MY HEART ROB.

MY HEART ROB

CHAPTER FOUR

The shift from the quiet mountains to the suffocating opulence of Chicago felt like stepping back into a cage. For months, Elara and Julian had lived in a world of their own making, but the "North Star" project gala had brought the walls of their past crashing back down.

As Elara stood in the grand atrium, her emerald silk dress felt like armor. Her father, Silas Vance, stood a few feet away, sipping a dry martini. He was a man who measured success in bloodlines and bank balances. To him, the Vance heiress marrying a "landscaper" was a structural failure he intended to fix.

"He’s a gardener, Elara," Silas said, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. "A man who plays in the dirt has no place in a boardroom. Or in your bed. You have obligations. Marcus Sterling is waiting for you in the VIP lounge. The merger between our firms depends on your marriage to him. It’s been settled since you were eighteen."

"I am not a piece of real estate to be merged, Dad," Elara whispered, her knuckles white as she gripped her champagne flute.

"You are a Vance," Silas countered, his eyes cold as flint. "And Julian Thorne is a nobody. If you pursue this, I will strip your name from every project we own. You’ll be building doghouses in the suburbs."

Elara looked across the room. Julian was standing by a cluster of ferns, looking uncharacteristically stiff in a tuxedo. But it wasn't just the suit. There was a shadow behind his eyes that she hadn't seen in the mountains. He looked... hunted.

What Silas Vance didn't know—and what Elara was about to find out—was that Julian Thorne was far from a "nobody."

Julian’s father, Lorenzo Thorne, moved through the crowd like a shark in dark waters. The Thornes weren't just "well-off"; they were the silent architects of the city’s underground. They dealt in things far heavier than soil and stone.

Julian felt his father’s hand heavy on his shoulder. "You’re playing a dangerous game, son," Lorenzo murmured, his eyes scanning the room for threats.

"I love her, Pop," Julian said, his jaw tight.

"That’s exactly why you have to leave her," Lorenzo hissed. "The Vances are clean. Their money is white. Ours... isn't. If the Outfit finds out you’re tied to a Vance, she becomes a target. She’s a bargaining chip in a game she doesn't even know is being played. If you truly love that girl, you’ll stay in your world and let her stay in hers. Don't bring the blood to her doorstep."

The tension peaked near the end of the night. Elara found Julian in a secluded hallway behind the conservatory’s waterfall. The roar of the water masked their voices.

"My father is threatening to disown me," Elara said, her voice shaking. "He wants me to marry Marcus. He thinks you're just a poor boy with a shovel.""My father is threatening to disown me," Elara said, her voice shaking. "He wants me to marry Marcus. He thinks you're just a poor boy with a shovel."

Julian let out a bitter, hollow laugh. He stepped into the shadows, pulling her with him. He pressed her against the cool stone wall, his hands framing her face. "I wish I was, Elara. I wish I was just a poor guy. At least then, the only thing we’d have to fight is your father’s ego."

"What are you talking about?"

"My family," Julian breathed, his forehead resting against hers. "We aren't just 'rich.' My father runs the Thorne Syndicate. The landscaping, the projects... it’s all a front to keep me away from the business. But I can't hide who I am forever. If I stay with you, I put a bullseye on your back. My father told me tonight—if I don't walk away, the people we work with will use you to get to him."

Elara felt the world tilt. She had spent her life fearing emotional chaos, only to find herself trapped between two empires: one built on corporate greed and the other on cold-blooded power.

"So that's it?" Elara asked, her eyes burning with tears. "You’re a prince of the underworld and I’m a princess of the boardroom, and we’re supposed to just play our parts?"

Julian’s grip on her tightened. He kissed her then, a hard, desperate kiss that tasted of heartbreak and defiance. His hands moved down her back, pulling her flush against him, reminding her of the heat they had shared in the trailer.

"No," Julian whispered against her lips. "I’ve spent my life making things grow where they shouldn't. I’m not giving up on us."

"My father will destroy my career," she said.

"And my family will try to 'protect' me by pushing you away," he countered. "But they forget one thing."

"What?"

"We built this building together," Julian said, looking up at the massive glass dome above them. "It’s reinforced. It’s built to withstand the pressure. We do the same. We take your money, my connections, and we build a third world. One where they can't touch us."

"A heist," Elara whispered, a wild, reckless light entering her eyes. "You want to steal my inheritance and run your family’s business into the ground."

"I want to steal you," Julian corrected, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "And I don't care how much blood or money it costs."

The "heartrob" was no longer a flutter of nerves. It was a war drum. Elara looked at the man who was both her greatest risk and her only sanctuary. She realized that the straight lines of her old life were gone forever, replaced by the dangerous, beautiful curves of a life on the run.

"So," Elara said, straightening her emerald dress and reaching for Julian’s hand. "Where do we start the demolition?"

Julian smiled, the dangerous, hungry look returning to his face. "We start by giving your fiancé and my father a night they’ll never forget."

Hand in hand, the heiress and the mobster’s son walked back into the gala—not as partners in a project, but as architects of a revolution.