Chapter 8 - The Desperate Hour
With Marcus’s confession in hand, Julian unleashed his lawyers. Victoria’s assets were frozen by federal mandate. Warrants were issued for her arrest, along with Arthur Gallagher.
It was over.
To celebrate, Julian rented out the entire top floor of a Michelin-star restaurant in Manhattan. For the first time, there were no contracts, no acting, and no hovering threats. Just Julian and Clara, drinking vintage wine overlooking the glittering skyline.
“You look beautiful tonight,” Julian said, reaching across the table to take her hand. His thumb traced her knuckles. “When the dust settles… the year on our contract will be up soon, Clara. I want you to know… I don't want it to end.”
Clara’s heart soared. “I don't want it to end either, Julian.”
Julian smiled, a rare, breathtaking expression. “I’m going to go pay the bill. Wait right here.”
He walked toward the maître d'. Clara watched him go, feeling a profound sense of peace.
Then, she felt a sharp, agonizing prick in her shoulder.
Clara gasped, reaching back. A man dressed as a waiter had just bumped into her. He dropped a small, empty syringe into a napkin.
“Victoria says hello,” the man hissed.
The world instantly tilted. The glittering skyline blurred into streaks of light. Clara tried to scream, tried to stand up and reach for Julian, but her legs dissolved underneath her. The darkness rushed up to meet her, pulling her under before she hit the floor.
When Julian turned around, Clara’s table was empty.
A single red envelope lay on her plate.
Julian tore it open. The handwriting was frantic, jagged, and unmistakable.
Sign the shares of Sterling Industries back to me, or the girl goes to the bottom of the Hudson River. — V.
May you like
Julian crushed the note in his fist. The calculating CEO vanished, replaced entirely by a lethal, unhinged predator. He pulled out his phone, his voice deadly calm.
“Assemble the strike team. They took my wife.”
