Chapter 8
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Daniel's voice carried its usual gentleness. He wrapped his arms around Chloe from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder as they gazed into the mirror.
Chloe smiled with practiced sweetness, turning to plant a feather-light kiss on his cheek.
"It's because you're with me." Her voice dripped honey that made her stomach turn. "With you here, I have nothing to fear."
Daniel was visibly pleased with her "return." In the three days since Chloe had "come to her senses" and resumed her role as the gentle, fragile Mrs. Reed, the suspicion in his eyes had gradually faded.
He lifted her hand to his lips, his eyes shining with the joy of recovering his prized possession.
"Darling," he gazed at her with what passed for love, "can we… be close again? Like before?"
"Of course," Chloe nodded without hesitation, her eyes crinkling into perfect crescents, her voice sickeningly sweet. "We'll be even closer than before."
What Daniel didn't see was Chloe, the moment he left, frantically scrubbing every inch of skin he'd touched with antiseptic wipes.
She flung the wipe into the trash with a satisfying thud.
Still in love? As if.
Her mind drifted back to three days earlier.
In her childhood bedroom, Julian had held her with such tenderness after they'd laid bare their deepest secrets. They'd become true accomplices in that moment.
"He sees you as a fragile doll that might break at any moment," Julian had told her. "Play that role to perfection."
"When he fully drops his guard and believes you're his perfect shield—that's when we strike."
Julian's cold, resolute words had become her mantra these past three days.
The family dinner that evening was unnervingly pleasant.
Five people sat around the long dining table: Father as host; Daniel playing the perfect son-in-law; Leo shifting uncomfortably; Julian wearing his business mask; and Chloe with her carefully crafted smile.
Just as Mr. Carter was praising Julian's latest business triumph, Julian's phone rang on the table.
He glanced at the screen, then stood with perfectly calibrated regret.
"Sorry, Father. Berlin office—urgent. I need to take this on the secure line upstairs." He dabbed his mouth with a napkin.
"Go ahead, son. Business first." Father waved him off without suspicion.
Julian nodded politely and strode upstairs.
After he left, the tension around the table eased slightly. Chloe noticed Leo's perpetually tight shoulders finally relax.
Minutes later, Father suddenly slapped his forehead as if remembering something and turned to Chloe.
"Chloe, since Julian's upstairs anyway," he said casually, "would you mind fetching the box labeled 'Old Documents' from his closet? I need those lakeside villa blueprints."
The request hit Chloe like lightning.
She knew instantly—the call was fake. This was all part of their plan.
Though her heart raced, she kept her smile perfectly in place. "Of course, Dad. Right away."
She glided up the stairs, feeling Daniel's eyes on her back like something cold and slithering.
Upstairs, she passed the study—light spilled from beneath the door, but no sound came from within. She knew he wasn't there.
She continued to Julian's bedroom—a place both achingly familiar and utterly foreign—and took a steadying breath.
The door stood slightly ajar.
She pushed it open.
Inside, only a single floor lamp cast amber light across the rowing machine that dominated the center of the room.
And there was Julian, seated on that rowing machine.
He was shirtless, his dark hair damp with sweat, a few strands clinging to his forehead. Beads of moisture traced paths down his broad shoulders, across his chest, over the ridges of his abs, before disappearing into the waistband of his athletic shorts.
This scene—this man, this posture, the raw masculinity radiating from him, mingled with sweat and heat…
It was exactly like that afternoon when she was sixteen—the moment that had plunged her into years of shame and confusion.
For her, he had deliberately recreated her most forbidden fantasy.
He raised his head, his dark eyes burning like coals in the dim light, locking onto hers.
He didn't speak. His gaze alone was invitation enough.
Chloe's heart hammered in her chest. From downstairs came the faint sound of her father's laughter. The danger of discovery—like the most potent aphrodisiac—sent fire racing through her veins.
She stepped inside, closed the door, and turned the lock.
Step by deliberate step, she approached him.
She knelt before him and reached out with trembling hands, as if touching something sacred, to trace the contours of his warm, sweat-slicked abs.
In one fluid motion, he pulled her up and pressed her against the cold metal of the rowing machine. Before she could process what was happening, he'd positioned her legs high on his shoulders.
"Do you have any idea how long I've waited?" he growled, silencing her gasp with a deep kiss while grinding his hardness—already burning hot—against her core.
No more teasing.
As Daniel's voice drifted up from below, discussing some business deal, Julian braced himself and drove into her in one powerful thrust.
"Ah… mmm…"
Chloe bit her lip hard, trapping her cry—pain and pleasure mingled—in her throat. The cold metal dug into her back with each powerful thrust that threatened to split her apart.
She heard her father's voice float up from below: "Chloe? Did you find it? What's taking so long?"
The thrill of danger—like dancing on a blade's edge—made her tremble violently.
"Quiet now, baby," Julian whispered, his voice dark with wicked pleasure. "Unless you want Daddy or your dear husband rushing up here to find us."
As he spoke, he quickened his pace. One hand gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his lust-darkened gaze; the other marked her breast with possessive fingerprints.
Downstairs, glasses clinked and polite laughter floated up.
Upstairs, their bodies moved in desperate, forbidden rhythm.
To stay silent, Chloe clung to him, burying her cries against his mouth. Her body, initially tense with resistance, soon began meeting his thrusts with equal hunger.
She felt every ripple of his muscles, heard the animal-like growls he fought to contain. This was their private paradise and hell combined.
When the sounds of departing guests drifted up from below, Julian finally let out a suppressed, primal growl.
He stayed buried inside her, his lips at her ear, his voice a triumphant rasp meant only for her:
"Now tell me, Chloe."
"Who lacks charm?"
He claimed her mouth in a deep, salt-tinged kiss.
Then, finally, he withdrew.
Like conspirators, they hurriedly straightened their clothes. Chloe watched as he pulled on his black turtleneck, transforming back into the polished, controlled Julian everyone knew.
He approached her, smoothed her tousled hair, then—as if performing a magic trick—produced a dusty box labeled "Old Files" from nearby.
"Take it," he said simply.
Chloe took the box, her legs still trembling.
When she returned downstairs, Daniel waited in the living room. Seeing the box, he asked without suspicion: "What took you so long?"
Chloe's cheeks glowed with telltale flush, her voice slightly husky. She lowered her eyes demurely. "Julian's room was such a mess—took forever to find it. Oh, and darling? Father wants us to visit the old house tomorrow."
Daniel smiled and pulled her into an embrace.
Over Daniel's shoulder, Chloe's eyes met Julian's as he descended the stairs.
His eyes were dark and intense, filled with possessive triumph.
