Chapter 33 THE WORLD KEEPS CLOSING IN
Eli's POV
I barely had any sleep.
I think I dozed off for maybe twenty minutes before my mind jerked awake again, replaying every word I overheard last night… Julian’s voice dripping with vengeance, Anton’s lazy, amused responses, their shared history, the way they talked about Henry Winslow like he wasn’t my father but a plague they were hunting.
And the way they talked about me.
Toy.
Interesting boy.
A deal.
A trade.
I woke up with a tight chest and a head full of noise, but the worst part was knowing I couldn’t ask Julian a single thing without revealing I’d been eavesdropping. And if he found out… I don’t know what he’d do. I genuinely don’t know his limits anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t have any.
He wasn’t in bed when I woke up, but his presence still lingered; his cologne sharp in the air, the faint indent of where he’d sat at the edge of the mattress while slipping on his shoes or cufflinks or whatever armor he wears in the morning. Lately, I don't know when he gets in and out of bed, I just wake up to signs that he was in bed with me. I wonder if he sleeps at all.
My day started with dread pressing on my ribs.
I dragged myself into the bathroom, washed my face, and tried to steady my breathing. Didn’t work. The thoughts kept circling; Julian and Anton had some kind of deal about me. My father was alive and horrible enough that even criminals hunted him like he was a prize. And Desmond… Desmond was just waiting somewhere in the shadows with his unsettling smile.
How did my life get this fucked?
I barely had time to exist before Julian’s voice echoed down the hallway.
“Eli. Downstairs. Now.”
No good morning. No pause. Just an order.
My stomach twisted.
By the time I reached the foyer, Julian was already buttoning his blazer, his expression unreadable. His men hovered around him like wolves awaiting direction.
“You’re coming with me today,” Julian said without looking at me.
“Where… where exactly?”
He slipped on his watch. “Meeting.”
That was all he gave me. He didn’t ask if I was ready. He didn’t ask if I wanted to come. He just started walking, and his hand found the back of my neck; a silent command to follow.
The touch wasn’t rough, but it was controlling, and very possessive.
And strangely protective.
That part scared me most.
\---
The car ride was quiet, except for the low hum of the engine and my own panicked heartbeat. Julian didn’t speak. He barely blinked. Whatever lived behind his eyes lately… it wasn’t calm. It wasn’t stable. I fear he's silently spiraling.
We arrived at a warehouse-like building patrolled by armed guards dressed in black. The kind of place you only see in documentaries about cartels.
My throat closed.
They opened the door for Julian immediately. Eyes down. Respectful. Fearful.
Julian stepped out first.
Then he waited.
He actually waited for me, a hand extended; not gentle, not soft, but something that felt like, If you don’t take it, you’ll get lost in here.
I placed my hand in his.
He guided me with that grip all the way inside.
The building smelled like cigarettes and metal. Conversations died the moment Julian entered the main hall. Men who looked like they carried bodies for a living straightened up, eyes sharpened.
A long table was set with folders, sealed packages, guns laid out casually like office pens.
Julian sat at the head seat. He pulled me down beside him.
Right beside him.
Close enough that our shoulders touched.
“Business as usual,” one of the men grinned nervously.
Julian didn’t return the smile. “Start talking.”
The meeting wasn’t about stocks. Or companies. Or anything even remotely legal.
It was drug routes.
Shipment schedules.
Revenge against a rival gang.
A man who failed to deliver goods.
Another who skimmed from profit.
Julian listened with the patience of a loaded gun.
When someone said something he didn’t like, he didn’t argue. He simply turned his head slowly, eyes cold enough to frost bone, and the man would correct himself, stuttering.
The room revolved around Julian’s mood.
And his mood was lethal.
I sat there, stiff, trying to look unaffected. Trying not to shake. Trying not to breathe too loudly.
Julian’s hand rested on my knee under the table. Possessively claiming.
But I could feel something else pulsing through that touch.
Tension.
Paranoia.
Fear?
He’d never admit it. But his grip tightened every time someone new entered or exited the room.
Was he afraid for me?
Or afraid I might run?
I honestly didn’t know anymore.
Halfway through the meeting, I tried.
I finally tried.
I leaned closer and whispered, “Julian… about my father—”
He didn’t even turn his head.
“No.”
“I just want to know what—”
“No.” His voice was a blade against skin.
“But he—”
“Eli.” This time his hand tightened on my knee, quiet but punishing. “Not here. Not now. Not ever. Not until I decide.”
My breath lodged in my throat.
It wasn’t anger in his voice.
It was this solid ice cold finality.
Conversation closed.
And I sat there in that silence, feeling smaller and smaller, feeling like the walls of this world Julian dragged me into were shrinking around me, trapping me.
I kept thinking about my father’s face last night.
His voice.
His disgust.
His disappointment.
Not dead.
Not a tragic loss.
Just… gone, on purpose.
By choice.
I felt sick.
If Julian was this dangerous, then what kind of monster did my father have to be for Julian to dedicate his life— not years, but his entire damn life— to hunting him?
What did that say about the man who raised me?
About the life I thought I had?
About why my mother died?
The questions were acid burning holes in my skull.
\---
The meeting dragged on for hours, and by the end, I felt like I’d aged twenty years. Julian stood up, gave final orders, and the men scattered like shadows fleeing light.
As we walked back toward the car, he kept his hand on my back the entire time; guiding and guarding.
I didn’t know whether to feel protected or incarcerated.
When we entered the car, the door barely closed before Julian finally spoke.
His voice was low and calm… dangerously calm.
“Stop being so tense around me, because you will stay close to me at all times.”
He didn’t look at me. He stared straight ahead.
“Why?” My voice came out shaky.
“Because the world is closing in,” Julian said. “Because your father is back. Because Desmond is circling. Because other men want you.”
A pause.
“And because you’re mine.”
That last sentence landed somewhere between a comfort and a curse.
I turned my head away, blinking rapidly, trying not to fall apart. Again. I couldn’t keep falling apart in front of him. He hated it.
The city passed by outside the window: lights, roads, normal life. Life I no longer belonged to.
Julian finally turned his head, eyes locking onto me with a quiet intensity.
“Eli.”
I swallowed. “What?”
“Stay alive.”
His voice lowered even more.
“That’s all you have to do.”
The words chilled me.
Because he didn’t say it like a reassurance.
He said it like a command.
Like a warning.
Like the only thing in this entire war he expected me to do right.