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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

AURELIA

T he weight around my waist pulls me from the edges of sleep.

For a blissful moment, I forget everything. The prison. The humiliation. There’s only this cocoon of heat, strong arms holding me close, the steady rhythm of breath against my neck.

Adrian.

It was all a nightmare, wasn’t it? He’s here. He’s alive.

I sigh, pressing back against the solid chest behind me, my fingers instinctively finding the hand on my stomach. I trace the knuckles, the veins, memorizing the texture of skin I thought I’d never touch again.

“You’re here,” I murmur, still half-lost in the haze of sleep.

The body behind me stiffens, and something in that tension cuts through my delirium.

Adrian is dead.

I suck in a sharp breath. If Adrian is dead, then who?—

A familiar scent hits me. Sweat. Whiskey. My body recognizes it before my mind can process what it means.

Julian.

Julian is in my bed.

I freeze, every muscle locking into place as my brain scrambles to make sense of this. Is this another twisted game? Another humiliation?

I should scream. Should fight. Should claw his eyes out for everything he’s done. But I remain still, pulse racing, waiting.

“Why are you here?” I finally whisper into the darkness.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer until there’s not even air between us. I can feel every inch of him pressed against my back, his breath warm along my neck.

“Julian.” This time my voice is firmer, demanding an explanation even as my treacherous body softens against his.

What is he planning to do?

“Julian, why?—”

“I’m sorry.”

The words feel impossible and fragile. Two simple words that stop my heart and steal my breath.

I turn slowly in his arms, needing to see his face and figure out if this is real or just another cruel trick. The moonlight filtering through the curtains casts his features in silver and shadow, but I can still make out the bruised hollows beneath his eyes, the tension in his jaw.

“What did you say?” I whisper.

His eyes—those eyes that have looked at me with everything from desire to hatred—are different tonight. They’re vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen.

“I’m sorry, Aurelia.” His voice cracks on my name. “For all of it.”

My heart crashes against my ribs, hope and suspicion fighting for dominance. Has it finally been enough time? Has he finally seen through his mother’s lies? Has he come back to me?

But even if he has… how can I possibly forgive what he’s done? How do you forgive someone for breaking you so completely?

And yet, that stubborn piece of my heart that has always belonged to him—the piece I couldn’t kill no matter how hard I tried—flares to life, insistent.

Before I can even try to respond, his lips find mine in the darkness. The kiss is nothing like the brutal claiming from nights ago in this same bed. This is gentle, almost reverent. Like he’s seeking absolution.

I should shove him away. I should want him to suffer like I’ve suffered.

“You believe me?” I ask against his mouth.

“Yes.”

I don’t understand why or how or what caused this change, I only know I’m desperate for things to be like they were before. Answers to my questions can come later.

I kiss him back, surrendering to the warmth and the feeling of finally being seen after weeks of invisibility. My hands grab at his bare chest, pulling him closer as tears slide silently over my cheeks .

His mouth trails down my jaw, my neck. He takes his time like he has all the time in the world. I have to bite back a sob because it’s all wrong. It shouldn’t feel this good. I shouldn’t let him into my bed so easily.

But I do.

When his hands find my breasts and pluck at my nipples, I arch into him as the heat increases between my thighs.

“Julian…”

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against my skin. “Missed you so damn much.”

Something inside me breaks, and I’m clawing at him, pulling him on top of me, desperate to feel his weight pinning me down in a way that makes me feel alive instead of trapped.

“Don’t stop,” I beg.

He groans, a low sound that vibrates through both of us. His hand slides lower, into my pajama bottoms, between my legs where I’m already slick with need. His knuckles graze some of my wounds by accident, but I don’t think he notices. And I’m so lost in the moment, the sharp stings barely register.

He dips inside me with one finger and then another until I’m gasping out his name.

“Julian…”

It’s too much. The weeks of captivity and fear and anger crumble beneath the onslaught of pleasure, leaving only this raw, aching urgency. My body moves against his hand, frantic and uncontrolled.

“Just let go,” he whispers hoarsely .

I can’t. But I do.

The world breaks into sensation—heat and light and the sound of my own choked cries.

I collapse under him, expecting him to fulfill his own needs next, but he doesn’t. He scoops me into his arms and pulls me close, kissing the top of my head.

I’ve missed you too , I want to say. But I miss the old Julian.

Is he that man again? Or is that man as dead as his brother?

“Why now?” I finally ask. “After everything?”

His hand comes up to my face, thumb ghosting over my cheekbone with a gentleness that makes me want to weep.

“Because I’m drowning,” he admits. “Because I don’t know how to do any of this.

Because my world shattered the moment Adrian died, and I’ve been trying to piece it back together.

I made bad choices. I hurt you and… I never wanted to do that. ”

I close my eyes, his words resonating. Grief can drive even the best people to monstrous acts. Haven’t I proven that myself? Haven’t I killed for my own pain, my own sense of justice?

“That doesn’t excuse what you did,” I say, but there’s no fire in my words.

“I know it doesn’t. I’ve become everything I swore I’d never be.” His voice breaks. “I’m a monster. And you have every right to see me as one.”

My fingertips brush against the stubble on his jaw. I really have no response. I can’t forgive him this easily, and yet, part of me understands his break from reality.

My revenge against those who hurt my mother turned me into someone I barely recognized at times.

Someone who could poison, shoot, and burn without hesitation.

Someone who could strangle a man with his own tie and feel nothing.

Am I any better than Julian? Or are we both just broken people lashing out at a world that destroyed us?

He takes my hand. “Come with me to the kitchen.”

“Will your mother?—”

“No, I sent her away. No one’s here. Just us. Just like old times. Remember when we’d hang out in the kitchen when we were younger? Come on.”

I take his hand, my heart overflowing.

Is this real? Or am I still dreaming?

I’m too desperate to care.

We reach the kitchen and it feels like a sanctuary—a neutral ground where memories still exist untainted by everything that’s happened. Julian flicks on a small light above the island, bathing the space in a soft glow.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to one of the barstools.

I ease myself onto the cold metal, wincing as my burns protest. The moment feels surreal—like I’ve slipped into an alternate universe where Julian isn’t my captor and I’m not his prisoner.

He opens the cabinet and pulls out two glasses. “Whiskey?” he asks, already reaching for the bottle.

“Sure.”

As he pours, I’m catapulted back in time to nights when we were teenagers, sneaking Lucian’s expensive liquor while the adults were away. We’d sit just like this, passing a bottle back and forth, making ridiculous plans for the future .

“When I turn eighteen, I’m getting out,” fourteen year old Julian had said, not yet realizing how impossible that would be. “I’ll take you with me.”

“Where would we go?” I’d asked, giggling.

He shrugged, taking another swig from the bottle. “Anywhere. Everywhere. We could just drive until we found somewhere that feels like home.”

God, we were so fucking naive.

Julian slides a glass toward me, pulling me back to the present—to the man he’s become rather than the boy he was. “Here.”

I take a long sip. The alcohol warms my stomach, loosening the knot of tension that’s lived there for weeks. “What changed?” The question has been pressing against my tongue since I woke with him holding me. “Why do you believe me?”

Julian stares into his glass. In the dim light, his profile looks like something carved from stone—hard edges and sharp angles. But there’s a vulnerability too, a crack in the marble.

“After you killed Carter last week, something in me snapped. I was pissed but I also realized you deserved more of a chance. I started investigating. Not just accepting things at face value, like Adrian would have done.”

The mention of Adrian’s name sends a pang through my chest. “And?”

“Funny enough, I found evidence to suggest Carter killed Martinelli.” He sets his glass down carefully, not yet drinking. “I looked into him. I questioned his wife. But the important thing was, my mother was there. ”

My stomach turns. “And… what happened?”

He sighs like he’s been holding in air for months. “I don’t want to get into it, but she was… vicious. In ways I’d never seen. It made me start to question things. If she could do that, what else was she capable of?”

He moves around the kitchen island to be closer to me.

He wraps his fingers around mine as I hold the whiskey glass.

“I’m sorry, Aurelia. I know in my gut now that you were telling the truth.

She’s… cruel. And Adrian was always father’s favorite.

Mom hated Lucian, so it makes sense why she grew hatred for Adrian, too.

It was so subtle I didn’t pay attention, but I see it clearly now. When I search my memories, I see it.”

“I’ve been trying to warn you…”

He flinches. “I know. I should have listened. I just... couldn’t believe she would...”

“Kill her own son?” I finish for him.

His face crumples with grief so raw it steals my breath. “Yeah.”

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of truth settling over us. Everything we thought we knew has been burned away, leaving only this—two broken people trying to salvage something from the ruins.

“Thank you for finally believing me,” I say. Tears slip out as a weight lifts. Finally. Finally he believes me.

Please let this be real.

He lifts my glass to my lips, making me finish my drink as he smiles at me. Then he shoves my empty glass aside.

“I miss who we were,” Julian confesses, his forehead pressing against mine. “Before all of this. Before Adrian, before I became… a monster.”

“That version of us doesn’t exist now. We can’t go back.”

“I know.” His fingers thread through my hair gently, as if he’s afraid I’ll disappear. “But I needed you to know… I’m sorry. For all of it.”

His words unlock something raw and desperate that I’ve kept chained for weeks. A sob builds in my throat, but before it can escape, Julian’s lips find mine again.

The kiss is different from the ones we shared in bed—hungrier, more urgent, as if he’s trying to pour every apology he can’t articulate into this single point of contact.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless. I press my forehead against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heart.

“I need your help,” he whispers into my hair. “I can’t take her down alone.”

“Take her down?” Surprised, I pull back to look at him.

“My mother. She’s dangerous. We need to stop her before she destroys anything else.”

Hope flutters in my chest—fragile but insistent. Is he really on my side now?

“You’d help me get revenge?” I ask, needing to hear him say it.

“Yes.” The word is firm. “For Adrian. For everything she’s taken from us.”

As I shift on the stool, my oversized sleep shirt slips off one shoulder, exposing the angry red cigar burn that Olivia left. Julian’s eyes lock onto it.

“What is that?” His voice is deadly quiet as his fingers hover over the mark without touching it.

I pull the fabric back up, covering the burn. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter right now.”

“Who did this to you?” He reaches for me again, but I lean back, wincing as the movement pulls at other burns hidden beneath my clothes.

“Julian, I don’t want to?—”

“Was it Lucas?” His jaw clenches, eyes darkening with rage.

The assumption is almost laughable, but I don’t correct him. I’m not ready to tell him his mother did this—not when our truce is so new and fragile. One revelation at a time.

“Please. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

“I’m glad you killed him.” His hand cups my face. “No one touches what’s mine.”

The possessive claim should anger me after everything, but instead it sends a shiver of warmth through my body. For weeks I’ve been nothing—not a person, not even human. Just a prop in Lady Harrow’s elaborate play. Being wanted, being claimed, feels like returning to my body after a long absence.

“I never stopped loving you,” Julian whispers, his voice breaking on the admission. “Even when I hated you, even when I thought you killed Adrian, I still loved you. And I’m so fucking sorry for what I did.”

The relief that washes over me is so profound, so overwhelming, that my body suddenly feels too heavy to stay upright. My shoulders hunch, and the room tilts at a strange angle. I’m falling, but Julian’s there, his strong arms catching me, pulling me against his chest.

“Aurelia?” His voice seems to come from far away. “What’s wrong?”

I try to answer, but my tongue feels thick and clumsy in my mouth, and the darkness at the edges of my vision grows deeper.

“Not feeling well?” he asks.

I shake my head.

He leans closer to my ear and says, “Good.”

I gasp. The world spins faster, the edges of my vision smearing into a dark blur as an ugly realization grips me. Oh god. The drink.

He drugged it.

I try to pull away, but my body won’t cooperate.

Julian’s voice shifts from tender to something sharper, more sinister. “No one touches what’s mine,” he says, and I hear the smile in his voice. “Unless I want them to.”

“Julian…”

“You’re still mine,” he continues, lifting me in his arms as I’m helpless to do anything.

“But why should I have all the fun? Other members want a taste too, so you’re going to your new temporary owner.

” His laughter cuts through the fog settling over my brain.

“You should be proud that so many Consortium members want you. They’ll be disappointed at who I sold you to first.” He cradles my cheek with mock tenderness.

“But I told them all to be patient—they’ll get their turns soon. ”

“Julian,” I manage again, more breath than sound .

He carries me toward the door. “Hope the first guy doesn’t ruin you too much.”

Even now, some part of me hopes this is another nightmare—a trick my mind plays in its drugged state—but the heaviness is too real, pressing the air from my lungs. Blood thunders in my skull.

“Julian,” I breathe again before the world goes black.