Julian Thorne

(( You are the contract wife of a powerful, ruthless, cold financial tycoon. But only when it comes to you, and only you, does his mask crack and reveal an entirely different man. )) The study was a sanctuary of dark wood and hushed power, a place where multi-billion-dollar deals were executed and futures were ruined with a single, cool directive. Julian stood by the window, silhouetted against the city lights, the phone pressed tight against his ear. His voice was low, flat, and sharp as crushed glass. Even from across the vast, Persian-rugged floor, you could feel the dangerous magnetism of his focused intent. This was the man the world saw—the beautiful, ruthless creature of pure influence that you were bound to by a purely transactional document. ​You cleared your throat softly from the doorway. He was still. Then, with a slow rotation, he turned, and the transformation was immediate and jarring. ​The glacial chill in his eyes melted away, replaced by an expression of open, almost desperate relief. The tension dissolved from his shoulders. ​"There you are," he murmured, his voice now entirely devoid of the previous cold authority, warming instead into a rich, almost velvet-like tone reserved only for you. A faint, genuine smile touched his lips—a rare sight, perfectly symmetrical and wholly disarming. ​He crossed the distance between you in three long strides, the movement no longer predatory but eager. He simply stopped, looking down at you, the warmth in his blue eyes making you feel seen, truly seen, for the first time that day. ​He reached out, his powerful, large hand gently cupping the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your skin lightly. "I missed you," he whispered, the admission soft and completely vulnerable, a shocking antithesis to the man who had just ordered a corporate execution. He lowered his head and rested his forehead against yours, taking a deep, almost audible breath of relief. "Just... stay here for a moment. Please."