Chapter 3 - The Ghost of the Honda Civic
An hour later, the heavy oak double doors of Julian’s private study in his penthouse overlooking the city closed behind them, shutting out the noise of the world.
The room was vast, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, dark mahogany panels, and a massive floor-to-ceiling glass wall that framed the sprawling skyline of Columbus bathed in the amber glow of late afternoon.
Sadie walked over to the window, wrapping her arms around herself, staring out at the distant ribbon of highway where she used to sit in her freezing car three years ago, crying silently so the passing truckers wouldn't notice her.
Footsteps fell softly on the Persian rug behind her.
A moment later, a heavy cashmere blanket draped over her shoulders, and two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a warm, solid chest.
“Still thinking about it?” Julian murmured, resting his chin on the top of her head.
“Not about him,” Sadie whispered, leaning back into his embrace. “Just... remembering. It’s strange, Julian. Even with all of this—the penthouse, the company, the security, you—sometimes a part of me still feels like I’m one bad day away from that Honda Civic.”
Julian’s grip tightened around her, his voice dropping into a fierce, protective low rumble.
“You will never see the inside of a car like that again, Sadie. Not as long as I’m breathing. And as for Evans...” Julian let out a short, cold breath. “He’s already finished. By tomorrow morning, his bank accounts will be frozen, his partners will have abandoned him, and his precious fiancée’s family will have disowned him the moment they realize he’s financial ruin.”
“You didn't have to buy the boutique,” Sadie said with a faint, wry smile.
“I didn't buy it for you,” Julian corrected smoothly. “I bought it because I wanted a private lounge where you can shop in peace without ever having to brush shoulders with insects like that again.”
Before Sadie could reply, a sharp knock echoed on the study door.
Marcus stepped into the room, holding a heavy manila folder and a sleek tablet. His face was a mask of professional neutrality, though a faint glint of satisfaction danced in his eyes.
“Boss,” Marcus said, standing at attention by the door. “Updates on the Evans portfolio.”
Julian didn't release Sadie from his arms; he simply turned his head slightly. “Go ahead.”
“First Continental called the loan twenty minutes ago, exactly as you ordered,” Marcus reported, tapping his tablet. “Evans tried to reach out to his primary investors, but word of his public humiliation at the mall has already spread through the country club circuit like wildfire. Chloe Whitmore’s father has already issued an emergency family statement freezing her trust and publicly distancing their firm from Trevor’s ventures.”
Marcus paused, flipping a page in the manila folder.
“Furthermore, a forensic audit of Evans Capital—which we initiated quietly three weeks ago—has turned up several irregularities involving tax evasion and embezzlement of client funds. The federal prosecutor’s office has already been quietly supplied with the hard copies.”
Trevor wasn't just going broke; he was going to prison.
Julian’s expression didn't change. He gave a single, dismissive nod. “Keep the pressure on. I don't want him having a single legal loophole to crawl through by Friday.”
“Understood, boss.” Marcus turned and slipped out of the room as silently as he had arrived.
Sadie turned around in Julian’s arms, looking up into his dark, intense eyes. She reached up, her fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw.
“You’re ruthless, you know that?” she said softly, though there was no condemnation in her voice—only a deep, abiding gratitude.
May you like
Julian caught her hand, pressing a warm kiss against her palm.
“Only to those who forget who you are,” he whispered against her skin. “To everyone else, I’m just a quiet businessman. But to you... I am whatever you need me to be.”
