THE ARCHITECT OF BROKENHEARTS

CHAPTER 3: The Checkmate

The air in the study felt entirely too thin.

​Julian was so close I could feel the steady, infuriatingly calm beat of his heart radiating through his tuxedo jacket. Ten years ago, I would have buried my face in his chest and let the scent of paint and cedar comfort me. Now, that same proximity felt like standing on the edge of a blade.

​"A conversation?" I echoed, forcing a harsh, cynical laugh. I tilted my head, keeping my eyes locked dead on his. "You're getting married in three months, Julian. To a senator's daughter. Somehow, I don't think she'd approve of you cornering a woman in the dark to reminisce."

​His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering near his ear. I had hit a nerve.

​"Is that what you think this is?" he asked, his grip on my wrist shifting. He didn't let go, but his thumb moved, slowly stroking the sensitive skin over my pulse point. It was a deliberate, agonizingly familiar gesture that sent a rush of heat straight to my chest. "Reminiscing?"

​"I think," I said, keeping my voice dangerously level, "that you are playing a game you don't fully understand."

​I stopped fighting his grip. Instead, I let my body relax entirely, melting against the mahogany door. I let my free hand slide up his chest, my silk-gloved fingers wrapping around the silk tie at his throat. I felt his breath hitch—just a fraction, but it was enough. He was still human. He was still the man who used to unravel at my touch.

​"I'm a professional, Julian," I whispered, leaning up so my lips were mere inches from his ear. "And my number one rule is that I never get caught unless I want to be."

​Before he could process the shift in my tone, I pressed the hidden mechanism on the inside of my vintage silver bracelet.

​A blinding, high-intensity strobe light flashed from the jewel on my wrist, flooding the dim study with a sudden, searing white glare.

​Julian cursed, his eyes instinctively squeezing shut as he flinched backward, his grip on my wrist finally breaking.

​I didn't waste a millisecond. I spun around, threw the deadbolt, and ripped the study door open, the heavy bass of the gala's string quartet rushing back into my ears.

​I was halfway down the dimly lit corridor, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs, when his voice echoed out from the study doorway. It wasn't a shout. It was calm, lethal, and loud enough to stop me dead in my tracks.

​"Run, Elara!" Julian called out, the sound slicing through the music. "Run back to your agency! Because as of nine o'clock tomorrow morning, I am buying out your firm's majority shares."

​I turned, my breath catching in my throat as I looked back at him. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, adjusting his cuffs in the shadows.

​"I don't need a conversation tonight," he said, a dark, predatory smile finally curving his lips. "Starting tomorrow, you work for me."