CHAPTER 9: THE GILDED CAGE
The mansion looked like the aftermath of a bloody war zone.
Bullet holes shredded the expensive imported wallpaper, and the smell of bleach barely masked the metallic stench of blood in the hallways.
Julian’s men moved silently, carrying wrapped bundles out the back service doors with terrifying efficiency.
Clara held Leo tightly against her hip, refusing to let his small feet touch the ruined marble floor.
“Bring them to the east wing master suite,” Julian barked to a heavily armed guard standing at the base of the grand staircase.
Clara stopped dead in her tracks.
“The master suite?” Clara repeated, her grip tightening on the little boy. “My room is in the staff quarters, Julian.”
Julian turned around slowly, standing two steps above her, looking down like a dark, vengeful king.
“Your room in the staff quarters was compromised,” Julian stated, his voice leaving absolutely no room for debate.
“Then I’ll take a guest room on the lower level,” Clara argued, her heart hammering nervously against her ribs.
“You will sleep where I can see you,” Julian commanded, taking a slow step down to meet her eye level. “Where my men can guard the only door.”
“I am an employee, Mr. Vance,” Clara snapped, the formal title returning to her lips as a desperate shield. “I am not your prisoner.”
Would you have fought back against a man who just slaughtered an intruder with his bare hands?
Julian smiled, a dark, terrifying smirk that completely ignored her defiance.
“You stopped being my employee the second you let me kiss you in that vault,” Julian whispered, leaning dangerously close to her face.
Clara felt a furious blush burn across her cheeks.
“That was a mistake born out of adrenaline,” she lied, desperate to build a wall between them.
Julian reached out, his rough thumb pressing lightly against her bottom lip, silencing her instantly.
“If you truly believe that, Clara, then your heart wouldn’t be beating so fast right now,” he murmured.
He dropped his hand and turned to the towering bodyguard beside them.
“If she tries to leave the east wing, shoot anyone who helps her,” Julian ordered casually, as if he were discussing the weather.
Clara gasped, pulling Leo closer to her chest. “You can’t keep me here against my will!”
“I can do whatever I want in this city,” Julian threw over his shoulder, walking up the grand staircase. “I own the cops, I own the judges, and as of today, Clara, I own you.”
He paused at the top landing, his silhouette framed by a shattered chandelier.
“Dinner is at eight,” Julian added softly. “Wear the red dress I put on your bed.”
