Julian's POV

The sound of thick binded papers slamming down on his desk pierced through the air like a gunshot, catching his attention exactly the way like I'd intended.

“Sign them,” I said, my voice firm and cold despite the conflicting emotions brewing in my chest.

Watt didn’t even glance at the papers. He leaned back in his chair with an exhale, that smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth — the same one he always put on when he thought I was just joking around.

“You’re really doing this?” he scoffed, chuckling under his breath as he shook his head like this was the most amusing thing he’d heard all week. “Julian, you have no one. Nada. No family. No money or inheritance left to your name. I married you out of pity, and you think you're worth something by walking away?”

Pity.

Not worth something.

The word hit me like a slap, knocking out some breath from my lungs for a second, as I almost laughed at how bitter the irony tasted. My nails dug into my palms under the table from how much it was hurting, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

He had no idea that I’d been barely surviving on that same pity since the day we said our vows. Leaving him now was like taking my first breath of fresh air in three years.

“You’ll come back begging,” he continued, his tone dripping with arrogance when he saw that I wasn't flinching. “You don’t even have a dime to your name. Where will you go? The streets? Your friends? Oh wait—” his smirk deepened, “you don’t even have one.”

My jaws clenched hard.

He wasn’t entirely wrong. I didn’t have much with me— in fact, I had nothing left of my name. My foster parents, in their supposed blessings, had handed everything over to him before they died. The company they built from scratch, their estates, their lifetime of savings… all in Watt’s name.

All because they believed marrying Watt would be like a dream come true. That he would protect me and care for me. That he was the perfect man.

I scoffed internally.

If only they’d seen the way his eyes turned cold when they weren’t looking. If only they’d felt the hatred and disgust he showed me whenever we were alone.

All they saw was the mask — the fake smile, the brief kisses in public, the staged display of affection whenever people were around.

I pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor as I did so. My lips curved up into a challenging smile, even though my hands were trembling just slightly. “Watch me, Watt.”

For a moment, he just stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Then his face twisted into a mix of rage and disbelief. “How dare you—”

But I was already walking toward the door.

Earlier, before this conversation, I’d packed my life into two suitcases. Just my clothes, my worn leather journal, and the necklace my foster mother gave me before she died. That was it.

No pictures. No expensive gifts from him — those always felt like debt, not the love I knew. I wanted nothing in my possession that carried his scent or his name.

“You’ll come back, you ungrateful bitch!” His voice followed me like a curse. “When you do, you’ll be crawling to me on your knees!”

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t let him see my face. I just gripped the handles of my suitcases and walked out, letting the door slam shut behind me with a finality that made my chest loosen a bit as I exhaled softly.

Finally… freedom.

The air outside hit me like a sharp inhale, cold and fresh, heavy with the smell of rain like it was going to rain any moment from now. The floors down the driveway still glistened from an earlier drizzle, and I bit the insides of my cheeks as I took a step outside the gates, my heels clicking sharply as I didn't stop.

I had no idea where I was going. But anywhere was better than here.

Still, the wave of worry hung loosely over my head, moving down to press down on my chest. My palms grew clammy on the suitcase handles as I neared the highway, the echo of Watt’s voice making the realisation of the situation hit me hard.

‘You’ll come back.’

‘You have no one, nothing left to your name.’

I shoved the words out of my head and walked across the street, too focused on putting distance between myself and that house to pay much attention to anything else.

I didn’t see the car coming from the side until the sound of screeching tires filled the air.

The sleek black Maserati came out of nowhere, swerving to a halt so close that I'd thought it was over for me. My body stumbled backward instinctively, breath hitching, my free hand clutching my chest to steady my racing heartbeat.

What… what just happened?

I watched as the tinted window from the driver's seat rolled down slowly, and the man inside leaned an arm on the frame.

At first, all I could see was the gleam of dark shades hiding his eyes, but the way he stared — like he was analysing me with a single glance — made the air between us feel heavy.

Then, with a flick of his fingers, he pulled the sunglasses down.

My breath caught in my throat.

Asher Blackwood.

Even if you didn’t know his name, you knew his reputation. He was the kind of man that had paparazzis chasing after him, the kind that had his photos splashed across all sorts of tabloid covers. A playboy. Heartbreaker. The cold, untouchable heir to the Blackwood empire — a family name that had a lot of people tremble.

And right now, those infamous dark eyes were narrowed on me like I'd just ruined his day.

Shit.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of how disheveled I must have looked — hair slightly wind-tossed from rushing out, suitcase wheels coated in a thin layer of dust, my face still flushed from the argument with Watt.

“You planning on throwing yourself under my car,” he asked, his voice smooth but tight with anger, “or someone sent you to stalk me?”

I blinked, trying to find my voice. “I… wasn’t stalking you.”

“That’s obvious,” he said flatly, leaning back against the headrest without breaking eye contact.

The rain chose that moment to start, soft droplets tapping against the roof of his car and the pavement around me. I shifted on my heels, the weight of my suitcases growing heavier by the second, and for a moment, neither of us moved. His gaze traveled from my face to the luggage at my sides, lingering as though he could read my entire story from the way I gripped them.

I hated that I felt exposed under his gaze, like he could see past the calmness I was trying so hard to keep in place.

“Asher…” My voice came out quieter than I intended. “I… I need somewhere to stay.”

A brow lifted up in disbelief, “And you think I’m running a hotel?”

“I’ll do anything,” I blurted, my pride falling apart at the desperation in my tone. “I just… I need to be somewhere safe tonight.”

His gaze sharpened, the corner of his mouth tugging upward into a slow, devious smile that made my stomach twist. “Anything?”

I hesitated for only a second before nodding.

That smile deepened into an amused smirk— the kind that made me almost regret ever crossing his path.

“Get in.”