Chapter 18 ACT ACCORDINGLY
Eli's POV
Since that day, I got more used to being married to Julian.
Not comfortable. Not accepting. Just… adjusted; because I don't want to cry over anything in front of him again.
I figured out early that if I wanted to survive inside the ecosystem of Julian Thorne — CEO, sociopath, walking threat in tailored suits — the less I resisted, the more peaceful my day went. So I act accordingly. I follow instructions. I keep my head down. I breathe carefully.
And secretly, I keep a mental scoreboard.
Good behavior = fewer storms.
Good behavior = less attention.
Good behavior = maybe someday he’ll be done with me.
Not that Julian ever said that. Julian never says anything hopeful. Hope, to him, is a weakness; to me, it’s a punishment.
This morning wasn’t unusual. I woke up to the faint rustle of movement at the edge of the room. Julian’s routine was always precise. If he woke me, he’d done it intentionally.
He didn’t today.
He was already suited, watch on, glass of water half-finished on my bedside. A silent offering, or a silent order; with Julian, both feel identical.
“You have twenty minutes,” he said without looking at me.
“For…?” I croaked, voice still sleep-hoarse.
He turned then, tying the final knot on his cuff. His gaze swept over me; hair messy, shirt twisted, blanket halfway off; and he didn’t smile.
“Board meeting,” he said. “You’re coming.”
I pushed myself upright. “I thought that was just for executives.”
“And my spouse.”
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
I didn’t argue. I didn’t sigh, or groan, or roll my eyes… all the things that used to make him tilt his head like he was deciding between teaching me a lesson or simply pinning me down until I shut up. I slipped into the bathroom and got ready, fast, quiet, obedient.
Point for Eli.
When I came out, Julian had moved closer. Not too close; just inside my personal space, which meant the space belonged to him now.
He took my chin between his fingers, tilted my face toward the light.
“No attitude today,” he said simply.
The old me would’ve snapped with something stupid like I don’t wake up with attitude, but experience is a brutal teacher.
“I know,” I said.
“I expect more than knowing.”
“I’ll behave,” I corrected.
His thumb brushed my lower lip; not affectionate, just verifying compliance; and he nodded once before releasing me.
“Good.”
We took the private elevator down, and I stayed quiet the entire ride. Julian didn’t mind silence; he preferred it, actually. Silence meant control, and Julian thrived in control like other people thrive in oxygen.
By the time we reached the car, his phone was vibrating nonstop. I watched him decline calls, send one-word replies, and type messages that looked like orders disguised as courtesy.
He fit perfectly into his world.
I, on the other hand, felt like a mismatched accessory.
When we arrived at Thorne Industries headquarters, the driver opened my door first. Julian didn’t like that. He corrected it with a single look, no words, and next time, they’d open his door first regardless of who was sitting where.
Inside the building, all eyes shifted to us. Or more accurately: to Julian.
Then to me.
Their expressions slid through categories: curiosity, confusion, envy, distrust.
I kept my shoulders straight, my jaw calm, my gaze forward. If I looked too nervous, Julian would notice. If I looked too confident, he’d also notice.
The boardroom was glass and steel and quiet intimidation. Executives straightened in their seats the moment Julian entered. The air shifted around him like gravity did what he asked.
I stayed standing, unsure where to go until Julian placed a hand on the small of my back and nudged me toward a chair beside him.
A subtle gesture. A branded claim.
The meeting started. I didn’t understand half the terms — acquisitions, offshore holdings, something about a supply chain dispute — but I stayed still. I didn’t fidget. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t move unless Julian shifted, and then I adjusted in response.
Adaptation: my new survival skill.
It wasn’t until they brought up a partnership with the Hale Corporation that Julian’s posture changed. Not visibly, no one else in the room would’ve noticed, but I felt it. His hand, resting lightly on the table, went rigid.
Hale.
I recognized that name. From where, I didn’t know. Maybe the news. Maybe somewhere worse.
Julian’s jaw ticked once.
“We’re not pursuing that contract,” he said.
The head of finance blinked. “But sir, they were—”
“No.”
Silence followed. And when Julian’s eyes lifted, every argument died before it formed.
The meeting wrapped shortly after. Executives filtered out fast, probably before Julian could declare anyone else irrelevant.
I stayed seated, unsure if I was dismissed yet.
Julian finally rose, fixing his cuff again; he always adjusted something when irritated.
“You did well,” he said. It's a rare compliment and I caught it and held it carefully. “I’ll expect the same tonight.”
I frowned. “What’s tonight?”
He looked at me like the answer should be obvious. “A dinner. There will be people watching.”
“Like the board?”
“Worse.”
I swallowed. Great.
We walked back to the private elevator. Julian stood close, close enough that the heat of him pressed against me without touching.
“Julian?” I said quietly.
“Yes?”
“Why did you bring me to the meeting?”
His gaze slid down to me. Measuring. Calculating.
“You’re my spouse,” he said. “You need to be seen.”
“Seen as what?”
“As mine.”
I inhaled sharply.
“And,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “you need to understand the world you live in now.”
“Right,” I muttered. “Your world. High expectations, glass walls, and people who stare too long.”
“You handled it better than I anticipated.”
Somehow, that didn’t feel like reassurance. It felt like a warning in reverse.
The elevator chimed. The doors opened.
Julian stepped out first, expecting me to follow… and I did, because that’s what good behavior looks like. That’s how you earn safety points. Or freedom points.
As we walked toward the car again, he spoke without looking at me:
“Continue this,” he said. “This cooperation. You’ll find your days become much easier.”
I forced a small nod. “I know.”
“You’re learning,” he said.
And though his tone was neutral, I heard the undercurrent perfectly:
But learning doesn’t mean escaping.
The car door opened. Julian gestured
for me to enter.
I did.
Because survival, in Julian’s world, wasn’t about strength.
It was about strategy.
And I was just starting to understand the rules.