Chapter Thirty-Six Sloane
T he first thing I notice when I regain consciousness is that my captors have excellent taste in furniture. The chair I’m tied to is Danish modern, all sleek lines and butter-soft leather. The room itself could be featured in Architectural Digest —if you ignored the whole “hostage situation” vibe.
My heart is trying to punch through my ribs, and there’s a scream building in my throat that I refuse to let out.
Fear claws at my insides—raw, primal terror that threatens to shatter my carefully maintained composure.
But I can’t fall apart. Not now. Not when my life depends on keeping my wits about me.
One of the Russians checks the restraints, his grip bruising as he yanks the silk rope tighter.
My wrists burn from the friction, but I bite back a whimper.
The other one—I’ve mentally named them Boris and Vladimir—sets up a sleek laptop on the desk, connecting it to some kind of strange device with a camera lens and what looks like a hand scanner.
A hysterical laugh bubbles up as I realize this is exactly like one of those mafia romances I pretend not to read. Except this isn’t fiction, and there’s no guarantee of a happy ending.
Deep breath. Channel your inner femme fatale, Sloane.
I’ve managed to kick off my heels, partly out of spite, partly because if I’m going to die, it’s not going to be in four-inch Louboutins. The rope around my wrists is silk. Because of course it is.
“The facial recognition system is ready,” one of the Russians says, his accent thick.
“Good.” Julian’s voice comes from the doorway. “That’s why we’re keeping her face pretty. For now.”
When Julian walks in, I raise an eyebrow. “Do all corporate megalomaniacs take interior design classes? This is very ‘serial killer chic’—very Martha-Stewart-meets-Hannibal-Lecter.”
His perfectly controlled expression twitches. Just slightly. Good.
“I see why he likes you,” Julian says, settling into an armchair across from me. “You share his... particular sense of humor.”
“If this is where you launch into your villain origin story, can we skip to the highlights? The chloroform gave me a headache.”
My pulse quickens at my own daring. Every word is a gamble—too submissive and he’ll know he has power over me, too defiant and he might decide I’m not worth keeping alive.
I can feel the silk rope digging into my wrists, and the urge to struggle against it is almost overwhelming.
But I force myself to stay still, to keep my breathing even. Show no weakness. Give him nothing.
He studies me for a long moment, and I see something flicker in his eyes—something that makes me think of a cobra sizing up its prey. “Did Cole ever tell you how we met?”
I keep my voice steady, neutral. “No. He hasn’t.”
“I found him,” Julian continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “fresh out of business school, brilliant but raw. Unpolished. I saw myself in him—that same hunger, that same drive.” His voice takes on an almost wistful quality. “He was like a son to me.”
“And Claire?” I ask, the name slipping out before I can stop myself. “Did you ‘find’ her too?” His face darkens instantly, and I know I’ve struck a nerve.
“I invented Claire,” he seethes. “She was nothing before me.”
“Really? Because I was under the impression you were nothing without her .”
Julian’s hand moves so fast I barely see it before his palm connects with my cheek. The sting brings tears to my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
“Don’t speak unless I ask you to,” he hisses. “Learn your place.”
Motherfucker, that hurt! But I refuse to show it. I refuse to give the man the power even though I’m damn near panicked right now.
“Why don’t we skip to the part where you explain why I’m here?” My voice is quieter than I intend, but steady. “Why you took me from my home on Christmas Eve.”
His smile is cold, precise. “Christmas Eve. I chose it carefully. Five years ago, it was Christmas Eve when Cole destroyed everything.” His voice drops lower, almost intimate. “I thought it fitting that he should lose something precious on the same night.” He stands abruptly, pacing the room.
I keep my expression neutral. I’m not going to give away anything more than I have to.
“Claire was my wife .” He spits the words like they taste bitter. “We could have made so much money if it wasn’t for Cole.” He practically sneers the word.
I remain silent, watching the way his composure cracks when he speaks about her. Each word reveals more about Cole’s past, about the darkness that still haunts him.
Julian’s pacing brings him to a wall safe I hadn’t noticed before. He opens it with practiced movements, removing something wrapped in black velvet.
“Look at this craftsmanship,” he says, unwrapping what I now see is a necklace of such intricate detail it takes my breath away.
“Claire’s signature. The way she layered metal and stone.
.. no one could match her vision.” His fingers trace the delicate metalwork with an unsettling intimacy.
“She created pieces for the most exclusive clients. Never asked questions about where the diamonds came from. Until...”
His voice hardens. “Do you know what happens to profits when someone starts asking inconvenient questions about diamond origins?” He folds the velvet around the necklace like he’s wrapping a wound. “Cole filled her head with noble ideas about right and wrong. Made her forget about loyalty.”
He moves to the window, staring out at the snow that’s started to fall. “I tried to reason with her. Told her to think about everything we’d built together.” His hand presses against the glass. “The night she tried to leave, it was snowing. Just like this.”
The temperature in the room seems to drop as he turns back to me. “A tragic accident. Black ice on a mountain road. No guardrail. They found the car three hundred feet down.” He gives a sad smile but his eyes are chips of ice. “Leaving behind a heartbroken husband.”
I feel a fierce pride in Cole, in the man he chose to become. “That’s when it started, isn’t it? Cole’s ‘war’ against you. He knew what you’d done.”
“He blamed me for her death. Said I’d killed her as surely as if I’d pushed the car off that cliff myself.” Julian carefully rewraps the necklace. “That’s when he made it his mission to dismantle everything I’d built. With her blood money, he called it.”
I shift in my chair, testing the ropes. Still secure.
But for the first time, I’m grateful for every paranoid security measure Cole ever insisted on.
The cameras I complained about, the trackers I teased him for, Knox’s constant surveillance that used to drive me crazy—it all means something very different now.
They’ll have footage of Julian’s men. They’ll know exactly who took me, how many there are, what they’re driving.
And Cole... Cole who plans for every contingency, who has backup plans for his backup plans, who has built his empire on being three steps ahead of everyone else—he has to know by now.
Has to be moving pieces into place, making calls, mobilizing whatever network of resources he has for exactly this kind of nightmare.
Every second Julian talks is another second bringing Cole closer. Because Cole is coming. Not if, but when. And god help anyone who stands in his way.
Julian moves to a leather briefcase I hadn’t noticed before, and my breath catches as he starts laying out familiar pieces on his desk. My pieces. The ones his men must have taken when they grabbed me.
“Beautiful work,” he says, arranging them with disturbing care. “Perhaps not quite Claire’s level, but... promising.” His fingers trail over my designs. “Tell me, Sloane, would you like to know what I have planned for you?”
The casual way he asks sends ice through my veins, but I force myself to meet his eyes. “Isn’t that the part where the villain traditionally monologues about his grand plan?”
“Ah, but that would spoil the surprise.” His eyes drift to the collection pieces arranged on his desk.
“I suppose I could share that your designs—your exquisite, innovative designs—will make the perfect addition to Claire’s collection.
The collection Cole has kept hidden away in this case.
The one you will be opening for me. Otherwise.
.. well, let’s just say I’ll need to make your disappearance as convincing as your former assistant’s. ”
My blood turns to ice. “Maya? What did you do to her?”
Julian ignores me, turning to the Russians. “Get her to the scanner. We need her biometrics to access the case. Cole set it up so only Claire, himself, or his designated successor could open it.” He smiles coldly at me. “Congratulations, Ms. Whitmore. You’re the successor.”
What the fuck is he talking about? Biometrics? But my thoughts quickly return to Maya.
“Maya was working for you, wasn’t she? That’s why she disappeared, isn’t it? She found something while working on your fake Claire collection.”
Julian’s laugh is cold, empty. “Smart girl. Yes, she was quite talented. Not as good as you, but she had potential. Until she started asking the wrong questions. Looking through the wrong files.” He shrugs, the gesture casual, chilling. “She lacked... staying power.”
Oh my god. Maya is dead. Because of what she knew, what she saw.
One of the Russians drags my chair toward the biometric device.
I struggle against the restraints, but it’s useless.
His fingers dig into my scalp as he forces my face toward the scanner, and I think of Maya, of what they might have done to her before the end.
I squeeze my eyes shut, twist my face into the most grotesque expression I can manage, anything to prevent the scan from working.
“Nyet. Stop this,” the Russian growls, gripping my jaw harder. “Face normal.”
“Sorry, this IS my normal face,” I reply, then cross my eyes and puff out my cheeks like a demented chipmunk. The scanner beeps in protest.
“It needs neutral expression!” he barks, shaking me slightly.
I immediately switch to an exaggerated smile that would make the Joker proud. “Is this better? I’m being very cooperative.” The scanner flashes red again.
Julian sighs heavily. “Ms. Whitmore, childish antics won’t help you. That system needs to verify your identity to access Cole’s case where Claire’s final collection is stored.”
“Oh, is THAT what we’re doing? Why didn’t you say so?” I ask innocently, before launching into a series of rapid-fire expressions— duck lips, nostrils flared, eyebrows waggling independently, and what I hope is a passable impression of a constipated walrus.
The Russian curses in his native tongue, while his partner snickers despite himself. Julian’s perfect composure finally cracks.
“Enough!” he snaps. “Hold her properly. I want access to those jewels NOW.”
The first Russian clamps my head in a viselike grip while the other produces a small spray bottle. “This make eyes open,” he warns, positioning it uncomfortably close to my face.
Great. Threats of chemical warfare. That’s totally going to make me cooperate.
“You won’t win,” Julian says calmly, watching my desperate attempts. “Everyone breaks eventually. Maya did. Even Claire did, in her way.”
He pulls out his phone, smile widening. “Besides, I think Cole should be here for this conversation. I’m sure he’s wondering where you are by now.” He smiles, all predator, as he pulls out his phone. “Why don’t we give him a call?”