Chapter 27 DEBT COLLECTION
Eli’s POV
It's been a couple of days since Julian let me know he married me for some baiting game, and he's only grown colder every day.
Today we're going out again and I knew from the way Julian told me to get in the car that today wasn’t going to be… normal.
Not that anything with him is normal.
But this felt different.
He didn’t bring his tablet.
Didn’t bring a briefcase.
Didn’t bring anything except his phone and the gun I watched him slide into his coat pocket before we left.
That told me more than his silence ever could.
We drove for almost an hour; past business districts, past wealthy neighborhoods, past anything resembling Julian’s usual world. When the car finally slowed, the street outside looked abandoned.
Brick warehouses.
Graffiti.
A metal door with no signs.
Julian stepped out first.
Then he turned, looked at me, and said simply:
“Come.”
Just that.
Like I’m supposed to walk blindly anywhere he points.
But I follow.
Because at this point, what else can I do?
We walked into what looks like a warehouse. A large, empty hall that's smelling faintly of oil and dust.
Julian walks like he’s been here a hundred times.
Like he owns the floorboards.
Two men wait near the center of the room. One is tall and quiet; some kind of guard. The other is short, sweating, and looks like guilt has been aging him for years.
He stiffens when he sees Julian.
“Mr. Thorne—sir—I can explain—”
Julian doesn’t let him finish.
“You’re late.”
The man swallows hard. “I-I know, sir, but things have been hard, my business collapsed, my wife—”
“You’re late,” Julian repeats, calmer this time.
I stand behind him, unsure if I’m supposed to be witnessing this or if I’m just… here. A piece of scenery.
Julian steps closer to the man, tilting his head slightly as if observing a stain on a rug.
“You owed me money seven months ago.”
“I swear—I swear I’ll get it to you—”
“You said that five months ago.” Julian stats as he takes a step closer to the man.
The man backs up.
Julian doesn’t stop.
“And three months ago.”
Another step.
The man trembles.
“And last month, when you told Anton you were ‘working on it.’”
His voice isn’t loud.
Isn’t even angry.
It’s… factual.
Like he’s reciting weather reports.
The man drops to his knees. “Please. I have children—”
Julian crouches slightly, enough so their eyes meet.
“You should’ve thought about them before stealing from me.”
“I didn’t steal—! I just—”
Julian straightens. “Stop talking.”
The man goes silent immediately, muffling a sob behind his hand.
Julian turns his head slightly toward me.
Not looking directly at me… but making sure I see everything.
My stomach flips.
The man tries again, voice cracking:
“I-I can get the money—just—just give me one more chance—”
“No.”
Just one word. Cold and final.
The air shifts.
The guard steps back.
The man’s breath quickens.
My heartbeat slams against my ribs as dread curls through my bones.
Julian takes out his gun.
The man’s eyes widen. “No—wait—please—don’t—”
Julian raises the gun with a steady hand, shows zero hesitation, and—
BANG!!
The sound is louder than my thoughts.
Louder than reality.
The man collapses instantly.
A dead, heavy thump hitting concrete.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t move.
I can’t think.
Julian lowers the gun, unbothered. He clicks the safety back on with the same energy someone would use to switch off a lamp.
He looks down at the body once.
Then he turns to me.
“The debt was long overdue.”
Just that.
Like explaining why someone missed a meeting.
The message hits me harder than the gunshot:
This is what he does to people who owe him.
And I—
God.
I still owe him money.
My chest tightens so violently I grab the side of a crate for balance. My breath stutters out in short, useless bursts. My fingers go numb.
Not here.
Not here.
Not here—
But the panic comes anyway.
The warehouse tilts.
The air thickens.
The ringing in my ears becomes a roar.
I hear my breathing getting fast, desperate, and embarrassing. Then I feel my legs give out and I’m on the floor, knees hitting the cold concrete.
My vision blurs at the edges.
My hands won’t stop shaking.
Julian watches. He doesn't even attempt to offer any support or comfort.
He just stands a few feet away, observing like he’s waiting for a lab experiment to finish.
The guard quietly drags the body away.
Julian doesn’t even glance at them.
I try to force breath into my lungs, but each inhale feels difficult; like my ribs are shrinking, crushing me from the inside.
My throat closes.
My chest burns.
My whole body trembles.
Julian still doesn’t move.
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating myself.
Hating how weak I look.
Hating that he sees it.
Eventually— minutes or hours, I can’t tell— the panic loosens just enough for me to gasp in air again. I stay kneeling, hands on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.
When the world finally steadies, Julian walks toward me.
His footsteps echo.
Each one makes my stomach twist.
He stops in front of me, staring down with no emotion at all.
Not pity.
Not even annoyance.
Just… blandness.
“I remember telling you to control this thing.”
His voice is steady, cool, bored.
“You can’t panic every chance you get.”
I wipe my face on my sleeve, humiliated. “I—I couldn’t—I didn’t know you were—”
“You don’t need to know.”
His tone cuts like shreds of glass.
I want to scream.
I want to say he killed a man.
I want to say I’m a person, not his— whatever he thinks I am.
Instead I choke out, “You… you shot him.”
“Yes.”
He says it like it’s meaningless.
“He owed me,” Julian adds, as if that explains everything. “Actions comes with consequences.”
My breath stutters. “You didn’t even consider—”
“I considered everything,” he interrupts. “And I chose the option that wastes the least time.”
He holsters his gun, cool as winter.
“You’ll get used to it.”
I stare at him, chest still heaving.
“I don’t want to get used to it.”
He tilts his head, studying me.
“The world doesn’t care what you want, Eli.”
He offers me a hand, not to comfort me, just to get me off the floor faster.
I hesitate.
His gaze sharpens.
That dangerous flicker that means I have no choice.
I take his hand.
He pulls me up with one smooth, impatient motion.
“We’re leaving,” he says.
Just like that.
Like nothing happened.
He walks toward the exit without looking back, and I follow; my hands still trembling, my heart still racing, the echo of the gunshot still burning through my skull.
And as cold air hits my face outside, one thing settles painfully clear inside my chest:
Julian didn’t bring me here to scare me.
He brought me here to teach me.
To make sure I understood exactly what kind of man he is.
And exactly what kind of danger I’m in.