenade.”
Julian unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, tossing it over an armchair, and poured two glasses of scotch from the crystal decanter on the sideboard. He walked over and handed one to me.
“You handled yourself with remarkable composure,” Julian noted, leaning back against the glass balcony door. “I expected you to throw a glass of wine at him.”
“I’m professional now, remember? I have a salary, a title, and a wardrobe that requires dry cleaning instructions I can't read,” I joked, taking a small sip of the smoky amber liquid. It burned pleasantly all the way down. “Though I have to admit... seeing the look on Tessa's face when she realized I wasn't sitting at home eating cold noodles anymore? Worth every single minute of standing in those torturous shoes.”
Julian watched me over the rim of his glass. The golden light from the floor lamps caught the sharp angles of his face, softening the intimidating CEO exterior and revealing something deeper, something almost hesitant underneath.
“You didn't cry,” Julian said softly.
“Why would I cry?”
“Because up until three weeks ago, you believed your life was defined by a man who threw you away for someone else. Tonight, you stood in a room full of sharks and proved you were the apex predator.” He stepped closer, stopping just a foot away. Without his glasses, his eyes looked startlingly luminous. “Does it still hurt, Mia?”
The casual banter evaporated from the room, sucked out by the heavy, electric weight of his question.
I looked down at my glass. “It’s not about Ryan anymore. It’s about the humiliation. The feeling that you wasted five years building a life with someone who viewed you as temporary.”
“He was a fool,” Julian said flatly.
The absolute conviction in his voice made my breath catch. I looked up, finding myself trapped in his gaze. He was too close now. I could smell the faint scent of sandalwood and expensive cedarwood clinging to his skin.
“Why did you really agree to this, Julian?” I whispered, the question slipping out before I could stop it. “My best friend handed you a resume, and you married a complete stranger within forty-eight hours. Billionaires don’t do that on a whim.”
Julian didn't look away. He set his glass down on the coffee table with a soft clink, closed the remaining distance between us, and reached out. His fingers brushed a stray lock of hair away from my cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who ruled corporate boardrooms with an iron fist.
“Because,” Julian whispered, his thumb tracing the curve of my jawline, “I didn't just meet you three weeks ago in Bryant Park, Mia.”
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My heart stopped dead in my chest.
“What are you talking about?”
