Chapter 4 - A Phone Call From The Foundation Tower
The silence in Julian’s kitchen felt heavy, weighed down by the afternoon light cutting through the blinds and casting sharp stripes across the white quartz counter. I stood by the sink, holding a half-empty glass of cold water. My fingers were still stiff from how tightly I had gripped the hanger back at the boutique, clutching the burgundy sequined gown as if its sequins could armor me against everything Dominic represented.
Across the room, the burgundy dress rested neatly over the back of Julian’s gray sofa, the white paper tag tucked carefully out of sight. Julian leaned against the refrigerator frame, his black shirtsleeves rolled up to his forearms, watching me with a steady, grounding intensity. He didn’t push me to talk. He had given me space to breathe, letting the panic subside into a cold, hard clarity.
Then, the world shattered.
A sharp, familiar chime cut through the quiet. It wasn't a standard ringtone; it was the custom alert I had assigned years ago to the primary line connecting directly to Dominic’s office at the foundation tower downtown.
My breath hitched. The glass in my hand tilted, water sloshing against the rim. I froze, staring down at the screen of my phone lying face-up on the marble island.
Dominic.
The display glowed with the stark black-and-white lettering of his name, accompanied by the building prefix. My heart hammered against my ribs, a sudden, violent thumping that felt loud enough for Julian to hear across the kitchen. The ticking clock of our lives had just accelerated. If I didn't answer within three rings, his security team or his personal assistant would start calling my friends, checking local venues, pulling favors to locate me. Dominic did not tolerate missing persons, least of all when he expected me at his side for an evening obligation.
"Don't panic," Julian said quietly, his voice a low, steady anchor cutting through the rising tide of my terror. He pushed off the refrigerator and took two measured steps toward the island, keeping his eyes locked on mine. "Look at me. You're just downtown. You're handling an errand."
"He'll know," I whispered, my voice trembling as I stared at the flashing screen. "If my voice shakes even a fraction of a percent, he'll know I'm not at the bookstore."
"Then don't let it shake," Julian replied, his tone brooking no argument, yet filled with an unexpected warmth. He reached out and lightly touched the back of my hand where it rested beside the phone. His skin was warm, a physical reminder that I was standing in a real room with a real ally, miles away from the cold marble halls of Dominic's estate. "Take a breath. Let it drop once. Then pick it up."
The phone vibrated against the stone counter for the second time, the harsh buzz rattling the glass.
I closed my eyes, inhaled slowly through my nose as Julian had taught me minutes ago, and forced my shoulders to drop. When I opened my eyes, the panic was still there, but I had caged it. I reached down, snatched the phone off the counter, and pressed accept before the fourth ring could trigger his automated voicemail.
"Dominic," I said, pitching my voice to sound flat, tired, and entirely ordinary. I leaned against the counter, injecting a weary sigh into the opening syllable.
"Where are you?" His voice came through the speaker—rich, commanding, entirely devoid of warmth, carrying the acoustic echo of the high-floor executive suite at the foundation tower. "I’ve had your assistant trying your direct line for twenty minutes. We have the donor dinner at the Westin in less than three hours, and your stylist called to say you hadn't finalized your fitting."
The lie sat heavy on my tongue, sharp and dangerous.
"I'm sorry, Dominic," I murmured, staring directly at Julian, who stood silent and watchful just a few feet away. "My car wouldn't start outside the bookstore on Fifth. I had to wait for a mobile mechanic to come out and jump the battery. I'm heading back now."
A pause stretched down the line—a heavy, calculating silence where I knew he was weighing my words, testing them for flaws. Every instinct screamed that he could hear the lie, that he knew I was hiding the burgundy dress, hiding the truth, hiding him.
"A dead battery," Dominic repeated, the skepticism dripping slowly from his syllables. "You've been neglecting that vehicle. I told you last month we needed to replace it with the fleet sedan."
"It's fine now," I managed to say, forcing a small, dry chuckle that felt like glass scraping against my throat. "Just a minor delay. I'll be at the townhouse in thirty minutes to change."
"Don't be late," he said, the command absolute. "The board members will be arriving early. Wear the navy silk. The one I bought in Milan."
He didn't wait for me to say goodbye. The line clicked dead, the dial tone buzzing softly before cutting off into silence.
I let out a long, ragged breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, my knees suddenly weak. I dropped the phone onto the counter and pressed my palms against the cold marble, staring down at my reflection in the polished surface.
Julian stepped closer, his hand coming to rest firmly and protectively between my shoulder blades, tracing a slow, grounding circle.
"You did it," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear.
May you like
"Thirty minutes," I whispered, looking up to meet his intense, unwavering gaze. "That's all the time we have before I have to walk back into the lion's den."
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