Julian's office door closed with a finality that made Aria's skin crawl.
The man who had interrupted—dark-suited, stone-faced, with eyes like black glass—left without another word, but his presence lingered like smoke in the air.
Julian didn't speak. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, staring at the wall as if trying to bore through it with sheer force of will.
Aria watched him from the far side of the room, the silence pressing down like iron.
"You knew this was coming," she said.
He turned to her, slow and sharp.
"No. I knew something was coming. But not this."
Aria folded her arms. "You've built your empire like a fortress. Doesn't matter how many cameras or contracts you've installed—everything still bleeds from the inside."
Julian didn't flinch. But something flickered behind his eyes.
"I never expected betrayal to come through you," he said quietly.
It felt like a slap. Her throat tightened.
"I didn't betray you."
"You disappeared for hours. Accessed secure files. Ignored protocol. And now you're on the receiving end of anonymous threats."
He stepped closer. "Tell me how that doesn't look like a setup."
Aria's fists clenched. "Because if I wanted to ruin you, Julian, you'd already be ashes."
That silenced him.
Only for a beat.
Then he moved again—fast this time—pinning her with the weight of his body and his stare, his palms braced against the wall on either side of her head.
"You think you scare me?" he whispered.
"No," she said, lips trembling. "But maybe I should."
Their breath mingled—volatile, charged.
Julian's voice dropped. "If someone's targeting you through me, Aria, I'll burn down my entire legacy to keep you standing."
Her chest rose and fell. "And if I'm the target?"
"Then I'll chain you to my side."
"Like you already haven't?"
He didn't kiss her.
But it was close.
Too close.
—
They stood like that until the air turned cold.
Then Julian stepped back, jaw tight.
"I need to make a call. Stay here."
"Like hell I will," she muttered.
He turned sharply. "What was that?"
Aria stared at him. "You don't get to play both executioner and savior, Julian. You want me to trust you? Then stop issuing commands and start telling me the truth."
A beat passed.
He reached for his phone and dialed.
As he turned his back, Aria slipped out of the room.
—
Downstairs, the building felt like a fortress.
Security at every door, quiet men in earpieces moving like shadows. But Aria knew the layout well enough now, and she'd learned one thing quickly in Julian's world: power didn't sit in the rooms with glass walls.
It was buried in silence, in locked drawers, in the places even Julian didn't want her seeing.
She took the elevator down two floors—to the private archives.
Julian had once told her the place held only old financial records.
He lied.
The room was chilled, lit by dim overhead fluorescents. Lined with glass cabinets, it felt more like a vault than a workspace. But it wasn't until she found the drawer labeled "BLACK FILES" that she understood what kind of legacy Julian was building.
Inside were dossiers.
Not on companies.
But on people.
Politicians. Journalists. Rivals. Clients.
Some with photos marked with red Xs.
She sifted through them until she found one labeled: A. Thorn.
Her name.
She opened it.
Inside was everything—her school records, psychiatric evaluations from years she barely remembered, her mother's death certificate, and emails she never sent.
Her hands shook.
One photograph sat at the bottom.
It was of her.
Taken just three months ago—standing outside the courthouse, eyes tired, expression empty.
She swallowed hard.
Julian hadn't just studied her.
He had tracked her every breath.
—
"Looking for something?"
The voice wasn't Julian's.
It came from behind, smooth and foreign.
Aria spun.
A man stood in the doorway.
Tall. In his forties. Salt-and-pepper hair, expensive suit, eyes too calm.
"Who are you?" she asked, backing toward the nearest cabinet.
He smiled.
"No one. Just someone who invested in the wrong man."
She gripped the edge of the cabinet behind her.
"You're part of the sabotage," she said.
"I'm the reason you're still breathing."
The words made her blood run cold.
"I warned you," he added. "Told you to stop."
"You sent that message?"
He stepped into the room.
"Julian thinks he's untouchable. But he's not. And neither are you. If you stay with him, you'll fall when he does."
"Why should I believe anything you say?"
He tilted his head. "Because I'm offering you something he never will."
Aria raised her chin. "And what's that?"
"Freedom."
—
Footsteps echoed behind them.
Julian.
The man turned just before Julian entered the room. "She knows now," he said. "It's only a matter of time."
"Get out," Julian said, voice quiet but lethal.
The man smiled. "Tick tock, Devereux."
Then he walked past Julian and disappeared into the corridor.
Julian didn't look at Aria at first.
When he finally did, his face was blank. Pale. Hard.
"You weren't supposed to see this," he said.
"Clearly."
"You don't understand what he is."
"I don't care."
She walked up to him, fire in her veins.
"But I do understand what you are."
Julian's expression fractured, just slightly.
"You have files on me," she said, voice shaking. "You watched me. Studied me. Controlled me."
"I protected you."
"You owned me."
A beat passed.
"I loved you," he said softly.
Aria's breath hitched.
"What?"
"I still do."
She staggered back as if he'd hit her.
"No," she whispered. "You don't get to say that. Not after this. Not after everything."
Julian stepped forward.
"I love you," he said again. "And I know it doesn't make me good. But it makes me yours."
Tears burned at the edges of her vision. "That's not love. That's possession."
"No," he said, eyes locked to hers. "This—what I feel when you speak, when you fight me, when you look at me like I'm worth something even when I'm not—that's real."
Aria's voice broke. "Then prove it. Let me go."
He stared at her.
Long and hard.
And then said the last thing she expected.
"Okay."
—
Later that night, she stood in the penthouse hallway, suitcase in hand, heart pounding.
Julian leaned against the doorframe, silent.
"You're really doing this?" she asked.
"I said I'd prove it."
She wanted to cry.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she whispered, "What happens now?"
Julian's voice was calm. "Now you choose. If you come back, it's because you want to. Not because you're bound."
She looked at him, chest tight.
Then turned and walked away.
—
But freedom didn't feel like liberation.
It felt like loss.
Like stepping off a ledge into black water and not knowing if you'll sink or float.