Chapter 12 - THE NIGHT WE MET TWELVE YEARS AGO
I was fourteen.
Julian was twenty-six.
I did not remember him.
He remembered me.
Barely.
Dad explained.
Twelve years earlier, he had taken me to Vale Tower once after school because my mother was working late.
I sat in the lobby reading a paperback while Dad finished a security update.
Julian had come downstairs.
Young executive.
Already impatient.
Already expensive.
He dropped a folder.
Papers went everywhere.
I helped him pick them up.
That was it.
Except apparently I said something.
Julian remembered when Dad described it.
“You told me my tie was ugly.”
I stared.
“I did not.”
Dad laughed.
“You did.”
Julian looked almost offended by the memory.
“It was burgundy.”
“Then fourteen-year-old me was correct.”
He smiled.
That smile felt dangerous in a completely different way now.
Dad continued.
Grandfather Vale had seen us talking.
He later told Dad Julian needed people around him who did not fear wealth.
Dad laughed at the idea.
Then grandfather wrote the letter.
Not a plan to marry us.
Just an observation.
Years later, Victor found the letter.
And used it.
That explained why he chose me.
He thought grandfather’s preference could support the marriage’s legitimacy.
We had all been manipulated by dead men and living ones.
But one thing was ours.
What happened after midnight.
Julian and I began eating dinner together.
At first because paperwork required us to appear married publicly.
Then because we wanted to.
He learned my mother liked lemon tea.
I learned he hated mushrooms but lied politely at restaurants.
He learned I wrote lists on receipts.
I learned he called his late grandfather’s voicemail when stressed even though the number had been disconnected for years.
Humans are strange.
Billionaires included.
One evening, he came home early.
Home.
I hated how naturally I thought the word.
He found me reading on the couch.
“What?”
I looked up.
“You’re staring.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to determine whether this is a contractual activity.”
“Reading?”
“Being here.”
My heartbeat changed.
I closed the book.
“Our one-year agreement is still valid.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
No.
It wasn’t.
He sat across from me.
“Lena.”
“Yes?”
“If the contract ended tomorrow, would you leave?”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
For once, he smiled.
“Interesting.”
“Don’t enjoy this.”
“I’m not.”
He looked nervous.
Actually nervous.
“I would miss you.”
There it was.
No billionaire performance.
No offer.
No strategy.
Just truth.
“I would miss you too.”
His expression softened.
Then he asked:
“May I kiss you?”
My chest tightened.
That mattered.
He remembered.
No touching without permission.
“Yes.”
The kiss was gentle.
Careful.
Short.
Then we both laughed from nerves.
Which made it better.
The next morning, everything went wrong.
Mom collapsed.
Hospital.
Emergency admission.
Her condition had worsened.
I left immediately.
Julian came with me.
Not because I asked.
Because he offered.
At the hospital, the doctor explained she needed a specialist procedure.
Experimental.
Expensive.
Julian said:
“I’ll pay.”
I turned.
“No.”
He stopped.
The doctor looked confused.
I took a breath.
Then said:
“Ask me.”
Julian understood.
“Lena, may I cover the procedure?”
My eyes filled.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
No triumph.
No ownership.
Just relief.
Then the doctor looked at my mother’s chart.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He stared.
“This diagnosis is wrong.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Your mother doesn’t have the disease she’s been treated for.”
Silence.
“What does she have?”
May you like
The doctor looked horrified.
“Chronic poisoning.”
