The silence in the penthouse was deafening. Savannah sat rigid on the edge of the velvet settee, her arms folded tightly across her chest, trying not to flinch every time Julian moved across the room. He had discarded his suit jacket—his once-pristine white shirt was singed at the hem, and a bruise was forming on his jaw. It made him look less like a billionaire CEO and more like a man just barely keeping it together.
"I didn't set the fire, if that's what you're thinking," Julian said without looking at her.
"I didn't say you did."
"You didn't have to."
Savannah let the accusation roll past her. He was unraveling, and she couldn't afford to be the one who picked up the pieces—not when she still didn't know where they landed. Not when Damien's cryptic threats still echoed in her mind.
"I need to talk to Ava," she said instead. "She's probably worried sick."
Julian turned to face her, his jaw ticking. "Your phone was destroyed in the fire. Use the landline."
She arched a brow. "Of course you have a landline. Old-school surveillance and all."
He didn't rise to the bait. "You really think I'm trying to control you?"
"I think I don't know what to believe anymore," she snapped, standing. "You say one thing, your brother says another. Then your office goes up in flames right after I ask too many questions. What am I supposed to think?"
"That maybe this world is more dangerous than you realized," he said quietly. "And that you're not nearly as safe as you think you are."
The words settled like lead in her stomach. There was truth in them, too much of it.
She stepped toward the phone and called Ava. The moment her best friend answered, relief washed through Savannah's tense frame.
"Savannah! Oh my god, where are you? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I—there was a fire at Thorne Enterprises. I'm at Julian's place."
A pause.
"Wait. The Julian? Tall, broody, and richer than sin?"
"Unfortunately, yes."
"Do I need to bring a bat or a bottle of wine?"
Savannah huffed a laugh. "Both, maybe."
Ava's voice softened. "Be careful. You don't trust him."
"I know," she whispered.
After they hung up, Savannah turned to find Julian watching her. Not with his usual cool detachment, but with something darker. Warmer.
"You care about her," he said.
"She's my best friend."
"Must be nice. Having someone who actually gives a damn about you."
She studied him for a long beat. "You say that like no one ever did."
Julian didn't answer. Instead, he crossed to the bar and poured himself a drink. The glass trembled slightly in his hand.
"Want one?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"No. I want answers."
"I gave you some."
"Not enough."
He exhaled and leaned against the bar, eyes narrowed. "What do you want to know, Savannah? The color of my soul? The weight of the skeletons in my closet?"
She stepped closer. "Why Damien said he was the real heir. Why he looked at me like I was a threat."
Julian's knuckles tightened around the glass.
"Because you are."
The air turned sharp.
"Damien thinks you're a liability," Julian said. "He sees the way I look at you, and he knows you're not just another journalist to me. He knows I'll protect you, even if it costs me."
Savannah's heartbeat faltered.
"You don't even know me," she said, but her voice had lost its edge.
"I know enough. Enough to know you're the first person in years who's looked at me and seen more than a bank account or a legacy."
He moved closer, slowly, like she was something fragile and dangerous all at once. "You challenge me, Savannah. You ask questions no one else dares to. You dig under the surface even when it bleeds."
Her throat was dry. "I'm just doing my job."
"No," he said, barely a whisper. "You're doing more. You're getting under my skin."
They stood in the quiet hum of tension until she broke the moment by stepping back.
"I can't trust you, Julian. Not yet."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Yes, you are," she said. "Every time you deflect, every time you shield me from your brother or pull me into this mess without explaining why—you're asking me to trust you. And I can't. Not when there's so much you're hiding."
He looked away, his jaw flexing.
"You're right," he said finally. "There are things I haven't told you. Things that could ruin both of us."
"Then maybe you should start talking."
For a moment, he looked like he might. Like the weight of silence had grown too heavy even for him. But then he turned and downed the rest of his drink in one swallow.
"Not tonight."
Frustration flared in her chest. "You don't get to pull me into your world and then shut me out when it gets inconvenient."
"You think this is about convenience?" he snapped, spinning to face her. "I'm trying to protect you."
"I didn't ask for your protection."
"Too bad," he growled. "You're in this now, whether you like it or not."
The room pulsed with heat, fury, and something else—something sharp-edged and unspoken. She could feel it vibrating between them, a tension neither of them could seem to sever.
He closed the space between them again, his voice low. "You think I want this? That I want you involved in any of this? I tried to keep you out. But I can't."
Her breath caught.
"Why not?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
His eyes burned. "Because you matter."
Something in her cracked.
But she didn't reach for him. Didn't close the gap or lean into the heat that flared in her chest. Instead, she turned and walked to the massive windows overlooking the city.
"I need time," she said. "And space."
He was silent for a beat. Then, "I'll have a car take you home."
She nodded, but she didn't move.
Outside, the city lights glittered like stars scattered across the earth. Beautiful and untouchable.
Just like him.
By the time Savannah returned to her apartment, the sky was a bruised canvas of early morning light. Ava was waiting in the kitchen, wrapped in a hoodie, her eyes puffy from lack of sleep.
"You look like hell," she said, handing Savannah a mug of coffee.
"Thanks. I feel worse."
Ava slid onto the stool across from her. "What happened?"
Savannah took a sip before answering. "Julian thinks someone set the fire on purpose. He won't say who. But I think it was Damien."
Ava blinked. "His brother?"
"Half-brother. And definitely shady as hell."
"And Julian?"
Savannah hesitated. "He's not innocent. But he's not like Damien, either."
"So, we've gone from 'I don't trust him' to 'maybe he's less evil than his sibling'?"
Savannah groaned. "I still don't trust him. But something's going on. And I think it's bigger than I realized."
Ava tilted her head. "You're falling for him."
"No," Savannah said too quickly. Then softer: "I can't."
"But?"
"But he's not what I expected. He's broken, Ava. And hiding so much."
Ava gave her a long look. "So are you."
Savannah didn't argue.
Later, after Ava had gone back to bed, Savannah sat alone with her laptop open and a blank document blinking at her. Her fingers hovered over the keys. She could write the story of Thorne Enterprises. The scandal. The fire. The lies.
But her heart stuttered.
Because every word would feel like a betrayal.
Instead, she opened a new document and typed two words:
Trust hurts.
And then she started to write.