“Get in,” he said.
I slid into the leather interior. “Why are you picking me up?”
He turned to me, his gaze softening. “It’s your birthday.”
I blinked. I’d completely forgotten.
“How did you…?”
“I knew all along, but I knew you wouldn’t want me to mention it back then,” he said simply. “I’m taking you. Birthday surprise. Consider it a ceasefire from the mess you insist on swimming in.”
I looked at his profile—the stern set of his shoulders—and for the first time that day, the knot in my chest began to loosen. The game with Alastair was a tedious chess match. But with Julian? It was a plunge into unknown, exhilarating waters.
And today, I realized I was tired of playing chess. I wanted to dive.
Chapter 14
Julian
The look on her face when I told her it was her birthday—that’s what I’ll remember. Not the rage still simmering in my gut from that fucking circus at her office. Not her arrogant waste-of-space husband, or the clueless mistress playing dress-up.
She looked pleased with me. I lived for those moments.
I could tell she’d forgotten. She hadn't celebrated in years, but I’d always managed to slip her little gifts. The trick was the timing; I never gave them on the actual day. I had learned to navigate the landscape that was Elara Vance. She was prickly, but she was sweet. She’d stayed with me for a week when I had COVID, nursing me like it was her job.
I’d managed to give her a spa package she thought I’d "won," the initial necklace she wore every day, and a pair of Gianvito Rossi heels I told her were knockoffs. It was her loyalty that cracked my fucking chest open; she had the Ashworth vault and a trust fund, yet she got a genuine, childlike glee from finding a "good dupe."
Those heels were proof. Proof that she wantedme—Julian, the man, not the heir. For a man raised on transactions, her sentiment was a currency I couldn’t spend, but I was desperate to earn more of it.
The car was too quiet. She was staring out the window, likely thinking about the disaster of the shoot. I felt the urge to turn the car around and break Alastair Ashworth’s jaw. The way he spoke to her was a physical ache in my hands. But I had a more desperate need to wipe that whole day from her mind. To give her something that was just ours.
The roof was ready. I’d checked it three times. The table, the lights, the food. And the cake.
That fucking troublesome cake. She’d told me she hated store-bought ones because her mother used to bake. So, I baked one. Isn’t that what women want? Sincerity? If she’d wanted a professional one, I would have razed a city for her. I would have bought the goddamn bakery and the wheat field it came from.
The cake sat in the center of the table. It was lopsided. The frosting was a messy, off-white swirl. One slice was already missing because I’d had to taste it at 2:00 AM, panic-sweating through my shirt, convinced I’d gotten the sugar wrong. Quinn had stood there as I shoved a piece in his face, demanding to know if it actually tasted like cake.
The car slowed into the private garage. Quinn stepped out and opened her door. “Happy birthday, Ms. Vance,” he said warmly.
She blinked as if pulled from a dream. “Thank you, Quinn.” Her smile was small and tired. It wasn't enough.
I got out and rounded the car before she could take two steps. “Wait.”
She paused, her brows drawing together. I pulled the silk blindfold from my pocket.
“No,” she said immediately. “Julian, absolutely not. I know what the apartment looks like.”
“We’re not going to the apartment.” I moved closer. “It’s for where we’re going.”
She crossed her arms. “Julian, I’m in heels. If you think I’m walking around blind—”
“You are.”
I stepped closer until she had to tilt her chin up. “Let me do this,” I said. “For you.”
She hesitated, then snatched the blindfold. “Fine. But if I break an ankle, I’m suing you.”
I smirked. “I’ll carry you before I let you fall.”
