LAUREN'S POV
The terror was paralyzing. It rooted my feet to the pristine, blood-free rug the maids had just laid down, freezing the breath in my lungs. Julian stood over me, his towering frame is a wall of pure, lethal intimidation. His jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter, and his pitch-black eyes bore into mine, expecting me to cower. He expected me to cry, to beg, to play the victim like I assumed my sister always did.
But as his rough fingers dug into my jaw, something inside of me snapped.
Hot rage boiled up from the deepest pit of my stomach, overriding the fear. I had spent twenty-three years of my life being bullied, beaten down, and hated by my own blood. I had endured my mother's slaps and my father's cruel words. I had lived in the slums, scraping by, working until my hands bled just to be free of them. I refused to let an arrogant mobster treat me like dirt, even if I was wearing my sister's expensive shoes.
I was done being a punching bag.
I threw his hand off my chin. I didn't just pull away; I shoved him. I planted both of my palms flat against his solid, broad chest and pushed with every ounce of strength I had left in my exhausted body.
Julian stumbled back a few steps. It wasn't because I was stronger than him—he was a wall of pure muscle—but because of the sheer, unadulterated shock of the action.
"Don't ever touch me again," I spat, my voice laced with a venom that matched his own.
The silence in the room was loud. Julian just stared at me, his dark eyes wide with brief surprise before narrowing into a lethal glare.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Silas shift in the shadows. Even the stone-cold killer was a bit surprised, his eyebrows twitching upward, despite knowing full well that I wasn't Serena.
I didn't wait for Julian to recover. I turned on my heel and started stomping off, desperate to put distance between us before my trembling knees gave out.
I didn't make it three steps.
A large, bruising hand clamped around my wrist, hauling me backward so fast I nearly tripped over my own heels. Julian spun me around to face him, his chest heaving, his grip like a steel vice.
"Who said you can walk out on me?" he demanded, his voice slipping through as a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.
I didn't flinch. I tilted my head up, stared deep into his furious, stormy eyes, and bared my teeth.
"I did!" I yelled right back at him.
With a hard, violent yank, I withdrew my arm from his grasp. He let me go, perhaps too stunned to tighten his hold. I didn't look back. I stormed off down the sprawling, dimly lit hallway, my heels clicking furiously against the dark marble floors.
Once I was finally out of his sight, I ducked behind a thick pillar in the corridor and slumped against the cool wall. I pressed a hand flat against my chest, feeling my heart beating so fast and hard it physically hurt. I closed my eyes, dragging in ragged breaths.
What had I just done? I had just screamed at a man who could snap my neck with two fingers. But a sick, twisted part of me felt entirely alive. I hated him. I hated his arrogance, I hated his money, and I hated the way he looked at me.
After some time, my heart rate finally began to slow. I pushed myself off the wall. I didn't know the layout of this massive, cold penthouse, but I needed a place to hide.
Luckily, after two turns down a long corridor, I pushed open a set of heavy double doors and found the master bedroom.
The room was as cold and imposing as the man who owned it. It was massive, decorated in stark shades of charcoal, black, and silver.
A sprawling king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, covered in dark silk sheets that looked like they had never been slept in.
There were no photographs. No warm lighting. Just floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rainy, glittering skyline, and a terrifying sense of emptiness.
I walked past the bed and pushed open a frosted glass door, stepping into the closet.
My breath caught in my throat.
It wasn't a closet; it was a boutique. Rows upon rows of designer dresses, silk blouses, and fur coats lined the illuminated racks. On the other side were sharp, custom-tailored suits that undoubtedly belonged to Julian. In the center of the room sat a glass island displaying rows of sparkling jewelry, watches, and sunglasses. I walked over, wowing at the sheer luxury of it all. This was Serena's life. This was what she traded her soul for.
I opened one of the velvet drawers and picked up a heavy diamond bracelet. I draped it over my wrist, testing the weight of it. It felt cold against my skin. Like handcuffs.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the bedroom clicked open.
I froze. I heard Julian walk in, his deep, rough voice echoing through the massive room. He was on a phone call.
"I don't care what it costs, handle it," Julian was saying, his tone dripping with absolute authority. "If he steps out of line again, break both his legs."
A shiver ran down my spine. I quickly pulled the bracelet off, carefully placing it back in its velvet groove. I adjusted the neckline of my dress, took a deep breath, and quietly walked back out into the bedroom.
Julian was standing near the doorway, his back to me as he finished his call. I moved silently toward the opposite side of the bed. As I did, my eyes landed on a sleek smartphone resting on the bedside table on the side of the bed.
I assumed it was Serena's. I picked it up.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Julian end his call and begin to unbutton his dress shirt, tossing his suit jacket over a nearby chair. I turned my back to him, shielding the phone with my body.
I tapped the screen. It prompted for a passcode, but a small padlock icon at the top of the screen was scanning for Face ID. I held it up to my face, holding my breath.
Click. It opened surprisingly. Serena and I really were identical down to the bone.
My fingers moved quickly. If Serena was missing, maybe she left a clue. I went straight to her call history. It was completely cleared.
Every single call, wiped clean. Except for one.
A missed call that had come in exactly an hour ago. It was from a number that wasn't saved in her contacts.
My heart did a strange flutter. Did this have something to do with the blood in the living room?
As I tried sliding my thumb to open the message app, a deep, mocking voice cut through the silence of the room.
"You are not sleeping here, are you?"
I jumped, nearly dropping the phone. I quickly hit the lock button and tossed it back onto the nightstand, turning around to face him.
Julian was standing a few feet away, holding a crystal glass of amber whiskey I hadn't noticed earlier. His dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing a hard, scarred chest that caught me off guard for a fraction of a second. But his eyes were as cruel and mocking as ever.
I lifted my chin, meeting his stormy gaze head-on. "Don't flatter yourself, Julian. I'd rather sleep in the gutter than share a room with you."
Julian froze.
The glass of whiskey in his hand halted halfway to his mouth. For a long, suffocating moment, the bedroom was completely silent.
The only sound was the heavy rain lashing against the floor-to-ceiling windows.
His eyes narrowed. A flash of sudden, dark shock crossed his sharp features, but it didn't last. It quickly morphed into something else. Something dark, predatory, and filled with dangerous intrigue. He slowly lowered his glass.
He stepped closer. My instincts screamed at me to run, but I stood my ground. He took another step, and another, crowding my space until I was forced to step back. My bare shoulders hit the cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling window. There was nowhere left to go. Julian planted a hand on the glass right beside my head, trapping me in his shadow. The scent of him—rich cologne, rain, and dark whiskey—clouded my senses.
"Excuse me?" he said softly. The danger in his tone was absolute, vibrating through the small space between us.
"You heard me," I snapped, my voice shaking slightly despite my best efforts to control it. I kept my eyes locked fiercely on his, refusing to look away, projecting every ounce of hatred I felt for this twisted situation directly at him. "If you hate me so much, don't touch me. Stay the hell away from me."
Instead of flying into a rage, a slow, wicked smirk curved his cruel lips. It was a terrifying sight.
He lifted his free hand. He reached up, his large, calloused thumb tracing the sharp line of my jaw. He pressed just hard enough to keep me pinned, the roughness of his skin scraping against mine.
The touch sent an unwanted, electric shock straight to my core. My breath hitched, my chest rising and falling rapidly against the minimal space between our bodies. I hated the way my skin burned under his touch. I loathed him with everything in me, yet my body was betraying me with a terrifying awareness of the man trapping me against the glass.
Julian's gaze dropped to my lips for a fleeting second before returning to my eyes. The pure animosity in his stare was shifting, clouding over with a dark, consuming curiosity.
"What happened to my dearest wife overnight?" he murmured, leaning in until his breath was hot against my cheek.
I swallowed hard, unable to speak.
His thumb stroked my jawline once more, his black eyes searching mine for an answer I couldn't give.
"Who are you?" he says darkly, "And what have you done to my wife?"