Chapter 9

The hours didn't pass; they bled into one another. I had slept, woke up to mechanically clean the immaculate kitchen counters, eaten the lunch Julian left for me, and then crawled right back into bed. I didn't even bother bathing. The absolute exhaustion of being psychologically hunted had drained the marrow from my bones. I lay flat on my stomach, my face buried in a pillow, staring blankly at the beige wall.

The heavy click of the apartment’s front digital lock echoed through the silence. The clock on the nightstand read 4:00 PM.

I didn't move. I just listened to his heavy, familiar footsteps crossing the hardwood floor, moving straight toward my bedroom. The door creaked open. Even though I kept my back to him, facing the wall, I could feel the sheer volume of his presence clogging the air in the room. He just stood in the doorway for a long, silent minute, watching me.

Then, the mattress groaned. A sudden, crushing weight settled over me as Julian lay down completely on top of my back, pinning me into the mattress. His large hands slid instantly to my hips, gripping them through my shorts with a firm, territorial possessiveness. Before I could protest, he leaned down, pressing soft, lingering kisses against my burning cheek, then moved lower, trailing his lips down the column of my neck while his long fingers sought out mine, interlocking them tightly against the sheets.

"I missed you," he whispered, his voice a low, raspy vibrato against my skin.

"Great," I muttered into the pillow.

Julian paused, his face burying deeper into my shoulder as he inhaled sharply. "Are you mad at me?"

"Yes."

He shifted his weight slightly, leaning down to stare at my side profile. For a second, the lifeless, calculated look in his blue eyes cracked, revealing a strange, desperate flash of vulnerability. "I'm sorry," he murmured softly. Then, he leaned in and pecked my lips.

I bit my tongue, swallowing the bitter retort that rose in my throat. I wanted to scream at him, to demand to know what he had done to Liam, but I knew exactly how it would end—in a cyclical, exhausting argument that would only result in him tightening the leash. I simply didn't have the strength for it anymore.

Julian sniffed my neck again, his nose brushing against the sensitive skin beneath my ear. He frowned. "Did you shower today?"

"No."

"Come on," he said, suddenly pushing himself off me and standing up by the side of the bed. "Time to shower."

I rolled over onto my back, watching in utter disbelief as Julian calmly pulled his black shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor, before reaching for the button of his jeans. Within seconds, he had stripped down until he was wearing nothing but his dark boxers, his lean, heavily corded chest and tattooed shoulders completely bare in the dim room.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice rising in panic.

"We are bathing together," he stated flatly.

"Wait, what?!" I sat up instantly, pushing my back against the headboard. "No, we're not, Julian. Absolutely not."

Julian didn't argue. He simply stepped closer, climbing onto the edge of the bed and reaching out to hold my face in his wide palms, his thumbs anchoring my jaw. "Yes, we are bathing, Tess. I haven't hugged you in a while."

Before I could even process the words, he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me violently against his bare chest. Julian was incredibly tall, his frame broad and muscular from years at the academy, and the moment my face was crushed against his shoulder, I felt impossibly small. Short. Defenseless. He held me tightly for a long moment, pressing a firm kiss to the top of my head, before his hand slid down my back and playfully, sharply smacked my booty.

"Stop it, Julian!" I gasped, swatting at his chest as my face burned a violent crimson.

"Sorry," he murmured, a shadow of a smirk finally playing on his lips as he let me go. "Let's go."

"We are not supposed to bathe together," I hissed, my hands trembling as I pointed toward the door. "It’s wrong. It’s completely wrong."

"Well, I said so," Julian replied, his voice dropping into that cool, unyielding tone that brooked no rebellion. He glanced down at my clothes. "And you're not going naked. You're just going to wear your shorts and a tube top."

Without waiting for my answer, he turned on his heel and walked straight into my en-suite bathroom. A moment later, I heard the heavy rush of water and the scent of luxury lavender bubble bath filling the air.

I let out a ragged, trembling sigh, burying my face in my hands. What did I enter? What am I doing? This was so incredibly wrong, a complete violation of every boundary we were supposed to have as family, but the dark, magnetic pull of his presence was already paralyzing my willpower.

Defeated, I stripped off my top. Instead of the shorts, I grabbed a black bikini bottom and a matching tube top, stepping into the steamed-up bathroom.

Julian was leaning against the marble counter, testing the water temperature. When he looked up and saw me standing there in the bikini, his eyes darkened instantly, the blue turning almost entirely black. A slow, incredibly sexy smile spread across his face—the kind of look that used to make my stomach flip three years ago.

"Have you worn a bikini for someone else?" he asked softly, his voice dangerously low.

I wanted to hurt him back. I wanted to puncture that absolute control he had over me. I looked him dead in the eye and nodded. "Yes. Only Liam."

The atmosphere in the bathroom changed in a millisecond. The warm steam felt like it froze into shards of ice. I could practically feel the storm and blazing anger radiating off his skin, his jaw clenching so hard a violent muscle leaped under his ear. He took a predatory step toward me, and the raw, dangerous "Hardin" energy rolling off him made my survival instincts scream.

Terrified of the explosion, I quickly reached out and held his hand, my fingers wrapping around his tense wrist. "Julian, no. I haven't. I was lying."

He stared at me for a long, agonizing five seconds, assessing the panic in my eyes, before the lethal tension in his shoulders slowly dissipated with a dark, heavy sigh.

He guided me into the deep porcelain tub, climbing in behind me. The water was perfectly hot, the thick bubbles floating around our chests. But the bath wasn't normal. Julian took the sponge, smoothly washing my shoulders, but he intentionally held my bum beneath the water, pulling my back tightly against his bare chest, kissing the wet skin of my neck over and over again. My head was spinning. I knew I should be hating him right now. I should be screaming, fighting, running out the front door—not leaning back into his touch, not letting him brand my skin in the dark water.

I reached back, my hands holding his thick biceps, feeling the hard muscle beneath my fingers. I needed to ground myself in reality before I drowned in him completely. "You know... eventually, I'll get married, right?" I whispered. "This can't last forever."

Julian stopped moving instantly. The sponge fell into the water with a soft splash.

He leaned around to look at me, and when our eyes met, his face was a terrifying, expressionless mask. His eyes were completely lifeless—cold, dead, and empty of any humanity.

"I'll burn the ground before I see you get married, Tess," he whispered, his voice devoid of any emotion, which made it infinitely more terrifying than a shout. He reached out, his fingers grabbing my chin with a bruising grip, forcing me to look at the madness in his soul. "You belong to me. And me alone. If another man puts a ring on your finger, I’ll take his hand off."

The sheer, psychotic certainty in his voice made my breath hitch. He released my chin and calmly continued the bath, pouring warm water over my shoulders as if he hadn't just threatened a bloodbath.

We stayed like that until the water began to cool and I suddenly sneezed. Julian stopped immediately. He climbed out of the tub, grabbed a plush, oversized towel, and wrapped it securely around my body, lifting me out of the water himself. He pecked my lips, took my wet hand, and led me straight back to my bedroom.

He sat me down gently on the vanity stool. He plugged in the hair dryer, turning it to a warm, gentle setting, and began to carefully run his fingers through my wet hair, drying the strands with an incredible, tender focus.

As the warmth from the dryer hit my scalp and his fingers massaged my head, a strange, conflicting sensation washed over me. I felt a sudden, deep warmth in my chest—a terrifying feeling of safety that I only ever felt when he was looking after me like this. But a second later, a wave of intense irritation and jealousy crashed through that warmth. I thought of the elite circle. I thought of Megan Thorne. I thought of the three years he spent away at that academy.

Before I could stop myself, before my brain could filter the toxic curiosity, the question left my mouth.

"How many girls have you done this to, Julian?"