Under His watchful Eyes

Chapter Eight

The penthouse went dark at precisely 1:00 AM. I lay fully dressed beneath the duvet, tracking the silence.

The steady, rhythmic hum of the HVAC unit was the only sound through the blackness.

I counted a thousand heartbeats, waiting for the exact moment Julian’s deep, even breathing signified he was asleep in the adjoining suite.

I threw off the covers. My bare feet hit the cold floor without a sound. I didn't wear shoes; the click of a shoes on the floor would sound would give me away.

I crept down the long, mirrored hallway, keeping my back flush against the wall. The glass panels caught the distant neon glow of the Strip, casting long, fractured shadows across my path.

My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs, but my hands were steady. The panic had burned out hours ago, leaving behind a cold, mechanical focus.

The door to Julian’s private study was unlocked. I slipped into the room, closing the door until the latch clicked home with agonizing slowness.

The air here smelled of Julian's cologne. I didn't turn on a light. I used the pale blue moonlight cutting through the floor-to-ceiling windows to guide me toward the desk.

The safe was behind a faux-panel of books to the right of his chair.

Vivienne’s warning echoed in my mind: In this family, we don't save people. We just find better ways to own them.

I knelt in front of the panel, sliding the false books aside. A digital keypad glowed to life, its faint blue LED illuminating my face. Five digits.

I didn't know his passcode, but I knew his mind.

Julian was an unreadable, he didn't pick random numbers. I tried the date of his first corporate acquisition.

Invalid.

I tried the coordinates of the St. Jude's facility in Chicago. Invalid.

The keypad flashed amber. One more incorrect attempt would trigger the silent alarm on his phone.

My fingers hovered over the plastic keys. My mind flashed back to the emerald green prom dress waiting in my closet, the exact night I had lost my star necklace, the night he had officially decided to map out my ruin. I entered the date of that night.

Click.

The heavy steel mechanism rolled back. The safe swung open without a sound.

Inside lay three thick, black binders and a stack of legal documents.

I ignored the corporate stocks and the foreign bonds, reaching straight for the binder labeled Onyx Holdings: Domestic Assets.

I flipped it open, my eyes scanning the pages under the pale moonlight. There were blueprints. Schematics of a sprawling, heavily guarded compound situated in the empty desert miles outside the city limits. St. Jude’s Extended Care Facility.

My eyes tracked down the patient log until I hit the name: Silas Vance.

Right next to his name was a medical chart detailing his treatment and a signed directive from Julian Vane. The print was tiny, but the words hit me like a physical blow: In the event of non-compliance by the primary asset (Elena Vance), medical authorization for Silas Vance is to be terminated immediately.

A shadow blocked the moonlight.

"Looking for the bill, Elena?"

I froze, the paper crinkling in my tightening grip.

Julian was standing in the doorway. He wore nothing but a black silk robe, his chest bare, his hair slightly muscled from sleep. But his eyes weren't tired. They were wide, bright, and intensely focused on me. He wasn't angry. He looked entirely fascinated.

"I told you where it was," he murmured, taking a slow step into the room. His bare feet made no sound against the rug. "I wanted to see how long it would take you to look."

I didn't scramble to close the safe. I didn't drop the binder. I stood up slowly, holding the document tightly against my chest, forcing my chin up.

"You planned to murder my father if I didn't smile for your cameras," I said, my voice dead and cold.

"I planned to keep him alive as long as you stayed where you belong," Julian corrected, stopping just inches from me. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the binder, pulling it gently but firmly from my fingers. He threw it onto the desk behind him. "You’re a spy now, Elena? Is that the game we’re playing?"

"I’m doing what I have to do to survive you," I hissed, pushing against his chest.

He didn't move an inch. He caught both of my wrists in one hand, pinning them against his chest, right over the steady, heavy beat of his heart. "Then learn to play better. Because if you steal from the architect of your life you have to make sure he doesn't own the exit."