"It was... final," Sarah said, pouring them both a glass of wine. "He tried to apologize. But I didn't let him off the hook. I asked him why, Julian. He didn't have an answer. But seeing him finally own what he did... it felt like the last brick was laid. The past is officially just a memory now."
Julian took his glass, clinking it against hers. "Then to the future," he whispered. Setting his wine aside, he reached for her, pulling her flush against his chest for a deep, consuming kiss.
Chapter Fourteen
Sarah
The sprawling, multi-level expanse of Julian’s penthouse was a sea of raw silk, inherited diamonds, and the clinking of Baccarat crystal. Julian’s family had flown in from across the country for an "intimate" engagement dinner, which, in the Pierce family lexicon, meant forty of the wealthiest people in the Midwest gathering to inspect the newest addition to their bloodline.
Sarah stood near the edge of the room, her hand wrapped tightly around the stem of her champagne flute. She wore a sleek, midnight-blue gown that she had bought with her own money—money earned from Bennett & Mendoza’s latest commercial contract—but standing in this room, she felt like she was wearing a costume.
"It really is a lovely little firm you have, Sarah," Mary, Julian’s aunt, said, her smile not quite reaching her frosty blue eyes. She took a delicate sip of her martini. "Julian has always been so supportive of... grassroots initiatives. It’s very generous of him to let you play architect while he handles the real heavy lifting in the industry."
Sarah’s spine stiffened. "I don't play architect, Mary. I am an architect. Bennett & Mendoza Consulting just outbid Sinclair for the South Side revitalization project."
Mary offered a patronizing, pitying chuckle. "Of course, dear. But we all know doors open a little easier when Julian Pierce is the man on your arm. You really did hit the jackpot with him. Most women in your... position... would kill for a safety net like Julian."
The words hit Sarah like a physical blow. Your position. Meaning a divorced woman. Meaning a woman who had to sell her house to start over. Meaning a charity case.
"If you'll excuse me," Sarah managed to say, her voice tight. She set her full glass on a passing waiter’s tray and turned away before Mary could see the sudden, humiliating sting of tears in her eyes.
She walked quickly, navigating the crowd of Julian's cousins and business associates. Everywhere she looked, she saw the same calculating glances. She heard the hushed whispers as she passed.
"...heard she was married to a delivery driver..."
"...Julian could have had anyone, and he chooses a mid-level consultant..."
"...talk about a Cinderella story. She must be thrilled to never have to worry about money again..."
Sarah pushed through the heavy glass doors leading out to the penthouse terrace, the crisp evening air hitting her hot face. She walked to the glass balustrade, gripping the edge until her knuckles turned white, the glittering Chicago skyline stretching out below her. She closed her eyes, her chest heaving with a sudden, suffocating panic.
She was doing it again.
She had spent years in Harrison’s shadow, letting him erase her. She had spent years at Ryan Sinclair’s firm, letting him take credit for her brilliance. She had burned her entire lifeto the ground and sold her house just to build something that was entirely hers.
And now, society was stripping it all away again. They didn't see a CEO. They didn't see an equal. They saw a gold-digger. They saw a broken woman who had finally found a rich man to save her.
I didn't claw my way out of one cage just to walk into another,Sarah thought, a cold terror gripping her heart. If she married Julian, this would be her life. A lifetime of charity galas where her accomplishments were treated as a cute hobby funded by her billionaire husband.
"Sarah?"
The deep, familiar voice broke through her panic. The glass doors clicked shut, and Julian stepped out onto the terrace. He had taken off his suit jacket, his tie loosened. He walked toward her, his brow furrowed in immediate concern.
"Hey," he said softly, closing the distance and placing his warm hands on her bare shoulders. "I turned around from talking to my uncle and you were gone. What happened? You're shaking."
Sarah stepped out of his grip. She didn't want to, but she needed the physical distance to keep her head clear.
"I don't think I can do this, Julian," she whispered, the words tasting like ash.
Julian froze. His hands dropped to his sides. "Do what? The dinner? We can leave right now. I’ll clear the room—"
"No," Sarah interrupted, her voice trembling. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with tears. "Not the dinner. Us. The wedding. This." She gestured vaguely to the opulent penthouse behind the glass.
Julian stared at her, the color draining from his face. "Sarah... what are you talking about?"
"I am a transaction to them, Julian," she said, a sob threatening to break her voice. "I just spent twenty minutes listening to your aunt imply that I hit the jackpot. That I’m a charity case you decided to rescue. They think Bennett & Mendoza Consulting is a hobby you fund. They think I'm just lucky to be here."
Julian’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking violently in his cheek. A dark, dangerous anger flared in his hazel eyes—not at her, but at the people inside the room.
