Chapter 78
Evelyn's POV
The dismissive tone made my hands clench into fists. "It's the truth."
"It's a lie you're using to protect yourself." Julian finally looked at me properly, and the intensity in his eyes made my breath catch. "You let me in, Evelyn. You showed me who you really are. You don't get to take that back just because it scares you."
"I can do whatever I want," I shot back. "Including deciding that sleeping with you was a mistake and moving on."
"Then why are you here?" The question was sharp, pointed. "If it was such a mistake, why did you sign the contract? Why are you in my car right now, on the way to Adrian's office, helping me investigate a case that you could easily walk away from?"
Because I needed the resources. Because I wanted to protect Adrian. Because despite everything, some part of me trusted Julian in ways I wasn't ready to examine.
Because he was right—I had let him in, and I didn't know how to close that door again.
"I'm here," I said carefully, "because someone tried to use me as a weapon against Adrian. And I'm going to find out who."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
He stared at me for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he turned back to the road with a sound that might have been a laugh or a sigh.
"Fine," he said. "We'll play it your way. For now."
The implied threat—that this was temporary, that he wasn't giving up—hung between us like smoke.
We drove the rest of the way in tense silence. I watched the buildings grow taller as we approached the financial district, watched the streets fill with people in power suits carrying briefcases and ambition. Winthrop Heavy Industries was in the heart of it all—a gleaming tower of steel and glass that announced its owner's wealth and influence with architectural arrogance.
Julian pulled into the underground parking garage, flashing credentials at the security checkpoint that got us waved through without question. Apparently Titan and Winthrop did enough business together that his presence here was routine.
He parked in a visitor space near the elevators and killed the engine. For a moment we just sat there, the silence between us heavy with everything we weren't saying.
Then Julian turned to look at me, and his expression was carefully neutral. Professional.
"Ready?" he asked.
No, I thought. I'm not ready to face Adrian. I'm not ready to pretend everything is fine. I'm not ready to stand in his office with you and act like my heart isn't breaking.
"Yes," I said.
We got out of the car. I smoothed down my Armani suit, checked that my mother's cross was hidden beneath my blouse, and tried to ignore the way my hands were shaking.
Julian came around to my side of the car, and for a moment I thought he was going to say something. Offer some kind of reassurance or warning or acknowledgment of what we were about to walk into.
Instead, he just gestured toward the elevators with that casual arrogance that suggested he owned every space he entered.
"After you, Mrs. Valentine."
The formal address was deliberate. A reminder that we were playing roles now. Business associates. Nothing more.
I walked toward the elevators with my head high and my spine straight, every inch the composed widow and consultant. Julian followed a careful three steps behind—close enough to be present, far enough to maintain professional distance.
The elevator ride up was interminable. I watched the numbers climb—ten, twenty, thirty floors.
The elevator chimed at the forty-second floor and the doors opened onto Winthrop's executive suite. More glass and steel. More aggressive displays of wealth. A receptionist looked up from her desk with a professional smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Mr. Russell," she said warmly. "We've been expecting you." Her gaze slid to me, and the smile became slightly more strained. "Mrs. Winthrop. What a pleasant surprise."
The subtext was clear: What are you doing here with Julian Russell?
"I'm consulting on the project," I said smoothly, channeling every etiquette lesson Arthur had ever drilled into me. "Mr. Russell requested my expertise on certain aspects of the competitive analysis."
It wasn't even a lie. Just a carefully edited version of the truth.
"Of course." The receptionist's smile became even more fixed. "Mr. Winthrop is finishing up a call. He'll be with you shortly." She gestured to a seating area. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Julian moved toward the leather chairs with that loose-limbed confidence that suggested he'd been here a hundred times before. Probably had. Winthrop and Titan had contracts going back years.
I followed more slowly, hyperaware of the receptionist's gaze tracking my movements. Wondering what she was thinking. What rumors would start circulating after today.
The widow showed up with Julian Russell. They seemed close. She was wearing that same cold expression she always has, but there was something different about her. Something that suggested she wasn't quite as untouchable as she pretended.
I sat down in a chair that put maximum distance between myself and Julian while still looking natural. He noticed—of course he noticed—but didn't comment. Just pulled out his phone and started scrolling through emails with the kind of focus that suggested he was deliberately not looking at me.
The silence stretched. I could hear the muted sounds of the office beyond the reception area—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, the low murmur of voices discussing quarterly reports and contract negotiations and all the mundane business of running an industrial empire.
Then a door opened, and Adrian walked out.
He was on his phone, head bent slightly as he listened to whatever the person on the other end was saying. He looked tired—shadows under his eyes, jaw tight with stress—but still impeccably put together in a black suit.
He looked up, saw Julian, and his expression shifted into something that might have been relief or resignation or both.
"Julian," he said, ending the call and slipping his phone into his pocket. "Good to see you." Then his eyes found me, and everything stopped.