Chapter 1 - The Cold Marble
The silence hanging in the penthouse was thick and suffocating, fractured only by Elena’s ragged breathing. She stayed curled on the freezing white marble, both arms shielding her swollen belly like a fortress under siege. Above her, Julian stood with fists clenched inside his tailored jacket pockets, every muscle in his neck coiled tight. Across the open floor plan, Julian’s stepbrother Mateo and his cousin Sofia stood frozen, trapped under the icy authority of the master of the house.
Sofia’s glittering silver mini dress seemed ridiculous under the stark gallery lighting. Her chest heaved, her defiance crumbling into genuine terror as she registered Julian’s words. He had never spoken to them with such absolute contempt.
"Pack your things," Julian repeated, his voice low, steady, and deadly. "Both of you. By midnight, your fingerprints will not exist on anything inside this building."
"Julian, you’re losing your mind over an accident!" Mateo shouted, throwing his hands up in a desperate bid to shield Sofia. "Sofia didn’t even push her that hard! Elena tripped over her own feet! You’re throwing blood family out on the street for a woman who married you for your empire!"
Julian didn’t yell. He didn’t step forward. He merely reached down, sliding one arm beneath Elena’s trembling shoulders and the other under her knees. He lifted her effortlessly against his chest. Elena winced, burying her face into his lapel, whispering broken words of worry for their unborn child.
"Mrs. Torres," Julian directed toward the trembling housekeeper standing near the kitchen counter. "Call Dr. Vance. Tell him to bring his ultrasound equipment directly up the private elevator."
"Yes, Mr. Sterling immediately," the woman murmured, vanishing down the corridor.
Julian carried Elena toward the master suite, pausing just past the foyer where security guards had already gathered at the threshold. "If they are still standing on my property when the elevator doors open again," Julian murmured without glancing back, "throw them down the fire escape."
Thirty minutes later, the private bedroom was dim. Dr. Vance wiped the gel across Elena’s stomach, his brow furrowed as the steady rhythm of a fetal heartbeat filled the room. Elena let out a broken sob of relief, her fingers digging into Julian’s sleeve.
"The child is stable, Julian," Dr. Vance said quietly, packing his monitor. "However, the placenta suffered minor stress. Elena requires absolute bed rest. No shocks. No stress."
Julian nodded once, escorting the physician to the double doors. As the doctor departed, Julian’s head of security, Marcus, stepped into the hallway, extending a sleek black tablet.
May you like
"Mr. Sterling," Marcus whispered, his face drawn. "We pulled the penthouse surveillance logs from before you entered. It wasn’t an argument about inheritance."
Julian glanced down at the screen. On the playback, Sofia hadn’t merely struck Elena—she had leaned down, deliberately forcing a tiny, unlabeled vial of amber liquid into the designer purse sitting on Elena’s nightstand.
