UNTAMED CONTRACT

CHAPTER TEN: MORNING AFTER LIGHTS

The lingering warmth of Julian’s lips against mine was all I could think about as sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse the following morning.

I stood in the expansive kitchen, cradling a mug of black coffee, my mind racing in overdrive. Last night on the balcony at the Plaza Hotel had changed everything. It hadn't been a quick, staged kiss for a stray camera lens. It had been raw, possessive, and painfully real.

And then, without another word, Julian had guided me back inside, escorted me to the limousine, and we had driven home in a heavy, charged silence that practically vibrated through the air.

"You're up early."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, spinning around to see Julian walking into the kitchen.

He wasn't wearing his usual crisp, thousand-dollar suit or his pristine white dress shirts. Instead, he wore a simple charcoal grey t-shirt and dark sweatpants, his dark hair slightly disheveled from sleep. He looked dangerously handsome—and entirely too casual for a man who commanded an empire.

"I couldn't sleep much," I admitted, clutching my mug tighter as he walked over to the coffee machine.

"Neither could I," Julian said, his voice a low, gravelly morning rasp that sent a subtle shiver down my spine. He poured himself a cup and leaned his lower back against the marble island, his dark eyes fixed on mine.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The elephant in the room was so massive it practically took up the entire kitchen.

"About last night..." I started, clearing my throat, trying desperately to sound grounded. "On the terrace."

Julian took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving my face. "What about it, Maya?"

"Was that... were we still following the script?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Or did Rule Number Three just get completely thrown out the window?"

Julian set his mug down on the counter with a quiet, deliberate tap. He took two steps closer to me, closing the distance between us until I had to tilt my chin up to look into his eyes.

"Rule Number Three was written to protect a business transaction," Julian said softly, his thumb reaching out to lightly trace the curve of my jaw, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. "Last night had nothing to do with business, Maya. And you know it."

My breath hitched. "Julian..."

Before I could say anything more, the high-pitched chime of Julian’s phone on the counter shattered the moment.

Julian closed his eyes for a brief second, exhaling a quiet, frustrated breath before reaching over to check the screen. The moment his eyes scanned the display, his relaxed posture hardened into cold steel.

"What is it?" I asked, sensing the sudden shift in temperature.

Without a word, Julian turned the phone toward me.

On the screen was the front page of a major entertainment and financial news outlet, featuring a crystal-clear, high-definition photograph of us on the terrace last night. The image caught the exact moment Julian had pulled me close, our faces inches apart under the moonlight.

The headline above it read:

"REAL ROMANCE OR CORPORATE DISTRACTION? VANCE GLOBAL CEO SPOTTED IN INTIMATE EMBRACE WITH UNKNOWN LOGISTICS HEIRESS MIDST $10M WIRE FRAUD RUMORS."

"Richard," I breathed, reading through the article summary. "He leaked the wire transfer story to the press anyway."

"He didn't just leak it," Julian said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy tone. "He twisted the narrative. He's making it sound like I used Vance Global funds to finance your family's struggling company as a personal favor for my new mistress."

Anger surged through me, burning away the lingering tension of our kiss. "That's a complete lie! My father's debt was completely separate, and the land deal is a legitimate commercial asset!"

"Facts don't matter to the tabloids, Maya," Julian said, pacing toward the living room windows as he tapped his assistant’s number on his phone. "Richard knows that as long as the public views you as a temporary fling or a distraction, the board will question my judgment."

I followed him into the living room. "So how do we fix it?"

Julian paused, ending his call before it even went through. He turned around, looking at me with a sudden, sharp calculation in his eyes.

"We stop playing defense," Julian stated plainly. "Richard wants the public to think this is a cheap, scandalous affair that will burn out in a month. He wants investors to think I'm losing my focus."

"And how do we convince them otherwise?"

Julian walked up to me, a slow, confident smirk spreading across his face—a look that told me he was three moves ahead of everyone else in Manhattan.

"By proving that you aren't a distraction, Maya," Julian said softly. "By showing them that you are the only woman who holds my attention."

I frowned, confused. "Julian, we just did the gala. Every reporter in the city saw us together."

"The gala was a work event," Julian countered. "It was formal, staged, and expected. The press wants to see real life. They want to see if Julian Vance—the man who hasn't taken a vacation or a personal day in seven years—actually cares about someone."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying," Julian whispered, leaning down so his face was level with mine, "that today, you and I are taking the day off. No corporate boards, no lawyers, no contracts."

I blinked, thoroughly stunned. "Take the day off? Julian, your uncle is actively trying to ruin your reputation in the press right now!"

"And my media team is already handling the official statements," Julian replied smoothly. "If I spend today locked in a boardroom panicking, Richard wins. If I spend today taking my fiancée on a quiet, personal date in public, it sends a clear message to Wall Street: Julian Vance is completely unfazed, completely in control, and completely devoted to his partner."

My heart did a strange, fluttery flip at the word fiancée.

"A real date?" I asked, my voice laced with skepticism and a rising tide of excitement. "You want to go on a date just to outsmart your uncle?"

Julian reached out, taking my hand in his. His fingers brushed over my knuckles with a gentle, deliberate pressure that made my skin tingle.

"I want to outsmart my uncle," Julian admitted, his dark eyes softening as he looked down at me. "But more than that... I want to take you out. No cameras, no business motives, no fake smiles for the shareholders. Just you and me."

I looked at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but found only absolute certainty. The cold, ruthless billionaire who had intimidated an entire room of directors two days ago was looking at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

"Alright," I whispered, a genuine smile breaking across my lips. "Where are you taking me, Mr. Vance?"

Julian’s smirk broadened into a breathtaking, dangerous smile. "Put on something comfortable, Maya. We're getting out of the city."

An hour later, instead of the heavy black Maybach or a motorcade of security SUVs, Julian pulled up to the penthouse private elevator exit driving a sleek, vintage silver Aston Martin.

He wore a tailored dark blue jacket over a black sweater, looking like a Hollywood star trying to slip under the radar. As I climbed into the leather passenger seat wearing a simple sweater and jeans, the contrast between our usual corporate suits and this low-key escape felt almost surreal.

"Where are we going?" I asked as the garage gates opened and the sports car roared out into the late morning Manhattan traffic.

"Long Island," Julian said, shifting gears with practiced ease. "I have a private cottage near the coast in Montauk. No press, no board members, no phone calls."

I leaned back against the headrest, watching the tall skyscrapers of the city give way to open highways and trees as we headed east. For the first time in months, the heavy weight of my father's debt and the constant anxiety of the corporate war seemed to lift from my chest.

Beside me, Julian reached across the center console, his hand finding mine and resting over my fingers on the gear shift. He didn't say anything, but the steady warmth of his grip said more than enough.

We were driving straight into dangerous territory—not because of Richard or the media, but because with every mile we put between us and Manhattan, the line between fake engagement and real love was disappearing completely.

And for the first time since I signed that contract, I didn't want to turn back.