Chapter 14 PUBLIC CHARADE
Eli’s POV
The internet had already gone feral before I even opened my eyes.
I knew it the moment I heard Julian’s voice in the next room; smooth, commanding, too awake for a man who’d been kissed into scandal the night before.
“…Yes, we’ll release an official statement later today,” he was saying. “No, I’m not commenting on private matters. The foundation donation stands. Thank you.”
He ended the call, and silence followed.
I groaned, dragging the pillow over my face. The bed smelled faintly of his cologne: dark, clean, a little too expensive for comfort. I should’ve known he’d turn the world catching fire into a PR opportunity.
When I finally looked toward the bedroom door, Julian was already there, immaculate in a black suit, phone still in hand. He didn’t even look tired.
“Morning,” I muttered. “How’s your public image surviving?”
He gave me that small, unreadable half-smile. “Better than yours, apparently. You’re trending.”
“Fantastic. Do I win a prize?”
“Infamy.”
I rolled onto my back, squinting up at him. “What are we doing today? Or do I get to pretend I have a normal life again?”
“You’re coming with me to a business meeting.”
I blinked. “You could have just paid me to accompany you everywhere instead of straight-up kidnapping me into this headache.”
Julian’s brow arched. “What part of we are married do you not understand?”
“The part where I still have a choice?”
His gaze sharpened. “You signed that away before the moment you said “I do.””
I sat up and reached for my phone… mistake. Notifications were a nightmare: photos of the kiss everywhere. Headlines screaming things like THE KISS HEARD AROUND THE CITY and THE THORNES BLOOM UNDER PRESSURE. Some people were swooning. Others were crucifying me.
“I’m not even gay,” I muttered before I could stop myself.
Julian, of course, caught it. “Really?” His tone dipped into that mocking lilt he used when he was about to ruin me with words alone. “Because the way you melted into my kiss last night begs to differ.”
Heat climbed up my neck. “I didn’t melt.”
“Eli,” he said softly, stepping closer, “you practically melted.”
“Did not.”
He didn’t bother arguing. One hand found my throat, his thumb resting just beneath my jaw firmly, and possessively. The air left my lungs before his mouth even touched mine.
And then he kissed me… slow, deep, calculated. A collision of dominance and control. His tongue brushed mine, and whatever protest I had dissolved instantly.
When he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my heart stuttering like a broken metronome.
“That’s more like it,” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction.
I swallowed hard, searching for something — anything — to say. “I… want to visit my grandfather today.”
Julian’s expression softened by a fraction. “He’s stable. Under VIP care. You don’t need to worry.”
“I’d still like to see him.”
“And you will,” he said. “I’ll take you there myself. But not today.”
There was finality in his tone, that kind of rich-man authority that didn’t leave room for arguments.
And that’s how I found myself several hours later sitting beside him in a private boardroom, smiling like a well-trained doll while pretending to understand the business jargon swirling around me.
The client was some foreign investor, from Monaco, with a smooth accent, tailored suit, and perfect teeth. He barely stopped looking at me long enough to glance at Julian’s presentation slides.
“You have exquisite taste, Mr. Thorne,” the man said, eyes flicking to me. “Your husband… he’s quite a charm.”
Julian’s jaw flexed, but his tone stayed even. “He’s not part of the deal.”
The man laughed. “Perhaps not, but he makes your empire look softer. Human. Investors like that image. Maybe you should bring him to every meeting.”
Julian smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I will.”
I wanted to sink into the floor. Instead, I offered a polite smile, because apparently that was my new job description: decorative breathing prop.
The meeting dragged on for hours. The client kept flirting; lightly, harmlessly, but enough to make Julian’s patience fray at the edges. When it ended, the man handed me a small velvet box.
“A gift,” he said, winking. “For the beautiful spouse who made this deal so agreeable.”
I didn’t even get the chance to refuse. Julian stepped forward, taking the box for me with a hand that looked like it wanted to crush something.
“Appreciated,” he said tightly. “We’ll see you at the next negotiation.”
The man chuckled. “Then I’ll expect to see both of you again.”
By the time we got home, I was exhausted. The moment the door shut, I loosened my tie and sighed. “That wasn’t so bad.”
Julian turned slowly, his expression unreadable. “Wasn’t so bad?”
I froze. “…Yeah. I mean, the guy was nice.”
His gaze darkened. “Nice?”
I frowned. “What? He was polite. He liked the presentation—”
“He liked you.”
I blinked. “Okay? And?”
Julian took a step closer, and suddenly the air between us felt charged. “You’re smiling now. You weren’t smiling this morning.”
“I’m smiling because the deal went well. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept walking until I was backed against the wall.
“Julian,” I warned, but my voice came out thin.
He braced one hand beside my head, the other curling around my jaw. His touch was cool and deliberate; that same dangerous calm before the storm.
“Let me make one thing clear,” he said quietly. “When you smile for someone, when you talk like that, it means something. And I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”
I scoffed, even as my pulse betrayed me. “What, jealous now?”
His lips twitched but not into a smile. “Call it whatever you like.” His thumb traced the corner of my mouth. “But if you think you can flirt in front of me, you’re mistaken.”
“Flirt?” I choked. “I wasn’t—”
His hand tightened slightly, forcing my gaze up to meet his. “You’ll learn,” he said softly. “I always correct disobedience.”
The air felt heavy. Dangerous. My body reacted before my brain could; my breath stuttering, chest tight, heat coiling low in my stomach.
He leaned in, his breath brushing my ear. “You belong to me, Eli. Don’t ever forget that.”
And before I could answer, he stepped back, leaving me pressed against the wall, heart pounding, throat dry, pulse racing like I’d just run from something I wasn’t sure I wanted to escape.
He straightened his cuffs, calm again; the storm neatly folded away.
“Dinner’s at eight,” he said. “Don’t be late.”
And then he was gone, leaving me standing there — half-terrified, half-burning — wondering which of us was really losing control anymore.