Marcella POV
"Apologise," Julian said.
The word hit me like a physical blow.
"Apologise to Penelope?"
I spat the name out. It tasted like battery acid on my tongue.
"Why the hell should I apologise to her? Nothing even happened in the end!"
I slammed my fist onto the mahogany desk. The heavy wood did not even vibrate, but pain shot straight up my forearm, white-hot and sharp.
Julian did not blink. He stood by the tall window, his silhouette cutting a dark, jagged line against the afternoon light. He adjusted the cuff of his shirt with slow, agonizing precision.
"You do not have to go," Julian said.
His voice was too quiet. It was the low, vibrating tone he used right before he ripped a throat out.
"But if you stay, you will never see another credit from the Pack trust fund again.
