Chapter 50: Julian vs. Liam: First Contact
Julian had heard the name long before he ever saw the man.
Liam Mayer—the wunderkind who’d dragged the Mayer family from the brink and, in eight years, built it into the only house that could stand in Watson’s shadow. People called him unflappable, devastatingly charming, a boardroom natural.
Julian only registered one thing now: he didn’t want Liam anywhere near Cora.
It was irrational, but the thought arrived fully formed and immovable—an iron peg hammered straight into his chest. If Liam saw her, Julian would lose something he hadn’t admitted he wanted.
“Decline,” he told Austin in the hallway outside Cora’s ward. “Mr. Mayer is busy. No need to trouble him over a minor accident. My wife is resting.” He left Cora with nothing but his back and the soft swing of the door.
Inside, Cora had heard enough to agree. She didn’t know Liam. Why would she need comforting from a stranger?
Across town, Liam listened as his assistant relayed Julian’s message. A slow curve pulled at his mouth—warm where Julian’s smiles were cutting.
So Watson was in a hurry to shut the door? The marriage wasn’t public; without certain channels, Liam himself wouldn’t have known one of his subsidiary’s drivers had clipped Julian’s bride. Politeness alone warranted a personal apology.
Why the secrecy? What was Julian hiding?
“Even if Mr. Watson is considerate, we’re still guests here,” Liam said at last, gentle, amused. “My employee caused this. I’ll take responsibility. And Purple Dragon wants a long future with Watson’s subsidiaries.” He paused. “Invite Mr. Watson for tea. I’ll host.”
His fingers brushed the edge of a photograph on his desk. A girl smiled up from the glossy paper—serene, soft-eyed. The face was Cora’s twin, but softened by another life.
“Qara,” he murmured, turning the photo face down as the knock came. “Will I see her again? Did you send her to me, an angel in your shape?”
“Mr. Watson accepted,” his assistant reported. “But he says this is Watson territory; guests don’t pay. He’s waiting at the Majestic.” A beat. “Watson’s six-star. Part of their group.”
Liam’s eyes glinted. “Tell him I’ll be on time.”
At the same hour, the Chairman’s wife returned to her suite and told her husband everything: the near miss at the curb, the pregnant young woman who had shoved her clear and taken the hit herself, the hospital, the quiet strength.
Gratitude came swift and absolute. The Chairman called personally to thank Cora.
“Please don’t,” Cora protested, flustered. “Anyone would’ve done the same.”
“Our family doctor is with us,” the Chairman said, courteous as a court bow. “May we send him to you? At least allow us that.”
Cora hesitated. A door had creaked open—maybe to forgiveness, maybe to trust. If she could set things right, she could go home and see her mother. “I can come by,” she said. “Where are you?”
“The Majestic,” he replied. “Only if you feel up to it.”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly. “I’ll be there.”
She waited for the IV to finish, changed while the nurse stepped away, and slipped out with a taxi number already keyed in.
In the Majestic’s glass atrium, two elevators stood side by side. Cora stepped into one as the other opened behind her. She didn’t see the man who paused, turned, and caught only the clean slice of closing doors.
The car chimed. She stepped onto a private floor of soft carpets and discreet luxuries—indoor putting green, a ribbon of blue pool beyond glass, the hush of money moving like air.
“Mrs. Watson?” A staffer bowed. “This way, please.”
The Chairman’s wife met her at the threshold with open arms. Cora froze, then found herself pulled against perfumed silk.
“Sweet girl,” the woman whispered, eyes bright. “You must have been terrified. Thank God you’re safe.”
The Chairman’s smile was softer than yesterday’s. “Our doctor will take a look, if you don’t mind.”
Cora allowed herself to be ushered into a side room. The examination was careful and thorough. The doctor’s English was clipped but kind.
“Very healthy,” he said at last. “But early months—too much worry. Stress is not good for baby. Rest. Happy mind.”
Happy mind. If only. She thanked him anyway and returned to the lounge with a face that had finally remembered how to smile.
The couple actually breathed—Cora could see the tension leave their shoulders. People who prized family always measured the world in futures. Her future was safe; that mattered to them.
“It’s a relief,” the Chairman said. Then his gaze sharpened. “I was angry yesterday. I hate deceit, and I thought I saw it at your table. Today my wife tells me something different. So I will listen.” He gestured to the sofa. “Tell me the truth.”
Cora sat. A pillow was tucked at her back, tea set by her hand, the small, careful kindnesses of people who meant it.
“I won’t lie,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “Julian and I are truly married. I’m truly pregnant. Some of what Dina said was… true. But the way it sounded wasn’t the way it happened.”
She drew a breath and looked the Chairman in the eye.
“I met Julian because of Dina. But I didn’t steal her boyfriend. I was set up—by the person I thought was my best friend. On the most important night of my life, she took the choice from me.”
The room went very quiet.
Downstairs, in a private dining salon dressed in steel and crystal, two men were about to sit across from each other for the first time—Watson and Mayer, ice and spring, both smiling with their teeth.