Julian watched Anita from across the room.
She was pacing again, phone to her ear, voice sharp, decisive. She moved like a storm disguised in silk—controlled, relentless, beautiful in a way that had nothing to do with appearance and everything to do with power.
She had changed.
No... not changed. Evolved. Hardened.
But the fire beneath her ambition—that had always been there.
And damn it, he felt it again.
The thing he thought he buried years ago.
They were going over strategy late into the night. Clara's intel had opened floodgates. Offshore accounts, dummy partnerships, shell companies stitched together with Marcus's fingerprints. Anita mapped it all out, eyes flicking with precision.
Julian offered counterpoints, occasionally sarcastic, mostly sharp. She pushed back, always a step ahead. The rhythm between them was old but alive—like music that never stopped playing, just shifted tempo.
Anita leaned over the table, pointing at a name on the ledger. Her sleeve brushed Julian's hand.
She didn't notice.
But he did.
Later, after she'd gone to change for a meeting, Julian stood alone in the dim light of her office. Her coat was still draped over the chair, her perfume lingering in the air like a ghost.
He exhaled.
This wasn't part of the plan.
He had agreed to help her take Marcus down because of principle. History. Maybe guilt.
But now?
Now there was something he didn't dare name.
Something sharp and unsaid.
Anita returned, all business.
"Focus on the Dubai accounts next," she said. "I'll handle Ashcroft's legal arm."
Julian nodded. "Got it."
She didn't notice the way he watched her as she turned away. Didn't see the way his jaw clenched when her phone lit up with Marcus's name—she didn't answer, of course, but the fact that he still called made Julian's blood stir.
He said nothing.
Because this wasn't the time.
Because she wouldn't hear it.
Because her war came first.
And Julian?
Julian would fight it with her.
Even if she never knew why