Chapter 88
Julie's POV
I was almost to the parking garage when a familiar voice called my name.
"Julie!"
I froze, every muscle in my body screaming run. But there was nowhere to go—he was already blocking my path to the exit.
My father stood there swaying slightly, reeking of alcohol and desperation. His clothes were wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot, and there was something wild and dangerous in his expression that made my stomach clench with old, familiar fear.
"I know you've been working for some fancy company," he slurred, grabbing my arm with fingers that dug in too tight. "Wilson Holdings, right? Heard you're making good money now."
I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. "Dad, let go. I need to get back to work."
"Not until you give me what I need." His voice turned ugly, threatening. "I owe a lot of money, Julie. If I don't pay up, they're going to break my hands and legs. I need fifty thousand dollars, and I need it now."
Fifty thousand. The number hit me like a physical blow. "I don't have that kind of money! Everything I earn goes to Mom's treatment and Harry's school—"
"I don't give a damn about your mother!" he snarled, his face twisting with rage. "I'm your father!"
The hypocrisy was staggering. This man—this pathetic excuse for a father—had walked out on us when Mom got sick. He'd chosen gambling and drinking over his family, and now he had the nerve to demand money from me?
"You're not my father," I said quietly, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through my veins. "You're just a stranger who happens to share my DNA."
His hand cracked across my face so hard I saw stars. Before I could recover, he had me pressed against the concrete wall of the medical center, his forearm across my throat.
"You little bitch," he hissed, his breath hot and sour against my face. "I brought you into this world, and I can take you out of it. You think those rich people will want you working for them with a face full of scars?"
I felt the cold press of metal against my cheek and realized with horror that he'd pulled out a switchblade. The tip trembled against my skin, and I could see the desperation and madness in his eyes.
He's really going to do it. He's really going to hurt me.
I tried to reach for my phone to call 911, but he saw the movement and knocked the device from my hands. It shattered against the concrete, pieces of glass and plastic scattering across the pavement.
"Last chance, Julie," he whispered, the blade pressing harder. "Fifty thousand, or I'm going to make sure no one ever wants to look at you again."
I closed my eyes, tears streaming down my face, but my voice remained steady. "I won't give you Mom's medical money. I won't let Harry go hungry so you can pay off your gambling debts."
The blade trembled against my skin, and I braced myself for pain.
Instead, I heard a sickening thud and the sound of my father hitting the ground hard.
---
Andrew's POV
After dropping Violet off, I'd returned to the medical center where Julie had entered, curious about her panicked reaction to seeing me. What I found was better than I could have hoped for—leverage.
The drunk threatening her went down hard when I grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground using a wrestling move I'd learned in prep school. A few quick strikes to pressure points, and he was subdued, groaning and cursing but no longer dangerous.
"Andrew?" Julie stared at me in shock. "What are you doing here?"
I kicked the switchblade away from the drunk's reaching fingers.
"Saw you running from something," I said, using my silk tie to bind the man's hands behind his back with practiced efficiency. "Figured you might need help."
Julie's eyes were wide with disbelief and something that might have been gratitude. "He's... he's my father."
Even better. Family drama was always the most exploitable kind.
The police arrived within minutes of my 911 call. Julie's father—still drunk and belligerent—was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon and violation of his parole terms. Apparently, this wasn't his first offense.
I watched Julie give her statement to the officers, noting how she kept her voice steady and professional despite everything she'd just been through. Impressive. Grace has good judgment in people.
"Thank you," she said quietly as the police car drove away with her father inside. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't..."
"Don't mention it," I interrupted, waving off her gratitude. "Though I have to say, you're pretty cold-blooded for someone who just watched her own father get arrested."
Julie's jaw tightened. "He stopped being my father the day he walked out on my sick mother and brother. Biology doesn't make someone family—actions do."
Interesting philosophy. Worth remembering.
"You're hurt," Julie's eyes caught sight of my palm, her voice filled with concern.
I looked down at my right hand for the first time, noticing the blood. A thin cut across my palm where her father's blade had caught me during our struggle. In the adrenaline rush, I hadn't even felt it.
"It's nothing."
But Julie was already pulling tissues from her bag, gently pressing them against the cut.