“Of course. I wouldn’t dream of overstepping.”
Julian Lemaire’s smile fades, the warmth draining from his expression.
“It’s funny how fast a reputation can shift. A whisper here, a headline there. Suddenly the public sees something that was never there at all.”
The chill starts low, crawling beneath my skin.
“It’s a dangerous world out there, Ms. Devereux. People get careless, and accidents happen. A slip on the stairs. A break-in gone wrong. Wrong place, wrong time.”
The threat doesn’t raise its voice. It doesn’t have to. It settles between us with the weight of something sharpened and unsheathed.
His smirk curves, showing enough teeth to remind me what’sbeneath the charm. “It’d be a shame if someone as smart and lovely as you got caught in the crossfire of something you never saw coming.”
The cold sinks deeply, settling into my marrow.
He meets my eyes, his gaze gleaming with something cruel. “Of course, that’s not a threat. Just a hypothetical.”
My blood runs cold in my veins.
I don’t blink or flinch. I won’t give him the satisfaction of even a breath.
Julian Lemaire just threatened me, and he wants me to smile and pretend he didn’t.
“Pressure does funny things to people, Ms. Devereux. It changes their sense of priority. Their sense of risk.”
For a beat, I let the silence stretch, my heart thudding under my ribs.
I lift my chin to show my defiance. “We’re done here, Mr. Lemaire.”
His eyes narrow and his mouth curves.
I square my shoulders, spine taut. “You can show yourself out.”
For a moment, he watches me.
It’s not anger I see. Not even irritation. Something colder and calculating. He’s reassessing the piece he thought he already controlled.
Then, slowly, he grins.
A small incline of his head. A mockery of politeness. To perform respect.
“Ms. Devereux.”
He turns and walks out, calm as ever. His footsteps are silent, his scent lingering. Expensive cologne layered over rot, dressed in a luxury suit.
I don’t move. I can’t.
My breath stutters, and my chest tightens, heart pounding.
The door clicks shut. Too loud and final.
I lean back against it, eyes slippingclosed as I try to pull in a breath that won’t come. My pulse won’t slow, and my ribs feel too tight. The aftershock crashes through me once he’s gone.
Julian Lemaire—all charm and generational power. But also a quiet menace with suggestive hypotheticals.
Not an actual threat. At least not one you could charge.
Nothing you could record, document, or drag into the light.
