Page 119 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

Adrian: “Julian, call me when you get this,” he says.

The second message is considerably less patient.

Adrian: “Where the hell are you? Call me.”

By the third message, the irritation in his voice has been replaced by something more serious.

Adrian: “This is moving, Julian. Vivian has Legal on it, but I need you briefed before somebody outside the company decides the timeline for us. Call me as soon as you get this.”

I stop the recording and open my email. More than twenty messages have accumulated in the thread Vivian began in Milan. Outside counsel has now been included. Internal Legal is reviewing document exposure, and several executives have been copied on conversations that were still contained between a handful of people less than two days ago.

The details are still developing, but the tone has changed. What began as something Vivian wanted reviewed has escalated enough that lawyers are now discussing exposure, response strategy, and what may need to happen if the matter moves outside the company.

Her latest message is brief.

Vivian: We can hold this through tomorrow morning. After that, I want you and Adrian on the same call with counsel.

I lean back in the chair and drag a hand across my jaw. I knew the quiet could not last indefinitely. I simply expected to have one more day before New York reached across the Atlantic and demanded my attention again.

I open Adrian’s message thread and type a response.

Julian: I’ll leave tomorrow. I’m moving the flight up one day. I’ll call you after dinner.

His answer appears less than a minute later.

Adrian: Finally.

I ignore the commentary and call Clive through the estate system. He answers almost immediately.

“Yes, Mr. Blackwell?”

“I need you to contact the travel concierge in Milan and move my departure to tomorrow,” I tell him.

“Of course.”

“Sophie’s arrangements need to be moved as well,” I add.

“Keep the same routing and transportation. We’re simply leaving one day earlier.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Clive says.

“Let me know as soon as everything is confirmed.”

“Yes, sir.”

I end the call and return to the email thread. For the next hour, I work through the messages carefully, separating what actually requires my attention from what Vivian, Adrian, and counsel are already handling. I resist the familiar urge to take control of every moving piece. There will be more than enough time for that when I return to New York.

By the time Clive confirms the revised travel arrangements, the immediate logistics are settled and the situation back home is stable enough to leave alone for the evening.

I close the laptop and look through the office windows. The lake is turning gold beneath the lowering sun. Tonight was supposed to be one of a couple nights we still had here. Now it is our last.

By the time I enter the dining room, Sophie is already there. She stands near the open terrace doors with a glass of wine in her hand, wearing a fitted black dress that falls just below her knees. Her hair is loose again, moving slightly in the breeze coming off the lake, and for several seconds I simply watch her. After the calls, emails, and legal language that consumed the last hour, the sight of her has an immediate effect on me. The tension in my shoulders loosens, though I know it will return the moment we leave this place.

Sophie turns and catches me looking.

“There you are,” she says.

I cross the room toward her.