Chapter 4

A sharp, frantic pounding echoed against the heavy mahogany door, breaking the lazy stillness of the room. Julian’s eyes sharpened instantly, the soft, domestic haze evaporating as the lethal Fixer snapped right back into place.

"Stay here," he instructed low, tossing off the covers and reaching for his trousers.

"No," Elara said, "you stay. Hide in the bathroom. This is my room. Your presence will raise questions."

Julian nodded, gathered his clothes, and rushed to the bathroom. His scent still lingered in the room.

Elara pulled her white silk robe tighter around her body and opened the door.

Outside stood one of the junior housemaids, her face pale as chalk. "Miss Elara! It’s Mrs. Gable! She collapsed near the rear kitchen staff stairs! She’s doubled over, screaming in pain!"

Mrs. Gable had been her nanny since childhood. She had taken care of her since she was five years old—her mother had died giving birth to her baby brother.

Elara was out of the room before she even realized, sprinting toward the main kitchen in nothing but her robe. "Mrs. Gable? Is she breathing?" she asked in a fear-soaked voice.

"Barely, Miss! She won't let us call an ambulance—she says your father strictly forbade emergency vehicles on the driveway—"

"I'll take her myself," Elara said without missing a beat. "My SUV is in the private garage. Let the guards help you take her to the car. I’ll go get dressed."

She sprinted back to her room, grabbing a hoodie and a pair of shorts and slipping into them as fast as she could. Julian watched her from his position on the bed.

"Elara, wait," Julian finally said, reaching out to grab her wrist, his brow pulled into a tight, suspicious furrow. "Something about this is wrong. Let me inspect the grounds first—"

"Julian, she’s an old woman who’s been like a second mother to me," Elara pleaded softly, placing a gentle hand over his chest. "I’m taking her to the private clinic ten minutes away. I’ll be back before you even miss me."

Julian hated it. Every protective instinct in his body screamed at him to lock her in this room, but seeing the genuine worry in her eyes, he forced a tight nod.

"Thirty minutes," he rasped, cupping the back of her neck and pulling her into a hard, possessive kiss. "If you're not back through those gates in thirty minutes, I'm coming to burn the city down until I find you."

"Thirty minutes," she promised with a weak smile and kissed him goodbye.

The drive to the clinic felt longer than it probably was. Mrs. Gable groaned in pain every time they climbed a speed bump.

They arrived in fifteen minutes, and she was quickly wheeled into the ER.

She paced back and forth, trying to calm herself.

The doctor emerged ten minutes later.

"Miss Valenti?"

"Yes. How is Mrs. Gable now?"

"It’s nothing serious. Just exhaustion, dehydration, and aging. She should be fine after two days of resting."

Elara let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

The doctor cleared them to leave.

An hour later…

The drive back from the clinic had felt agonizingly long, but Elara’s heart was light. Mrs. Gable was settled safely in her home, granted a full paid week off to recover from what the doctors called severe dehydration and exhaustion.

Elara pulled her white SUV up the long, winding estate driveway, her heart fluttering with giddy anticipation.

One hour and ten minutes, she thought, a small smirk playing on her lips as she parked near the front steps. He's going to be furious.

She practically skipped through the grand foyer, ignoring the quiet guards, and hurried straight up the stairs toward her bedroom, eager to throw her arms around Julian's neck and soothe his lingering anger.

The bedroom door was slightly ajar. A thin strip of warm light spilled into the quiet corridor.

"Julian?" she called out softly, pushing the heavy oak door open with a smile. "I'm sorry I'm late, Mrs. Gable needed—"

The words froze in her throat. Her heart stopped beating entirely.

Sitting on the edge of her canopy bed was Julian. His shirt was unbuttoned, his dark hair disheveled. Straddling his lap was a woman in a sheer, lace robe—her hands tangled in his hair, her lips pressed violently against his neck, moaning his name.

And Julian... Julian’s arms were wrapped around the woman's waist, holding her tight against him, pulling her deeper into the kiss.

Elara’s breath hitched—a sharp, agonizing sound that felt like glass shattering in her lungs.

"W-what is g-going on h-here?"