Chapter 144 Lines Drawn

Chapter 144 Lines Drawn
Briar's POV

Eric burst into my office that morning and dropped a folder on my desk. "Lucian's making a move. He's going to represent the Sterling family in negotiations with Vincent. Dominic arranged it, but Reginald's fighting for the position too."

I scanned the sparse information—dates, locations, key players. My wolf stirred beneath my skin, sensing the shifting power dynamics.

"When's the meeting?" I asked.

"Three days. Vincent's estate." Eric leaned against my desk. "You planning something?"

I closed the folder. "Not yet. Let's watch how this plays out."

After he left, I stared at the folder, mind racing through strategies. Three days gave me time to position myself for whatever opportunity emerged.

Later that afternoon, I pushed open my office door and nearly collided with someone in the hallway. I stumbled back and looked up into ice-blue eyes I'd hoped never to see again.

Julian stood there, thinner than before Mexico. His cheekbones were sharper, his jaw more angular, and those eyes held a manic edge that made my wolf bare her teeth. The clothes hung loose on his frame, dark circles under his eyes.

"Briar," he said smoothly. "I was hoping to run into you."

Every instinct screamed at me to walk away, but I forced myself to stand my ground. "Julian. I didn't know you were back."

"Just got in yesterday." He tilted his head, studying me with unnerving intensity. "Do you have a few minutes? I'd like to talk."

Something in his expression made me hesitate—a flicker of desperation beneath the cold control.

"Fifteen minutes," I said finally, gesturing toward my office.

He followed me inside. I walked around my desk and sat down, putting the solid wood between us like a barrier. Julian took the visitor's seat across from me. The irony wasn't lost on either of us—how many times had I sat where he was sitting, summoned to his office like a subordinate? Now the roles were completely reversed.

"You look well," he said, his gaze traveling over me. "Business must be good."

"Cut the small talk. What do you want?"

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "I was in Mexico handling supply chain issues for Sterling Pharmaceuticals. You've probably heard about Lucian's upcoming meeting with Vincent. My father's finally giving him a chance."

"I've heard."

His lips curved into something that didn't reach his eyes. "You've figured out that Sterling Pharmaceuticals has been using your company to launder money, haven't you? With Oscar Castellan paving the way for you, I'm surprised you're still worried about anything."

I kept my expression neutral, refusing to react. He knew about Oscar. He knew about the money laundering.

"I'm not worried," I said evenly. "Should I be?"

"That depends." He leaned forward. "Whether it's Vincent's investment or Sterling family secrets, I'd advise you not to get involved. Walk away while you still can."

My wolf surged forward, and I dug my nails into my palms. "And if I decide to get involved anyway? Would you help me?"

Julian was quiet, his gaze drifting to the window. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. "No. I wouldn't."

I smiled, cold and satisfied. "Good. That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

His eyes snapped back to mine, something flickering in their depths. I stood and opened the door. "Your fifteen minutes are up."

He rose slowly and walked past me without another word.

The next morning, Eric returned with news that explained everything. Dominic had changed his mind—Lucian wasn't going to negotiate with Vincent after all. Julian had come back to take his place.

I stared at the information, mind working through angles. If Julian was handling Vincent, that changed everything. It might create an opening for someone else to step in.

"What about Castellan Estates?" I asked. "Has Harold shown any interest in Vincent's opportunities?"

Eric shook his head. "Harold doesn't allow outside investment in Castellan Ventures. Never has."

"But his son isn't so rigid," I said slowly. "Oscar wants to expand."

"You thinking about approaching Oscar?"

"I'm thinking about approaching Harold directly." I pulled up files on Castellan Estates. "Oscar can arrange the meeting, but I need to make the pitch."

That afternoon, I called Oscar. "I have a business proposition. Is Castellan Ventures interested in getting a piece of Vincent's investment opportunities?"

A pause. "You know my father would never agree to it."

"Then let me talk to him. Set up a meeting."

Another pause. "Tomorrow afternoon, three o'clock. I'll pick you up myself."

I spent that night buried in research—Harold's interviews, Castellan Estates' history, investment records. I listed his likely objections and drafted responses, refining arguments until they were sharp.

When Oscar picked me up the next afternoon, I'd rehearsed my pitch dozens of times.

"Nervous?" he asked as we drove.

"Should I be?"

He smiled. "He's just protective of what's his."

We drove in comfortable silence. After a while, I said, "Your way of communicating is comfortable. It doesn't make me tired, and it doesn't make me feel like I'm reading too much into things."

Oscar glanced at me, eyebrows raised. "Why wouldn't you? What's the difference?"

Heat crept up my neck. I looked out the window. "Because you're honest enough that there's nothing to read into."

He didn't respond immediately, but I felt his gaze linger before he turned back to the road.

At the Castellan estate, Oscar opened my door and led me through hallways lined with family portraits. We stopped at double doors, and he knocked before pushing them open.

Harold Castellan sat in a leather armchair near the window, dressed in a traditional tang suit. His silver hair was neatly combed back, dark eyes sharp and assessing. A tea service sat on the table before him.

"Father, this is Briar Vance."

Harold rose and extended his hand. "Ms. Vance. Oscar speaks highly of you. Please, sit."

Oscar gave me an encouraging nod and left, closing the doors behind him.

"Oscar has never brought anyone to meet me before," Harold said, pouring tea. "You must have made quite an impression."

I accepted the cup, taking a careful sip. Harold was testing me, trying to gauge my relationship with his son.

"Oscar's been very helpful," I said carefully. "He's a good person."

"Is he? What makes you say that?"

"He's straightforward and reliable. Those are rare qualities."

"And handsome?" Harold's eyes gleamed with amusement.

I nearly choked on my tea. "I... yes? I suppose so?"

"He looks like me though, doesn't he?" Harold said with a slight smile.

I set down my teacup. "I look at Oscar and I see more of your wife than I see of you."

Harold's expression softened immediately. "Do you? Yes, he does take after her. She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

For the next fifteen minutes, Harold talked about the estate, his family's history, his commitment to preserving tradition. I listened carefully, understanding what I needed to know—this was a man who protected what was his and never took unnecessary risks. He saw his family as a sanctuary that needed guarding.

Finally, I set down my teacup and met his eyes. "Alpha Harold, I came here today to discuss whether Castellan Ventures might be interested in partnering with Vincent on his investment opportunities."

Harold went still. The silence stretched between us, heavy and oppressive. Finally he shook his head slowly.

"I thought you were here because..." He trailed off, then collected himself. "If that's what you want to discuss, then I'm afraid this conversation is over. I don't allow outside investment in Castellan Ventures. That's not going to change."