Chapter 28 - Julian #2
I stare at her message until my eyes burn.
Then I rewrite the section entirely.
I replace it with what she asked for.
A personal discretionary account in her name, not tied to “performance,” funded monthly, with clear language: clothing, personal care, incidental needs, personal travel, emergencies.
No approval required.
No reporting.
No humiliation.
I send it back.
Lucy responds ten minutes later with one word.
Lucy: Better.
Better.
Not thank you.
Better, like she’s shaping a contract the way she shapes event flow, making sure no one gets trampled when the doors open.
I sit there, staring at the word, and I realize I’m smiling.
It’s faint.
But it’s there.
Like something in me is… enjoying this.
Enjoying the fact, she isn’t afraid of me.
Enjoying the fact she refuses to be flattened.
That is not normal.
I shut down the thought and go back to work. Because I will not treat this as something that it is not. I am smiling because we are finally in agreement after a week of Lucy arguing this point.
That evening, the Northwell founders are in my office.
Not because I invited them. No, they tend to materialize when they smell blood in the water.
Theo drops into the chair like he owns it, tie loosened, grin sharp.
Elliot stands near the window with his hands in his pockets, relaxed like this is entertainment.
Caleb leans against the bookshelf, expression unreadable.
Rowan stays near the door, quiet as a shadow, as if he’s there to make sure no one forgets how quickly a room can become a t.
I don’t look up from my screen.
“She’s coming tomorrow at two,” I say.
Theo whistles. “Two p.m. to seal the deal. Romantic.”
“It’s an arrangement,” I reply flatly.
Elliot’s mouth twitches. “Starting an arrangement with an officiant waiting in the next room is… bold.”
“I need it done,” I say.
Caleb’s brow lifts. “You’re not even taking her to the courthouse.”
“The courthouse is public,” I answer, like that should be obvious.
Theo leans forward. “So instead, you’re getting married in your office like you’re signing a lease.”
My gaze snaps to him, cold. “Stop talking.”
Theo holds up his hands. “I’m just saying, if I were to marry our sweet Lucy...”
“It’s not a marriage,” I say, the words sharper than I intend. “It’s a contract... an agreement.”
Silence.
Not because they’re intimidated.
Because they’re evaluating.
Because even my brothers know when I’ve hit something raw.
Rowan finally speaks, voice low. “You want a discreet officiant present.”
“Yes.”
“And a witness,” Rowan adds.
“Yes.”
Theo’s grin fades into something quieter. “Jesus, Julian. Are you hearing yourself?”
I stand abruptly, chair scraping back.
Theo goes still.
Elliot’s eyes sharpen.
Caleb watches like he’s expecting a fist through glass.
I don’t hit anything.
I want to.
The impulse is vivid enough to surprise me.
“I am doing what I said I would do,” I tell them, voice controlled by force. “I am taking care of her mother. I am taking care of her sister. I am giving Lucy Bennett stability.”
Caleb’s gaze flicks to my screen. “And you wrote in bonuses for children?”
I glare at one of my oldest friends because the only way he would know that is if he read the agreement.
Theo’s head turns slowly. “You wrote what?”
I don’t answer.
Elliot exhales, incredulous. “Jesus, Julian.”
“Not anymore,” I say tightly. “She refused it. Refused the entire monetary section outside of care for her family. The bonuses per year after the minimum 3 years... everything. It’s removed.”
Theo sits back, staring at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “Lucy refused… money?”
“Yes.”
“That’s…” Theo shakes his head, almost impressed. “That’s hot.”
“Don’t,” I snap. "I had to force her to accept access to my money for clothes and expenses."
Elliot’s laugh is unexpected. “He’s right, though. She’s not like the women Richard keeps trying to staple to you.”
Rowan’s eyes flick to mine. “Speaking of your father. He will find out. If he hasn’t already.”
“I know,” I say.
Caleb looks at me for a beat, then speaks carefully. “You’re building a PR story?”
“Yes.”
Elliot nods. “We’ll need to walk her through it. Timeline. How you met. How you kept it private. How you got married quietly. The narrative has to feel believable.”
“It will,” I say.
Theo snorts. “Because nothing says believable like ‘billionaire and event planner secretly fall in love and elope.’”
“It’s not love,” I say, cutting.
Theo’s smile disappears fully now. “You keep saying that like you’re trying to convince us.”
The air shifts.
Rowan watches me like a guard watching the edge of a cliff.
Caleb stays silent, but his eyes don’t.
Elliot’s expression eases, just slightly, like he can see something I can’t.
I step back toward my desk and force my hands to unclench.
“Tomorrow,” I say, voice measured again. “After she signs, PR will brief her. We have an event this weekend. The launch happens then.”
Caleb’s posture changes. “You’re launching your wife like a product.”
I look at him sharply.
“I’m protecting her,” I say.
Caleb holds my gaze. “From who?”
I don’t answer.
Because the answer is obvious.
From my father.
From the media.
From men like Whitaker.
From the world that will tear Lucy apart if it senses she’s unprotected.
And from myself, if I don’t keep this contained inside something I can control.
Rowan clears his throat once, subtle.
“I’ll arrange the officiant,” he says. “Discreet. No leaks.”
“Good.”
Theo pushes up from the chair. “And you?” he asks, quieter now. “Are you okay?”
The question is so unexpected it irritates me on instinct.
“I’m fine.” I snap.
Theo studies me like he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said all week.
Then he turns toward the door.
Elliot follows. Caleb last.
Rowan pauses at the threshold and looks back. “You stayed away this week,” he says, not quite a question.
“Yes.”
Rowan’s gaze sharpens. “Because you’re maintaining space.”
“Yes.”
A beat.
Rowan’s voice drops. “Or because you’re afraid she’ll make you feel something you can’t control.”
My blood turns hot.
“Goodnight, Rowan.”
He nods once and leaves.
The door closes and I’m alone again with the contract.
The version of it that now looks… different.
I scroll to the final page and stare at the empty signature lines.
Lucy Bennett will come in tomorrow at two.
She will sign.
She will become Mrs. North.
And instead of feeling victory, the thing I feel is unsteady.
Like my body doesn’t know whether to brace for impact…
Or hope.
I finalize the last adjustments with clinical precision.
Then I send the agreement to her.
And for the first time in years, I sit in my office long after the building empties, unable to shake the feeling that I’m not closing a deal.
I’m stepping into a storm I don’t know how to command.