UNTAMED CONTRACT

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: ECHOES FROM PARIS

The soft clink of fine silver against porcelain felt surreal after the quiet shadow cast by that unknown international call. Julian held true to his promise, keeping his phone face-down on the table for the rest of the evening, but I could tell a faint, invisible tension had settled into the sharp line of his shoulders. He tried to hide it—kissing my hand between courses, smiling that breathtaking smile whenever our eyes met—but I knew him too well now. The ruthless CEO of Vance Global was always three steps ahead, and right now, his mind was calculating a threat I couldn't see.

When the private car dropped us off at the penthouse late that night, the Manhattan skyline below us was a vast sea of glittering gold lights.

The silence of the penthouse felt thicker than usual. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass balcony doors in the main living room, unclasping the heavy silver earrings from my ears and setting them down on the glass console table. My heart was still fluttering from the sheer romance of the evening—the burned contract, the public announcement, the promise of a real future. Yet, a tiny seed of apprehension had taken root in my chest.

I heard his steady, familiar footsteps behind me before I felt him.

Julian’s suit jacket was already draped over the back of a leather couch, his dark silk tie loosened, and the top two buttons of his white dress shirt undone to reveal the warm, golden skin at the base of his throat. Without saying a word, his broad arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my back flush against his chest. He rested his jaw against the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, his warm breath fanning across my sensitive skin and sending a pleasant shiver down my spine.

"You're overthinking again, baby," Julian murmured softly, his large hands sliding up my silk dress to rest over my ribs, feeling the quickened beat of my heart beneath his fingers.

"I can't help it," I admitted, turning slightly within the strong circle of his arms so I could look up into his dark, unreadable eyes. "We spent weeks fighting your uncle, Julian. Fighting the SEC, fighting the press, hiding behind a fake piece of paper... It feels almost terrifying to just stand here and be happy. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Julian’s expression softened, a fierce, possessive tenderness taking over his sharp features. He raised one hand, the calloused pad of his thumb gently tracing the full curve of my lower lip.

"The fight with my uncle is over, Maya," he said, his voice dropping into that low, intoxicating register that never failed to make my breath hitch. "He has been completely stripped of his voting shares, and Lin Logistics is legally protected under our corporate merger. There is no other shoe. It's just you and me now. No scripts, no rules."

He leaned down, closing the small distance between us to capture my lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and utterly possessive. All the unsaid fears, the lingering doubts, melted away under the heat of his mouth. My hands found their way into his thick, dark hair, pulling him closer as the quiet night swallowed us whole. When he finally lifted me up to carry me into the bedroom, I let myself believe that the storm had truly passed.

The next morning, however, reality came crashing back in with a cold, sharp edge.

I woke up late to the rich aroma of freshly brewed espresso and the faint, distinct sound of paper rustling.

I rolled over, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, only to find Julian sitting at the edge of the massive king-sized bed. He was already fully dressed in a crisp, dark grey suit, but he wasn't reading stock reports or reviewing Lin Logistics shipping manifests. He was staring down at his opened laptop screen, a heavy leather folder resting on his lap.

The look on his face sent an immediate chill through my veins. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscle ticked, and his dark eyes burned with an icy, dangerous intensity I hadn't seen since the day we confronted his uncle in the board meeting.

"Julian?" I sat up, pulling the dark silk sheet up around my chest. "What is it? Did the board do something?"

The moment my voice cut through the quiet room, Julian’s harsh expression snapped shut. He immediately closed the laptop screen halfway, looking over his shoulder at me as his features softened into a gentle, controlled mask.

"Good morning, babe," he said smoothly, leaning over to press a soft kiss to my temple. "No, the board is fine. Marcus just forwarded me some administrative updates regarding our international shipping routes."

He was lying. Or at the very least, carefully bending the truth. After living under the same roof for a month, I knew the subtle signs. I knew the way his shoulders squared when he was shielding me from a hit.

Before I could call him out on it, his personal phone vibrated violently against the nightstand.

This time, he didn't ignore it.

Julian picked up the device, glancing at the caller ID, and immediately stood up. He stepped out onto the private bedroom balcony, sliding the heavy glass door shut behind him to block out the sound.

I sat up straight in bed, watching his tall silhouette through the glass. His posture was unnervingly rigid. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the chrome balcony railing, listening to whoever was on the other end of the line. I couldn't hear his words, but I saw the sharp, decisive shake of his head before he uttered a single, cold command and ended the call abruptly.

When he slid the glass door open and walked back into the room, I didn't give him the chance to brush it off.

I swung my legs out of bed, wrapping a navy silk robe around myself, and stepped directly into his path, blocking his way to the dressing room.

"Who was that, Julian?" I asked, looking straight into his eyes. "And please don't lie to me and say it was Marcus."

Julian paused. He looked down at me, taking a heavy, frustrated breath that expanded his broad chest. He reached out, taking both of my hands in his, his fingers interlacing with mine as if he needed the physical contact to keep himself grounded.

"It was my family's legal estate team," Julian said quietly, his voice heavy with a dark weight. "The international call from last night... it was from Paris."

My heart gave a sudden, hard thud against my ribs. "Paris? What does your family's estate in France have to do with us?"

"When my father passed away three years ago, he didn't just leave me Vance Global," Julian explained, his tone measured and carefully controlled. "He left nearly forty percent of our European shipping holdings locked inside a private, offshore trust. My uncle tried to seize control of that trust for years, but the executors blocked him. Now that my uncle has been officially ousted, the trust executors are demanding an immediate, mandatory review of the company's new leadership structure before they will release the European assets."

He paused, a rare flicker of discomfort crossing his dark eyes.

"And?" I prompted, my voice tightening. "Why does that look like bad news?"

Julian’s grip on my hands tightened slightly. "Because the head of the legal council holding the keys to that trust... is my former fiancée. Vivienne Laurent."

The name hung in the cool air of the bedroom like a sudden frost.

I froze. The ambient warmth of the room seemed to evaporate instantly. Julian had mentioned having a complex past, but he had never—not once—spoken about a former fiancée. Let alone one who held the keys to half of his family's international empire.

"Former fiancée?" I repeated. I was surprised by how steady my voice sounded, even as a sudden, sharp ache bloomed behind my chest.

"It was an arranged corporate match set up by our fathers five years ago to consolidate European shipping channels," Julian said quickly, taking a step closer and placing both of his large hands firmly on my waist, pulling me against him as if he was afraid I would pull away. "It ended two years before I ever met you, Maya. It was entirely business. Cold, calculated, and completely devoid of emotion. But her family's firm still legally manages the Laurent-Vance trust in Paris. And she is insisting that I come to France personally to clear the transition."

"Does she know about us?" I asked, searching his dark eyes for any shadow of hesitation. "Does she know we're officially engaged?"

Julian’s gaze burned with absolute, undivided conviction.

"She knows," Julian rasped, leaning down so his face was inches from mine. "And that is precisely why she is demanding the personal meeting. She wants to verify that our engagement is genuine, and not just another tactical corporate maneuver to secure the European board's vote."

A heavy silence settled over the room. The triumphant victory we had celebrated last night suddenly felt terribly fragile, threatened by cold corporate ghosts from Julian's past that I knew nothing about.

Julian cupped my face in his warm hands, his thumbs gently brushing over my cheekbones, forcing me to look only at him.

"I am not going to Paris without you, Maya," he declared, his voice leaving zero room for argument. "You are my real fiancée. I want her—and every member of that European board—to see that you are the only woman who holds my heart. Will you fly to France with me?"

I looked into the eyes of the man who had burned a binding contract just to prove he belonged to me. The lingering sting of insecurity in my chest slowly began to burn away, replaced by a sharp, fierce resolve.

I placed my hands over his chest, feeling the fast, steady rhythm of his heart beneath his suit.

"Pack your bags, Mr. Vance," I whispered, a slow, confident smile touching my lips. "Let's go to Paris."