Savannah hadn't spoken to Julian since the night Damien was suspended.
She'd left the Tower before dawn, slipping out while the rest of the city still slept. There was no goodbye, no note, no trace of the heat they'd shared when the world had nearly burned down around them.
Now, two days later, her phone buzzed with a message from him.
Julian: Dinner. 8 p.m. My place. We need to talk.
She stared at the screen for a long time.
Then typed back: If this is a trap, bring wine.
His penthouse glowed like something out of a luxury magazine—walls of glass, minimalist elegance, the city sprawled beneath them like a kingdom. She stepped in wearing her armor: black jeans, boots, and a jacket that said she wouldn't be staying long.
Julian looked up from where he stood in the open-concept kitchen. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled, barefoot.
"Thanks for coming."
"I didn't say I'd stay."
A smile tugged at his mouth. "You're consistent."
"You're manipulative."
He handed her a glass of red wine. "Then we're even."
She took it but didn't sip. "Is this some kind of peace offering?"
"No," he said. "It's a ceasefire."
"Those don't usually last."
He held her gaze. "They do when both sides want to survive."
Dinner was quiet.
Not awkward—just full of unspoken things. Grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and a bottle of Bordeaux that probably cost more than her rent.
Savannah picked at her plate. "This is surprisingly normal."
"Would you prefer something more dramatic? I could set something on fire."
"Too soon," she deadpanned.
He chuckled.
She hated how much she liked that sound.
After dinner, he led her to the sitting area, poured more wine, and turned down the lights. The space was soft shadows, warm tones.
"Why am I here, Julian?"
"Because you're the only person I trust to tell me the truth."
She blinked. "That's a problem."
He tilted his head. "Why?"
"Because I don't trust you."
The words hung in the air between them.
He didn't flinch. "Good. Then we're honest."
She folded her arms. "Don't get sentimental. You just burned your brother and threw him under the bus to save yourself."
His expression darkened. "I exposed him because he's dangerous."
"And you're not?"
Silence.
Then: "I can be. But not to you."
She stood abruptly, pacing toward the windows. The skyline blinked back at her, cold and glittering.
"You keep saying that. And every time, I wonder if I'm the fool for believing it."
He rose but didn't move closer. "You think I'm playing you?"
"I think I don't know who you really are."
Julian exhaled through his nose. "Fair."
Savannah turned. "You're a billionaire who saves me from a fire one day and drops threats in silk the next. You're a man who claims he wants transparency but won't tell me why your father left you the company and not Damien. Or why you haven't exposed all the skeletons you're clearly hiding."
"You think I'm hiding things?"
"I know you are."
His mouth tightened. "My father built Thorne Enterprises on secrets. I inherited the empire—and the mess."
"Then burn it down."
"I've thought about it," he said quietly. "But you don't set fire to a building with people still inside."
Their eyes locked again.
She hated how he said things like that. Like he meant them.
Hated how a part of her wanted to believe he wasn't the villain.
Savannah shook her head. "I'm not here to fix you."
"I'm not asking you to."
"But you want me to trust you."
"Yes."
She set her glass down. "Then give me a reason."
He stepped toward her, slow, measured.
"I'll show you something," he said.
She tensed. "If it's another attempt to seduce me, save your breath."
He smirked. "Trust me—this will have the opposite effect."
He led her to a locked room near the back of the penthouse. Entered a code. The door clicked open.
It was a vault.
No gold. No jewelry.
Just shelves of documents. Photos. Tapes.
Evidence.
"My father kept files on everyone," Julian said. "Political blackmail. Corporate deals. Bribes. He called it his insurance policy."
Savannah moved through the shelves, heart racing. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because you're right. I've been hiding things. But not to protect myself—to protect the people who don't know how deep this rot goes."
She glanced at him. "Including Damien?"
Julian's jaw worked. "He was always reckless. But after our father died, he changed. Paranoid. Violent. Obsessed with control."
"And you just let it happen?"
"I tried to rein him in. Tried to cut him off quietly. He retaliated."
Savannah turned away. "This isn't some tragic family drama, Julian. People almost died."
"I know," he said, sharp. "I watched you walk out of a burning building and realized I couldn't protect anyone if I kept pretending we could fix this."
He moved closer.
"You want honesty? Here it is—I don't sleep. I don't trust half the people I work with. And every time I let you in, I wonder if I'm giving you the ammunition to destroy me."
She turned, breath catching. "And yet you keep letting me in."
"Because you're the only person who doesn't lie to me."
Her throat tightened.
The air crackled.
But still—no kiss. No sweeping gestures.
Just the unbearable tension of truth shared in a vault full of ghosts.
They returned to the living room. Savannah didn't sit this time. She hovered, nerves thrumming.
"I can't promise you anything," she said finally. "Not loyalty. Not safety. Not forgiveness."
"I'm not asking for any of that."
"Then what do you want?"
He looked at her like the question itself hurt.
"Time."
Her chest ached.
"I don't know if I can give you that," she said softly.
Julian nodded once. "Then just don't leave yet."
She turned, heading for the door. Paused with her hand on the handle.
"I won't stay the night," she said. "But I haven't run yet either."
She left before he could answer.
Back at Ava's apartment, Savannah dropped onto the couch.
Ava walked in wearing bunny slippers and a face mask. "So… on a scale of one to ten, how emotionally destabilizing was it?"
"Seven. Maybe eight."
"Did you sleep with him?"
Savannah shot her a look. "No. And stop rooting for that."
Ava flopped beside her. "I'm rooting for clarity. And hot billionaires, if applicable."
Savannah laughed despite herself. "He showed me his father's blackmail vault."
Ava blinked. "Wow. Sexy."
"Not even a little. But… honest."
"Which makes it sexier?"
"Stop."
Ava grinned. "Okay, but seriously. Do you trust him now?"
Savannah stared at the ceiling. "No. But I believe him a little more than I did yesterday."
Ava handed her the TV remote. "That's either growth or emotional sabotage. Either way, popcorn?"
"Please."
But as the night wore on and the apartment went quiet, Savannah couldn't stop thinking about the vault. About Julian's voice in the dark.
"You're the only person who doesn't lie to me."
She didn't trust him.
Not yet.
But she wasn't ready to walk away either.
And that scared her more than anything.