Chapter 18 - The Breach
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The phone slipped slightly in my sweaty palm. The victory I had been celebrating five minutes ago turned entirely to ash in my mouth.
“Susan, call the police. Send a detail to my mother’s shop right now,” I ordered, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to control it.
“I already sent an armored car to Ruth,” Susan promised. “She’s on her way to a secure hotel under a fake name. Just stay in the building, Claire. Do not go down to the parking garage.”
The line went dead.
I lowered the phone, staring blankly at the mahogany desk.
“Claire?” Julian asked, stepping forward, his eyes dark with concern. “What is it? What did he do?”
“Ethan sold me to the mob,” I whispered, the absurdity of the sentence feeling like a nightmare. “He blamed the bankruptcy on me to save his own life.”
Julian’s face hardened instantly. The businessman disappeared, replaced by a fierce, primal protector. He didn't ask questions. He didn't panic. He walked directly to my desk and slammed his fist down on the emergency lockdown button hidden beneath the rim.
Klaxons began to wail softly in the hallways. The heavy steel fire doors at the end of the executive corridor slammed shut, sealing the floor.
“We need to get to the helipad on the roof,” Julian said, grabbing my hand. “My pilot is on standby five minutes away.”
“Julian, we can't just run—”
Before I could finish the sentence, the heavy glass doors of my office shattered inward.
The explosion of tempered glass rained across the carpet like diamonds. I screamed, covering my face as Julian threw his body over mine, tackling me behind the massive oak desk.
Gunfire erupted in the hallway. Deafening, rapid bursts that tore through the drywall and shattered the priceless artwork hanging in the corridor.
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“Stay down!” Julian roared over the noise, pulling a sleek, black handgun from a holster hidden beneath his suit jacket—a detail I had never noticed about him until this exact, terrifying second.
I crouched behind the desk, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard it physically hurt. The man I had broken, the pathetic, weak fiancé I had humiliated, hadn't just walked away. He had set a pack of wolves on me.
