Chapter 5 - BLOOD TIES AND BURIED SINS
"Get down!" Julian roared.
With an explosive burst of upper-body power, Julian lunged forward from his wheelchair, his massive arms grabbing my waist and dragging me down behind the heavy mahogany desk just as a second bullet embedded itself into the wood where my head had been seconds before.
The study descended into chaos. The mansion’s perimeter alarms wailed like banshees, red emergency lights pulsing against the walls. Julian held me tightly against his chest, shielding my body with his own. I could feel the violent pounding of his heart against my cheek, the warmth of his breath against my hair.
"Marcus!" Julian barked into an intercom switch beneath the desk rim. "Sniper on the south ridge! Secure the east wing! The children—get the children to the panic room immediately!"
"Copy that, boss! Team is moving!" Marcus's voice crackled through the speaker.
For three agonizing minutes, we stayed locked in that embrace beneath the hail of broken glass. Julian’s arms were like steel bands around me, protective and fierce. In the midst of the terror, an overwhelming wave of memory crashed over me—the night of the Blackwood fire, Julian holding me in the dark forest while sirens wailed in the distance.
"Are you hit?" Julian whispered, his voice hoarse with adrenaline. His hands moved over my shoulders, my back, checking for blood with frantic tenderness.
"I'm okay... I'm okay," I stammered, trembling against him. "Julian, the kids..."
"Marcus has them. No one gets past Marcus," he promised, his gray eyes burning with lethal fury. "Richard has lost his mind. He knows the board meeting is in forty-eight hours, and he's running out of time."
Within ten minutes, the estate's private security team had neutralized the threat, sweeping the perimeter. Marcus entered the study, his weapon lowered, nodding grimly. "Sniper fled into the woods, but we recovered his vantage gear. Professional hit."
Julian allowed Marcus to help him back into his chair. His gaze fell upon the shattered window, then slowly drifted back to the amber vial of poisoned medication resting intact on the desk.
"You're certain about the poison?" Julian asked, looking at me.
"A hundred percent," I said firmly. "Synthetic neuro-blockers. In small doses, they mimic permanent spinal trauma by paralyzing the lower synaptic pathways. If you stop taking this poison immediately and undergo aggressive physical therapy, your nerves might still wake up."
Julian stared at his own hands, a strange, terrifying hope igniting in his eyes. For six months, he had believed he was a broken shell of a man, condemned to spend the rest of his days trapped in a chair. To learn that his paralysis was a manufactured prison orchestrated by his brother was a revelation that turned his grief into pure, unadulterated vengeance.
Later that evening, after the broken windows were replaced with reinforced titanium plating, I brought Brandon and Emma into the library to keep them occupied.
Emma, with the fearless innocence of a five-year-old, wandered over to where Julian sat reviewing surveillance logs. She climbed onto the armrest of his wheelchair, holding out her half-eaten chocolate cookie.
"You look sad, Mr. Bennett," Emma chirped in her sweet, high voice. "My mommy says cookies make sad hearts feel better."
Julian froze. For a man who ruled a multi-billion-dollar empire with an iron fist, he looked utterly helpless before the little girl. Slowly, a genuine, breathtaking smile broke across his rugged face. He took a tiny bite of the cookie. "Thank you, little one. Your mommy is very wise."
May you like
Standing in the doorway, watching Julian gently pat Emma's head while Brandon showed him a drawing of a racecar, my heart clenched.
Suddenly, Julian’s eyes met mine across the room. The coldness was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, smoldering intensity that made my knees weak. But beneath that warmth, a shadow of an unresolved truth hung between us like a loaded gun.
