POV: Third Person Limited (Julian)

The safehouse wasn't a penthouse. It was a converted bomb shelter beneath a defunct textile factory in East London. It smelled of ozone, old coffee, and stale pizza.

"You look like you've been on a date with a brick wall," a voice chirped from behind a wall of monitors.

Jax spun around in his ergonomic chair. He was the antithesis of the Thorne family. Messy red hair, a T-shirt that read I Paused My Game to Be Here, and grease stains on his jeans. He was twenty-three, a genius, and arguably the most annoying person Julian knew.

"Harrison sent a greeting party," Julian said, walking over to the holographic map table in the center of the room. "Is the intel ready?"

"Is the Pope Catholic? Does a bear sh-yes, it's ready," Jax grinned, taking a bite of a cold slice of pepperoni pizza. "Also, you're trending on Twitter. #TheReturnOf ThePrince. People are going wild. Half of them think you're a clone, the other half want to have your babies. It's hilarious."

Kai was in the corner, cleaning a combat knife. He didn't look up. "Focus, Jax."

"Right, right. Focus." Jax tapped his keyboard. The main screen lit up with a complex web of bank accounts.

"Okay, Boss. I dug into the Thorne Corp offshore accounts like you asked. It's messy. Harrison has been siphoning money to a shell company in the Caymans called 'Obsidian Lotus.' But here's the kicker-he's not the only signatory."

Julian leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "Who else?"

"Lord Alistair, obviously. But there's a third signature. It's encrypted, but I traced the IP routing." Jax's playful demeanor vanished. "It routes back to the Sterling Estate."

Julian froze. "Isolde's father?"

"Maybe," Jax shrugged. "Or Isolde herself."

Silence descended on the room. The air grew heavy.

"She's not involved," Julian said, his voice low and dangerous.

"Boss," Kai warned from the corner, finally looking up. "Don't let your dick do the thinking. She's a Sterling. They've been bedfellows with the Thornes for decades."

"She was sold to Harrison," Julian argued, though a seed of doubt planted itself in his gut. "She hates him."

"Hate and money are good neighbors," Jax quipped. "Look, all I'm saying is, be careful. This 'Obsidian Lotus' account is funding some dark stuff. Private militias, weapons shipments, and... something called Project Aether."

"Project Aether?"

"No idea. But it's eating up millions."

Julian straightened up. The complexity of the game had just increased. If Isolde was involved in the corruption, he would have to destroy her too. The thought made his chest tighten painfully.

"Print the ledger," Julian commanded. "I have a board meeting to crash tomorrow morning. If they want to play dirty, let's show them what filth really looks like."

Jax saluted with a pizza crust. "Aye aye, Captain Chaos."

POV: First Person (Julian)

The Thorne Corporation headquarters was a monument to ego. Fifty stories of steel piercing the London sky.

I walked through the lobby wearing a suit that cost more than most people's cars-a three-piece navy blue bespoke number that emphasized the width of my shoulders. Kai walked a step behind me, carrying a silver briefcase.

Security didn't stop me. They stared. The rumors had spread. The Ghost was back.

I took the private elevator to the top floor. The doors slid open to reveal the boardroom. Glass walls, a mahogany table long enough to land a plane on, and twelve old men and women who controlled the British economy.

At the head of the table sat my father, Lord Alistair. To his right, Harrison.

Harrison looked tired. Dark circles bruised his eyes. Good.

"You can't be in here," Harrison stood up, his voice cracking. "Security!"

"Sit down, Harrison," I said, my voice calm, projecting effortlessly across the room. "You look pathetic."

I walked to the other end of the table. A heavy-set man, Mr. Henderson, was sitting in my chair.

I didn't say a word. I just looked at him. I let the silence stretch, let the predator's intent leak out of me. Henderson, a man who had broken unions and toppled governments, swallowed hard. He grabbed his papers and scrambled to a side chair.

I sat down. I placed my feet on the mahogany table, crossing my ankles.

"So," I smiled, looking around the terrified faces. "Who wants to tell me why our stock dropped 3% this morning? Or shall we discuss the 'Obsidian Lotus' accounts?"

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

My father's face went white. "How...?"

Kai stepped forward and slammed the silver briefcase onto the table. He opened it. It wasn't money. It was stacks of paper. Logs. Transcripts. Bank transfers.

"I have evidence of embezzlement, bribery of three MPs, and illegal arms dealings in Sudan," I lied. Well, partially lied. I had the embezzlement proof; the rest was a bluff. But fear makes people believe anything.

"If I release this to the press," I continued, checking my watch, "Thorne Corp stock becomes worthless by lunch. You all go to prison. Harrison here..." I pointed a finger at my brother, "probably gets shanked in the showers."

"What do you want, Julian?" my father rasped. He looked old suddenly. Defeated.

"I want the CEO position," I said. "Effective immediately."

"And?"

"And I want the Sterling merger to go through." I locked eyes with Harrison. "But not with Harrison. With me."

Harrison slammed his fist on the table. "She's mine! You can't just take her!"

"She was never yours, brother. You were just holding her place." I stood up, buttoning my jacket. "You have twenty-four hours to draft the paperwork. Or I burn this company to the ground."

I walked out. I didn't look back. Winners never do.

CHAPTER 8:

The Sterling Gallery in Mayfair was my kingdom. Here, I wasn't a pawn. I was the Queen.

I was supervising the installation of a new avant-garde exhibit-massive, twisted metal sculptures that looked like frozen explosions. It fit my mood.

"Isolde."

The voice came from the entrance. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was. My body reacted before my brain did. My pulse spiked, heat flushing through my veins.

Julian.

I turned slowly. He was leaning against a pristine white wall, looking like a dark stain on my perfect canvas. He wore a navy suit that fit him criminally well. His eyes were scanning me, undressing me.

I was wearing a simple cream cashmere sweater and a pencil skirt, my hair in a messy bun. I wasn't dressed for battle, but I raised my chin anyway.

"You're making a habit of invading my personal space, Julian."

"I like your space," he said, pushing off the wall and walking toward me. He moved like a panther-silent, predatory. "It smells like you."

"What do you want?"

"I just came from a board meeting. I'm the new CEO of Thorne Corp."

I blinked. "That's impossible. Alistair would never..."

"Alistair didn't have a choice. I held a gun to the company's head." He stopped in front of me, close enough that I had to crane my neck to look at him. He was so tall. So overwhelming.

"And there's a change in the merger agreement," he said softly.

My stomach dropped. "What change?"

"Harrison is out. I'm taking his place."

"In the company?"

"In the marriage."

The world spun. I took a step back, bumping into a sculpture. "You think you can just trade me? Like a... like a horse?"

"No," Julian said. He reached out, his hand wrapping around the nape of my neck, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin behind my ear. The touch was electric, possessive. "I'm not trading you, Isolde. I'm claiming you."

"I'm not a prize to be claimed!" I hissed, though I didn't pull away. I couldn't. His touch was hypnotic.

"Aren't you?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "You were going to marry a man you loathed for the sake of your family's shipping lanes. You sold yourself long ago, sweetheart. I'm just upgrading the buyer."

Fury and arousal warred inside me. He was arrogant. Cruel.

"I hate you," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Good," he murmured, his hand sliding from my neck down to my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the sheer masculine power. "Hate is passion. Hate is fire. I can work with hate."

He looked at my lips. For a second, I thought he would kiss me right there, in front of the gallery staff. I wanted him to. God help me, I wanted him to ruin me.

Instead, he pulled back, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Pick a dress for Friday," he said, turning to leave. "We have a wedding to plan."

I stood there, trembling, watching him walk away. I should run. I should flee the country. But as I watched his broad back, a terrifying realization settled in my heart.

I didn't want to run. I wanted to see what he would do next.