UNTAMED CONTRACT

CHAPTER FIVE: THE EAST WING

The silence inside the back of the Maybach was heavy, thick with the lingering adrenaline of the ballroom.

Outside the tinted windows, the city lights blurred into long streaks of gold as Thomas navigated us away from the Grand Regency. My hands were still cold, resting tightly in my lap, but the warmth where Julian’s palm had pressed against the bare skin of my low-back dress felt like a permanent mark branded into my spine.

"You can stop smiling now, Maya," Julian’s calm, velvet voice broke the quiet. "The cameras are two miles behind us."

I let out a breath I felt like I’d been holding since eight o'clock, slumping slightly against the plush leather seat. I reached up, unclasping the borrowed diamond earrings from my lobes and tossing them into my evening clutch. My feet were throbbing from the six-inch heels, and my shoulders felt tight from hours of maintaining perfect posture under the scrutiny of Manhattan’s elite.

"Your mother hates me," I said, looking over at him in the shadowy interior of the car. He had already unbuttoned his collar, loosening his black bow tie so it hung casually around his unbuttoned neck. The sight of him relaxed—just a fraction—was infuriatingly attractive. "And your uncle looks like he’s actively plotting your murder."

"My mother hates anyone who doesn't come with a bloodline verified by the Social Register," Julian corrected smoothly, turning his head to look at me. In the dim light of the passing streetlamps, his sharp jawline looked almost sculpted out of marble. "And Richard is plotting my downfall. But tonight, you gave the board exactly what they needed to see."

"Which was what, exactly? A foolish woman swept off her feet by a billionaire?"

"No," Julian murmured, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse instantly spike. "A woman who isn't afraid to stand her ground against a room full of sharks. You didn't flinch when Victoria attacked you, and you didn't back down when Richard tried to intimidate you. That kind of spine is rare in the circles I swim in."

A strange warmth fluttered in my chest at his words, but I crushed it immediately. Rule Three: Do not fall in love. I couldn't afford to mistake his professional approval for personal affection.

"I grew up handling bill collectors and loan sharks, Julian," I said coolly, turning to look out the window. "A few rich snobs in emerald gowns don't scare me."

Julian let out a low, gravelly chuckle—a sound so rare and genuine it made the hairs on my arms stand up. "Fair enough."

The car smoothly turned off the main avenue and pulled into the private underground parking garage of a soaring glass skyscraper in TriBeCa. Thomas brought the car to a halt beside a private glass elevator.

"Where are we?" I asked, my brow furrowing as Thomas opened my door. "This isn't my apartment building."

"Of course it isn't," Julian said, stepping out after me and offering a polite nod to his driver. "Rule Two, Maya. Co-habitation. Your luggage was picked up from your flat three hours ago and brought up to the penthouse."

My jaw dropped. "You had someone go into my apartment?!"

"I had a bonded, professional courier service pack three suitcases of your personal belongings under Thomas's supervision," Julian replied casually, resting his hand against the small of my back to guide me toward the private elevator. "You signed the contract. We need to be settled before the morning tabloids run the photos from tonight. If a reporter stakes out your old apartment tomorrow, they need to find it empty."

Before I could voice my outrage, the elevator doors slid shut, and the high-speed car ascended forty floors in absolute silence.

When the doors opened directly into the penthouse foyer, the breath was knocked clean out of my lungs.

The penthouse was staggering. Soaring double-height ceilings, floor-to-ceiling glass walls overlooking the glowing Manhattan skyline, polished dark hardwood floors, and minimalist furniture that looked like it belonged in a modern art museum. It was grand, cold, and utterly breathtaking—much like the man who owned it.

"Welcome to your new home for the next ninety days," Julian said, taking his suit jacket off and tossing it over the back of a charcoal velvet sofa.

He gestured down a wide, softly lit hallway to the right.

"The penthouse is split into two distinct wings," he explained, walking me down the corridor. "The West Wing contains my master suite, my private office, and the gym. You will have no reason to go over there. This is the East Wing."

He opened a set of double tall white doors at the end of the hall, stepping aside so I could walk in.

I stepped inside and froze. The suite was larger than my entire previous apartment. It featured a king-sized bed dressed in crisp white linen, its own private lounge area with a fireplace, a massive walk-in closet where my three modest suitcases sat unpacked on a leather bench, and an en-suite marble bathroom complete with a soaking tub overlooking the city.

"It's... huge," I whispered, unable to hide the awe in my voice.

"It's private," Julian corrected, standing in the doorway with his hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "The doors lock from the inside. The staff comes in at ten every morning to clean and stock the kitchen, but they are under strict instructions never to disturb this wing without permission."

I turned to face him, crossing my arms over the front of my silk dress. "And what about you? Do you disturb this wing?"

Julian’s lips twitched upward in a shadow of a smirk. "Only when invited, Maya. I might be a ruthless CEO, but I am not a savage. As long as we are behind these doors, you are entirely safe from me."

"Good," I said, lifting my chin defiance. "Let's keep it that way."

"We have breakfast scheduled at eight tomorrow morning in the main dining room," Julian added, his tone shifting back to business. "A photographer from Vogue Living will be taking candid shots of us on the terrace for an exclusive feature next week. Wear something comfortable but elegant."

He backed out of the room, resting his hand on the doorframe. His dark eyes swept over me one last time, lingering on my bare shoulders before rising to my eyes.

"Goodnight, Maya."

"Goodnight, Julian."

The heavy wooden doors clicked shut, leaving me in the quiet luxury of the suite.

I immediately kicked off my punishing heels, letting out a groan of relief as my bare feet touched the plush rug. Walking over to the glass wall, I pressed my forehead against the cool pane, looking down at the city far below.

Ten million dollars. A red dress. A fake engagement. And now, living under the roof of the most dangerous man in New York.

My life had completely flipped upside down in forty-eight hours.

Two hours later, sleep was nowhere to be found.

I had taken a hot shower, washed off the heavy gala makeup, and changed into a pair of soft grey cotton sweatpants and an oversized white tank top. But no matter how many times I tossed and turned on the massive king-sized mattress, my brain refused to shut off. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Julian's thumb against my lower lip, or heard his smooth voice murmuring into my ear on the dance floor.

“Rule Three: Do not fall in love with me.”

"Arrogant jerk," I muttered to the empty bedroom.

Giving up on sleep, I opened my bedroom door and padded quietly down the dark hallway toward the kitchen to get a glass of water. My bare feet made zero sound on the hardwood floors.

The main living area was dim, illuminated only by the ambient glow of the city skyline pouring through the massive glass windows. I navigated around the modern furniture, heading toward the sleek, marble-topped kitchen island.

I grabbed a crystal glass from the cabinet, filled it from the filtered tap, and turned around to take a sip—only to nearly jump out of my skin.

Julian was sitting on one of the high leather barstools at the end of the island.

He was out of his tuxedo. He wore only a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his hips, leaving his broad, muscular chest and washboard abs completely bare. His dark hair was damp and messy, falling over his forehead, and he held a crystal tumbler of amber scotch in one hand. A open leather-bound folder sat in front of him, illuminated by the faint glow of his tablet.

"Can't sleep?" he asked softly, without looking up from his screen.

"I... no," I stammered, heat rushing to my cheeks as my eyes traitorously took in the sight of his bare torso. He was covered in lean, defined muscle, with a light dusting of dark hair trailing down toward his waistband. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"You didn't," Julian said, taking a slow sip of his scotch. He finally looked up, his dark eyes taking in my oversized tank top and messy bun. Without the tailored suit armor, he looked raw, strikingly handsome, and strangely vulnerable. "I rarely sleep more than four hours a night anyway."

"That can't be healthy," I said, walking over to the opposite side of the island and leaning against the cold marble with my water glass.

"Work doesn't pause for sleep, Maya," he replied, closing his tablet. He leaned back in his stool, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Especially not when your family is waiting for you to make a single mistake so they can tear your life's work out of your hands."

I quieted down, hearing the exhaustion beneath his cold tone. "Is that why you're like this? Cold? Ruthless?"

Julian looked at me for a long moment, the dark intensity in his eyes making my heart do a familiar, dangerous flutter.

"When my father died six years ago, my uncle tried to liquidate the company and sell it off piecemeal for quick cash," Julian said softly, his voice dropping into a low, intimate register that vibrated through the quiet kitchen. "I had to become ruthless to protect what belonged to my family. In my world, if you show softness, people bleed you dry."

He paused, his gaze dropping to the hand I had resting on the counter.

"Which is why you surprised me tonight," he added softly. "You're soft, Maya. But you didn't bleed."

I swallowed hard, the distance between us suddenly feeling dangerously small despite the wide marble island dividing us.

"I'm not soft, Julian," I murmured, holding his gaze. "I'm a survivor. Just like you."

Julian didn't answer. He simply looked at me—really looked at me—in the dim city light. For a fleeting, breathless second, the billionaire boss and the fake fiancée vanished. It was just a man and a woman in the quiet dark of the night, bound together by a lie that was starting to feel terrifyingly real.

Julian set his glass down with a soft clink.

"Go back to bed, Maya," he said, his voice lower, huskier than before. "Before I forget Rule Three."

My breath hitched in my throat. I didn't say a word. I simply turned on my heel and walked back down the East Wing corridor, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs all the way back to my room.