He swore he would marry the first woman who walked through the door, then a soaked delivery girl changed his entire empire

Living in the penthouse was like living in a museum. Everything was cold, perfect, and untouchable.

For the first two weeks, Harper and Julian operated like ghosts haunting the same mansion. Julian worked eighteen-hour days, securing his position as CEO and dismantling Marcus’s attempts to undermine his authority at the board level. Harper spent her days at the hospital with Lily, reading to her, watching her sister regain her color after the successful preliminary procedures.

They only interacted when required. A shared dinner in deafening silence. A staged paparazzi walk through Central Park where they held hands, only to drop them the second they were behind tinted SUV windows.

But late one rainy Tuesday night, the invisible wall between them began to crack.

Harper couldn't sleep. The thunderstorm outside rattled the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. She wandered into the sprawling kitchen wearing a pair of oversized sweatpants and a worn-out t-shirt, looking for warm milk.

She stopped dead in the doorway.

Julian was sitting at the marble island. He was out of his suit, wearing only dark slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing heavily corded forearms. He had a glass of scotch in one hand, staring blankly at a legal document. He looked completely exhausted. Not the invincible CEO, but a man carrying the weight of an empire on his shoulders.

Harper hesitated, then quietly walked to the stove and turned on the burner.

"You're up late," Julian’s voice rasped in the quiet room.

"Storm woke me," Harper replied, pouring milk into a saucepan. "You look like you haven't slept since the wedding."

"Sleep is a luxury I can't afford right now. Marcus is rallying the minority shareholders. He's trying to order an audit of my personal life to prove this marriage is a sham."

Harper turned around, leaning against the counter. "Can he do that?"

"He can try." Julian took a slow sip of his scotch, his eyes tracing the line of her throat. "How is Lily?"

Harper’s guard softened instantly. "She’s doing amazing. The doctors said her heart is responding perfectly to the medication prepping her for surgery. Julian... I never really thanked you properly. You saved her."

Julian looked away, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "You signed a contract. It was a transaction. You don't owe me gratitude."

"Stop doing that," Harper said quietly.

Julian frowned, looking back at her. "Doing what?"

"Pretending you're completely heartless," Harper challenged, walking closer to the island. "You bought this penthouse because it’s a fortress, but I saw the way you looked at the photo of your grandfather on your desk. I see the way you make sure Vance sends an extra security detail to the hospital for Lily. You're not a machine, Julian."

Julian stood up so fast his chair scraped violently against the floor. He closed the distance between them in two strides, backing Harper up against the cold marble counter. He was towering over her, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"Do not psychoanalyze me, Harper," he warned, his voice a dangerous, low rumble. "You don't know me."

"Then let me," Harper whispered, staring fearlessly up into his dark eyes.

For a breathless moment, Julian looked down at her lips. The tension in the kitchen was thick enough to choke on. He slowly raised his hand, his knuckles brushing against her cheek. Harper closed her eyes, leaning into the touch.