Chapter 2
The sudden physical confrontation between Julian and Clara left the grand dining room breathless. The two security consultants who had accompanied Julian stepped half an inch forward before a subtle flick of Julian’s wrist ordered them to stay back. Clara did not flinch. Despite the bruising pressure of Julian’s fingers wrapped around her bicep, her gaze remained steady, a dangerous glint flickering behind her meticulously made-up eyes. She smoothed the front of her sequin gown with her free hand, a gesture of supreme, chilling control.
“Let go of me, Julian,” Clara said, her tone smooth, devoid of fear. “Your dramatics are entirely unsuited for the company we are trying to impress tonight. Or have you forgotten that the board members are waiting in the east wing?”
Julian did not release her. If anything, his grip tightened, the tendons in his forearm standing out in sharp relief. He leaned in closer, bringing his face inches from hers. The scent of scotch and expensive cologne washed over her.
“The board can wait in hell,” Julian hissed, his voice dropping to a register meant only for her ears. “You used a phrase tonight that only one person in this world ever used. Sarah used it. Right before she vanished. Clara, you look me in the eye and tell me how a woman who supposedly entered my life three years after my wife’s death knows the exact phrasing Sarah used when she was angry.”
Clara gave a faint, chilling smile, tilting her head slightly. The diamonds at her throat caught the light, sending fractured rainbows across the wallpaper.
“People talk, Julian. Servants gossip. Diaries are left unlocked in dusty drawers,” Clara whispered back, her voice dripping with calculated indifference. “Or perhaps you simply underestimate how well I study the ghosts of the women who came before me. After all, someone has to keep this empire afloat while you drown in your memories.”
From the corner of the room, little Lily whimpered, finally retreating under the table, clutching a broken piece of a porcelain saucer she had knocked over during the initial struggle. The maid quickly rushed forward, lifting the child into her arms and carrying her out of the room through the side service door, eager to escape the suffocating vortex of the family’s war.
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Julian stared at Clara for a long, agonizing moment, searching her features for any sign of a crack in her composure. Finding none, he shoved her back into her chair with a sharp motion of disgust.
“This conversation is far from over,” Julian warned, turning on his heel.
