Julian’s POV
I didn’t go back to the hotel to sleep. I went back because the suite felt like a hollow shell without the sharp, persistent energy Chloe brought into every room. When she’d sent that text—feeling unwell—my first instinct was irritation. I didn't hire an assistant to be "unwell." But as I sat in the boardroom, staring at the empty chair beside me, the irritation had transmuted into something colder. A restlessness that felt dangerously like concern.
I didn't care about the investors or their lukewarm platitudes. My mind was back in the suite the night before, watching her face soften as she talked about hydrangeas, seeing the way she looked at me—not as a boss, but as a person.
I didn't knock. I used the master keycard.
The room was bathed in the bruising purple of the
