I tried to stand, but the floor tilted. This wasn't fatigue. This was chemical. The wine. I fumbled for my phone. I couldn't call Quinn in New Yor, he was on vacation and too far away. I opened my messages and texted my mother:At the Dolder. Restaurant. Something’s wrong. Help.
I hit send before my fingers betrayed me.
“Let me help you to your room,” Seraphine’s voice was close, her hand on my arm. Her touch felt repulsive, yet, horrifyingly, the drug was causing a physical stimulation I couldn't control. She guided me out of the dining room, her body pressed supportively—possessively—against mine.
She got the key from my pocket and the door swung open. Inside, the world narrowed.
“You work too hard, Julian,” she said, her hands going to my buttons. “Let someone take care of you.”
Revulsion warred with the fire inside me. I caught her wrists, my grip weaker than it should have been. “You drugged me. Get. Off.”
“Or what?” she whispered. “Who would believe you? It’s a better story your way, I promise.”
The horror of the set-up crystallized. Blackmail. Compromising photos. A power reversal attempt of the most vile kind. As her hand snaked down, the door burst open.
Vivienne Hale was six feet of contained fury in a charcoal Valentino pantsuit. Her pitch-black hair was swept into a severe knot. Her emerald eyes scanned the scene in a nanosecond.
The temperature in the room dropped to absolute zero.
“Get your fucking hands off my son,” she said. Her voice was a scalpel.
Seraphine jumped back, her face draining of color. “Madame Hale! I—he wasn’t feeling well—”
“I know exactly what you were doing,” Vivienne cut her off. “You put something in his drink. Thinking what? That you could film it and have leverage over the Hale family?”
Seraphine stammered, the sophisticated heiress replaced by a caught child. “My father will hear about this!”
“Your father,” Vivienne said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “will hear about this from me. You resign tonight. You disappear from this industry. Or I call the Swiss federal police and every journalist on my speed dial. I will unravel the tapestry of your entire family’s reputation until there’s nothing left but loose threads. Do you understand me?”
Seraphine fled the room without another word.
Only then did my mother turn to me. Her mask of competence fractured for a single second, revealing primal rage and fear.
“Mother… she…”
“I know. Can you walk?”
She guided me into the marble bathroom and turned on the shower to a cold stream. “Clothes off. Now. You need to ride this out. I’m not leaving.”
Under the brutal, icy spray, I braced my hands against the wall, chattering and shuddering. The cold was agony, cutting through the drug-induced fire.
“Elara. I want Elara,” I whined through chattering teeth.
Vivienne sat on the closed toilet lid, a queen holding vigil. “She must be the one you’re dismantling the Ashworths for. The one whose mother’s recording you had me track down. I’ve seen her. Beautiful girl.”
She knew everything.
“But is she worth it?” my mother asked.
Under the freezing water, the answer was the only thing that felt true. “Yes.”
A long pause. “Good. Marry her soon. Before someone else tries to take what’s yours in a less civilized way. She’s wanted.”
She passed a glass of water through the shower door. “Drink. I’m stepping out to call your father.”
Chapter 19
Julian
