Chapter Thirty-Eight Sloane
W here. The. Hell. Is. He?
I stare at the ornate clock on the wall, forcing my breathing to steady. The silk tie around my wrists is tight enough to remind me of my situation but not enough to cut off circulation.
The minute hand moves again. Another fifteen minutes gone. Why isn’t he here? What if something happened to him? What if they hurt him? What if this is all some elaborate revenge plot and he’s lying somewhere, bleeding out, while I sit here uselessly tied to a chair? What if—
No. Stop it. Think.
Julian stares at the biometric scanner in disbelief, his composure finally shattered as the red warning flashes across the screen: “ACCESS DENIED. MAXIMUM ATTEMPTS EXCEEDED. SYSTEM LOCKDOWN INITIATED.”
“What does that mean?” he demands, rounding on the Russian holding the device.
“It’s bad,” the man says, backing away slightly. “Very bad. System’s locked now. We need the override code.”
Julian’s face contorts with rage. “Override it!”
“I cannot. We need the special code. From him.” The Russian looks genuinely afraid now. “From Asher.”
I can’t help the triumphant smile that spreads across my face, despite the stinging in my cheeks from all their attempts to force me into a neutral expression. My little facial gymnastics routine worked better than I’d hoped.
Julian notices my smile and strikes like a snake, the back of his hand connecting with my cheek hard enough to snap my head to the side.
“You think this is funny?” he seethes. “You knew exactly what would happen.”
I taste blood but meet his gaze steadily. “Vault Security 101. Too many failed attempts triggers a lockdown. Pretty standard stuff.”
“Boss,” the other Russian interrupts, examining the scanner. “System also sent an alert signal. To Asher.”
Julian goes utterly still, processing this new information.
Then a cold smile spreads across his face.
“So he knows we’re here. He knows exactly what we want.
” He runs his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, mussing it for the first time.
“And yet he’s still not coming. What does that tell you, Sloane? ”
This is Cole Asher we’re talking about. The same man who had an entire dossier on me before our first meeting.
Who knew my shoe size, my coffee order, and somehow even which side of the bed I prefer to sleep on.
The man who flew me to Switzerland just to convince me to sign with his company.
Who had a contract drafted before I’d even officially said yes.
Cole doesn’t do anything without a plan. Everything—every gesture, every word, every seeming coincidence—is meticulously calculated. He’s probably known where I am since the moment they took me.
Which means there’s a reason he’s not answering Julian’s increasingly angry phone calls.
“Your little victory means nothing,” Julian says, pacing now, his expensive shoes clicking against the marble floor. “All you’ve done is force a change of plans.”
“And what exactly was the original plan?” I ask, trying to keep him talking.
Every minute he spends ranting is another minute for Cole to get here.
“Profit off the designs Claire never wanted you to have, steal mine while you’re at it, and.
.. what? Live happily ever after knowing you’ve finally gotten revenge on Cole? ”
“Don’t pretend to understand what this is about,” he snaps. “This was never just about the designs.”
“Then what is it about?” I press. “Because from where I’m sitting—literally—this seems like an awful lot of effort just to steal some jewelry.”
His laugh is cold and bitter. “Jewelry? Is that what you think this is? These are more than pretty baubles, Ms. Whitmore. It’s about not letting Cole win.”
Across the room, Julian paces, phone pressed to his ear. His perfectly tailored suit is starting to show signs of wear, his usual composure cracking around the edges. The two Russians exchange worried glances as Julian’s call goes to voicemail for the fifth time.
“Where the hell is he?” Julian snarls, throwing the phone onto an antique desk.
I can’t help it. A small laugh escapes me, drawing their attention. “Would now be a good time to tell you that Cole and I had a huge fight right before you came?” I lean back in my chair, affecting a casual pose despite my bound wrists. “Huge. Breakup type of fight.”
Julian’s eyes narrow as he stalks toward me. “You’re lying.”
I shrug, ignoring how my heart pounds faster with each step he takes. “Maybe he’s just done with all of this.” I force my lips into a smirk. “Can’t say I blame him.”
A muscle twitches in Julian’s jaw. “He wouldn’t—”
“Ignore you?” I arch an eyebrow at him. “Looks like he already is. I guess neither of us is as important to Cole Asher as we thought we were.”
“If he doesn’t care about you anymore,” Julian says, his voice dangerously soft, “then perhaps you’ve outlived your usefulness.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out an ornate switchblade. The blade springs open with a soft click that somehow sounds more threatening than any gunshot.
“Boss,” one of the Russians says nervously, “the plan was—”
“The plan has changed.” Julian cuts him off, tracing the knife tip along my collarbone. “No case access means we need a new incentive for Mr. Asher. Perhaps pieces of his girlfriend delivered one by one will motivate him to come out of hiding.”
I try to lean away from the blade, but there’s nowhere to go. A bead of blood wells up where the knife presses against my skin.
“Let’s start with something small,” Julian muses, his eyes never leaving mine. “A finger, perhaps? Or maybe an ear? Artists don’t really need both, do they?”
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force myself to keep my voice steady. “You do that, and you’ll never get what you want. Cole won’t negotiate if you hurt me.”
“Won’t he?” Julian presses the blade a fraction deeper. “I think you underestimate how much he values you. How much he would sacrifice to keep you whole.”
“Exactly. To keep me whole. He doesn’t want a mutilated girlfriend.”
I watch with satisfaction as uncertainty creeps into Julian’s expression.
“You know him. Has he ever accepted anything less than perfection?”
I think of him decorating a crooked tree. Wrestling his tie out of Havoc’s mouth. He would love me, “mutilated” or not. But that’s not the Cole Julian knows.
The Russians shift uncomfortably, muttering to each other in low voices.
Julian snatches up his phone again, stabbing at the screen. His composure cracks further with each unanswered ring. Finally, he hurls the device across the room. It hits the wall with a crack that makes me flinch.
“This isn’t—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “Get her designs loaded. All of them. If he won’t answer...” He turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes my blood run cold. “Then maybe we need to give him a better reason to call back.”
The Russians move toward the stack of my prototype cases. My stomach lurches as they start handling my work, my art, like it’s nothing more than cargo to be shipped.
Boris—or maybe it’s Vladimir—drops one of the cases. The sound of metal hitting marble makes me jerk against the silk tie. “Careful with those,” I snap before I can stop myself.
Julian’s head whips around. A smile spreads across his face that does nothing to warm his eyes. “Ah. So you do care about something besides making me believe you and Cole are finished.”
He walks over to where the case fell, picking up one of my designs. My newest one. The one I hadn’t even shown Cole yet.
“Beautiful work.” He turns it over in his hands. His fingers trace the edge of the metal with an intimacy that makes my skin crawl. “Perfect, really. Claire’s final collection, discovered after all these years.”
I force myself to stay still, to keep my voice steady. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do with my designs?”
“These?” He lifts the piece to catch the light.
“These are Claire’s designs. Found in her private studio after her tragic accident.
Her final collection, never shown to the world.
” He sets the piece down with exaggerated care.
“The art world will be captivated. Her legacy, living on. The press will eat it up.”
Ice slides down my spine as I realize what he’s planning. Not just theft—complete erasure. He’s going to wipe away my name, my work, everything I’ve created.
“You’ll never get away with—”
“Won’t I?” His smile is cold. “By the time this hits the press, these pieces will have all the proper documentation. Every sketch, every note, every prototype—all in Claire’s hand.
It’s amazing what money can buy these days.
And the best part?” He checks his watch again.
“It won’t matter that I couldn’t access Claire’s real work.
All this effort to keep them from me won’t matter.
Cole will have to watch as everything you’ve created becomes part of her legacy instead. ”
The calm I’ve been clinging to starts to crack.
These designs aren’t just pieces of metal and stone—they’re pieces of me.
My vision. My soul. Each one represents countless hours of work, of failing and trying again, of finally getting it exactly right.
And he’s going to erase all of that with a stack of forged papers.
A loud thud from somewhere in the mansion makes everyone freeze. Julian’s head snaps toward the door.
“Go check,” he orders one of the Russians, who immediately draws his weapon and slips out.
The second Russian looks nervous now, his hand hovering near his holster. “Boss, maybe we should—”
“Keep loading,” Julian snaps. “We’re not leaving without those designs.”
The remaining Russian returns to packing my work, but his movements are hurried now, careless. Another piece clatters against the side of the case.
“If that’s Cole,” I say quietly, “you should know he won’t come alone.”
Julian’s smile is cold as he turns back to me. “I’m counting on it.” He draws the knife again, moving behind me. “In fact, I think it’s time we prepared a proper welcome.”
His fingers twist into my hair, yanking my head back as the knife comes to rest against my throat. My pulse throbs against the cold metal.
“This is the oldest story in the world, Sloane,” he whispers against my ear. “The hero comes to rescue the damsel, only to walk right into the trap.”
Another crash echoes from deeper in the house, followed by what sounds unmistakably like a gunshot.
“Tick tock,” Julian murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “Your knight approaches.”
One of the Russians drops another case with a clang. Julian doesn’t even flinch at the sound this time, too busy staring at his phone. Seven calls now. All ignored.
“Load them in the van,” he snaps suddenly. “All of them. And carefully this time, you idiots. These are priceless pieces of art now.” He barks out a laugh. “Worth far more with Claire’s name on them than they ever would have been with yours.”
I bite my tongue until I taste blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react. But inside, my mind is racing. There has to be something, some detail that would prove these are mine. My signature elements, my techniques...
“What about the girl?” one of the Russians asks, his accent thick.
Julian’s eyes sweep over me, cold and calculating. “Leave her with me. Mr. Asher and I have some unfinished business to discuss.” His lip curls. “When he finally decides to show up.”
Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. As the Russians begin hauling out the cases, I watch the last traces of Julian’s polished veneer crack away. The man underneath is something else entirely. Something darker.
And suddenly I’m not so sure about Cole’s plan anymore.