If you had told me three days ago that I’d be speeding through Manhattan at midnight in an armored, bulletproof Maybach while a six-foot-four billionaire glared at a blackmailer’s text message like he was planning a small-scale invasion, I would have laughed in your face, Then I would have cried, because my bank account balance back then couldn’t even afford a subway ride, let alone a high-stakes stalker crisis.
Yet, here we were.
The silence inside the car was so thick you could cut it with a rusty butter knife and Julian hadn’t said a single word since we left the gala’s private valet lounge.
He just sat beside me, his jaw clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter, staring down at his phone.
And oh!
the dark, ruthless energy radiating off him was practically suffocating the air conditioning.
“So…” I started, my raspy Monaco accent completely slipping back into my normal voice as I pulled off my giant black sunglasses.
“On a scale of one to we’re going to federal prison, how bad is this?” Julian didn’t look up immediately.
His eyes slowly shifted toward me, completely devoid of the amused smirk he’d had earlier at the lounge.
“We are not going to prison, Roxie.” “Great!
Good to know!” I squeaked, my heart doing a panicked tap-dance against my ribs.
“Because I look terrible in orange.
It washes out my skin tone.
And quite frankly, I don’t think my silver wig would survive a mugshot.” “No one is taking your mugshot,” Julian said, his deep voice carrying a low, dangerous growl that sent a cold shudder down my spine.
He leaned forward, tapping the privacy glass.
“Marcus.
Lockdown protocol at the penthouse.
Nobody enters or leaves the residential floor without my direct clearance.” “Understood, Mr.
Sterling,” the driver replied instantly.
Lockdown protocol?
I blinked.
Okay, cool.
So we’re in a full-blown action movie status now.
Excellent.
I love stress for midnight snack.
Ten minutes later, the private elevator shot up to the triplex penthouse and opened with its usual smooth whoosh.
But there was no relaxed, high-society banter this time.
Julian practically hauled me out by my elbow, his long strides forcing me to half-jog through the foyer into his private study.
The study looked like the lair of a corporate warlord with its dark mahogany walls, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the glowing city below, and a massive glass desk covered in encrypted monitors.
Julian slammed the doors shut, clicked the lock, and turned around.
He immediately shed his tuxedo jacket, tossing it onto a leather armchair, and unbuttoned the top three buttons of his crisp white shirt.
Look away, Roxie, my brain screamed.
Focus on the blackmail!
Do not look at his chest!
Do not notice how broad his shoulders are when he’s mad!
You are in danger!
“Take off the wig,” Julian commanded, stepping closer.
“Excuse me?” “Take it off,” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave, thick with a possessive, dark focus.
“I need to see you.
Not Lady Sterling.
You.” My breath caught in my throat.
My hands trembled slightly as I reached up, unpinning the platinum-silver lace-front and setting it on the edge of the desk alongside my giant sunglasses.
I shook out my natural hair, letting it tumble messily over my shoulders.
Without the heavy matriarch mask, I suddenly felt completely vulnerable in my emerald silk gown.
Julian stalked toward me like a predator closing in on its prey.
He didn’t stop until his tall, massive frame was practically pinning me against the edge of his mahogany desk.
The forced proximity was absolute torture—the heat off his body was washing over me, making my pulse spike so hard I was sure he could hear it.
“Look at me, Roxie,” he murmured, his dark eyes searching my face.
I looked up.
Big mistake.
Up close, Julian looked terrifyingly handsome and lord his sharp jawline was tight, his dark eyes burning with an intense, raw emotion that made my knees feel like soft gelatin.
“Are you scared?” he asked quietly.
“I’m…
I’m a drama major who lives on discount noodles, Julian,” I admitted, my voice dropping to a genuine, breathless whisper.
“An anonymous stalker just sent a photo of me outside my real, trashy apartment building.
Yeah.
I’m a little freaked out.” Julian raised his hand.
His long, warm fingers gently cupped the side of my face, his thumb softly tracing the curve of my cheekbone.
The contrast between his icy, ruthless demeanor and the tenderness of his touch almost made me gasp out loud.
Why is my heart hammering like a hummingbird on caffeine?!
I screamed internally.
He’s a ruthless CEO who literally threatened a catering girl an hour ago!
Stop leaning into his hand, Roxie!
“Listen to me very carefully,” Julian whispered, his head dipping down until his sharp jaw was inches from mine.
His thumb stroked my jawline, sending a wave of electric heat straight down to my toes.
“You are under my roof.
You are under my protection.
Whoever took that photo made the biggest mistake of their life.” “Julian…” I stammered, my hand instinctively reaching up to rest against his chest.
I could feel the strong, steady thump of his heartbeat under his thin cotton shirt.
“What if they leak it to the press tomorrow?
What if the board finds out?” Julian’s eyes darkened, dropping down to my lips for a long, agonizing second before snapping back to my eyes.
His grip on my face tightened just a fraction—not enough to hurt, but enough to make it abundantly clear that he wasn’t letting go.
“Let them try,” Julian growled, his voice a dark, possessive rumble against my skin.
“I own three major media outlets in this city, and I have a security team tracking the cell tower that sent that text right now.
Before the sun comes up, I will have a name.” “And if it’s Richard Montgomery?” I asked softly, my eyes locked on his.
“Then I will destroy him completely,” Julian replied without a second of hesitation.
He leaned in even closer, his broad body pressing me back against the polished wood of his desk, completely surrounding me with his scent of sandalwood and pure, intoxicating power.
“Nobody uses my leverage against me, Roxie,” Julian growled, his voice a dark, possessive rumble against my skin.
“And nobody threatens the people under my roof.” “I’m not leverage, CEO,” I managed to squeak out, trying to keep a thread of my signature sass alive despite the heat suffocating the room.
“You can’t just claim my safety like a corporate tax shelter.” A slow, lethal smirk finally broke across Julian’s face.
His thumb brushed over my lower lip, lingering just long enough to make my pulse shatter.
“You’re not leverage, Miss Fox,” he whispered, his voice dangerously low against my ear.
“You’re a chaotic nightmare.
And you’re the only person in this city crazy enough to talk back to me.” ‘Nobody touches MY leverage against me, Roxie.
Nobody.’ My brain repeated ‘ Hold on Roxie ignore the leverage part.
So yeah he said no body touches MY!
Lawd!
My brain officially short-circuited.
Did he just call me ‘his’?!
Is this part of the contract?!
Because if this is part of the $100k retainer, I am severely underpaid for the emotional damage my heart is currently experiencing!
“I am afraid of you,” I muttered back, my gaze dropping to his lips as he stayed inches away from me.
“Mostly because you’re standing so close I can’t think straight.” Julian let out a quiet, breathless laugh that vibrated against my collarbone.
He didn’t pull away.
Instead, his hand slid down from my face to wrap firmly around the back of my neck, his fingers tangling into my natural hair, holding me right where he wanted me.
“Good,” Julian murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that promised utter ruin for whoever sent that text.
“Then stay right here.
Because as long as you’re with me, no one touches a hair on your head.” CREATORS’ THOUGHTS Bel_Rose Roxie taking off the wig and facing the cold CEO as just herself…
THE TENSION WAS PALPABLE!
And Julian locking down the penthouse, tracking cell towers, and holding her against his desk while threatening to destroy whoever sent that photo?
He might say she’s just a “chaotic nightmare,” but his actions are speaking WAY louder than his words.
Who sent the text?