The silence in the modern kitchen was a heavy, expensive thing. It was broken only by the soft click of Julian’s porcelain coffee cup meeting the marble countertop. {{user}} kept her eyes fixed on her oatmeal, stirring the cooling paste around the bowl. She could feel his gaze on her, a physical weight tracing the slope of her neck, the way her old t-shirt stretched tight across her chest.

“You’re not eating, {{user}}” he said, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. He used the nickname he’d given her, one that felt like a claim. “You need to keep your strength up.”

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured, her grey eyes flicking up for a second before darting away. The sight of him, leaning against the counter in his crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled to show tanned, corded forearms, made her skin prickle with a familiar, unwelcome tension.

“Nonsense.” He moved then, a predator’s lazy grace, coming to stand behind her chair. She froze as his hands came to rest on her shoulders. His thumbs began to knead the tight muscles there, a gesture that was meant to be comforting but felt like a violation. “A body like yours needs fuel. It’s a temple.” His voice dropped, intimate and possessive. “It would be a shame to let it waste away.”

She flinched, her grip tightening on the spoon. It had been like this since her mother’s funeral six months ago—the comments, the lingering touches, the way his eyes cataloged her body as if appraising a prized heifer. She told herself it was just his way, that he was a physical man who didn’t understand boundaries. But the excuses were wearing thin, frayed by the sheer intensity of his focus.

His hands slid from her shoulders, down her arms, and for one horrifying second, she thought he would cup her breasts. Instead, he gripped the back of her chair, caging her in. She could smell his cologne, something dark and spicy.

“I was thinking,” he began, his mouth close to her ear, making the fine hairs on her neck stand up. “The company retreat at the lake house next month. It’s important for morale. For you to be seen as part of the family. As my heir.”

“I have classes, Julian,” she said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be.

“Classes can be missed. This is about your future. Our future.” One hand left the chair and came to rest on her waist, his large palm spanning nearly the entire width of it. He gave a slight, approving squeeze. “You’re the only family I have left. It’s my duty to ensure our legacy is secure.”

The word legacy landed with a sickening thud in her stomach. It was a word he’d been using a lot lately. She’d seen the way he looked at the wives of his business partners with their toddlers, a look of naked hunger and bitter envy. His first wife had died childless. Her mother had been too ill. And now…

Now it was just her.

His hand slid lower, resting on the curve of her hip, his thumb dangerously close to the swell of her ass. A cold dread, sharp and absolute, pierced through her fog of grief and denial. This wasn’t just inappropriate. It was targeted. It was a plan.

And in that moment, staring into the grey swirls of the marble countertop, {{user}} understood. The comments about her fertility, the vitamins he insisted she take, the way he’d isolated her from her friends under the guise of protecting her in her grief. It was all part of a design. A horrifying, meticulous plan.

He wanted an heir.

And he had decided she was going to be the vessel.

The question took him by surprise. His grip on her hip tightened for a moment before relaxing, giving her just enough room to breathe. He leaned back, eyes narrowing as he studied her face. She looked different somehow—older, perhaps, or maybe just more perceptive. Whatever it was, it unsettled him.

He forced a laugh, casual and dismissive. "Of course I want what's best for you, Emma," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "You're my responsibility now."

"The lake house?" Julian raised an eyebrow. "Of course, dear. It would be a wonderful opportunity for us to bond. Just the two of us, making memories and strengthening our...connection." He smiled then, a warm, practiced expression that didn't quite reach his eyes.

He waited, watching as she thought it over. In his mind, he was already imagining them there together: her on a blanket by the water, her long legs tanned and bare;

She would be wearing one of those sleeveless sundresses that showed off her figure so well. He could picture himself lying beside her, his hand on her thigh as they talked about their shared future. It was a vision of domestic bliss that had been haunting him for months now, taunting him with its perfection even as he knew it would never be real.

But perhaps...perhaps there was a way to make it happen.

Her words took him by surprise again. He hesitated, wondering if she could sense his confusion. "Well," he said slowly, "I have some paperwork that needs attending to first. But I could take care of it this afternoon and we could leave immediately after dinner."

He watched as her eyes lit up at the prospect, and a newfound determination settled over him. Perhaps she wasn't as averse to his plans as he had thought. All he needed was time—time alone with her, away from their usual surroundings. Then perhaps...

He smiled then, genuine and warm. "Excellent," he said, patting her on the shoulder before turning to leave the room. As he walked away, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as he had feared. Emma was just being young and foolish, not understanding the weight of responsibility that came with being part of his world.

With renewed confidence, Julian went to his study and shut the door behind him, already making plans for their future together.

The plane ride was longer than he'd anticipated, but Julian passed the time by focusing on his phone. He had a deal to close, another company to swallow up and incorporate into his empire. It was the sort of thing that kept him going, gave him purpose in life. And yet, even as he scrolled through spreadsheets and text messages, his mind kept drifting back to Emma.

She'd been quiet during most of the flight, staring out the window with a distant look in her eyes.

"Ah," he said noncommittally, not looking up from his screen. "Lana Del Rey." He paused, considering. "She's...different, I'll give her that. Not really my style, but one can appreciate artistry even when it isn't to one's personal taste."

The plane touched down with a jarring thud, and he glanced up at the seatback screen as the pilot announced their arrival. They were here. The lake house was just a short drive away.

The car ride to the lake house was spent in silence. Julian drove with his customary focus, eyes flicking between the road and his phone. Emma stared out the window, watching the scenery change from urban sprawl to rolling hills dotted with trees. It was a beautiful drive, and yet she couldn't help but feel an undercurrent of tension beneath the surface.

The house itself was even more impressive than she remembered it from her mother's funeral.

It sat perched on a bluff overlooking the lake, its white-washed walls and terracotta tile roof gleaming in the late afternoon sun. The grounds were immaculately landscaped, with lush gardens leading down to the private dock. Julian led her inside, his hand still resting lightly on her lower back.

The interior of the house was tastefully decorated in a Mediterranean style, with vaulted ceilings and expansive windows that took advantage of the views.

He smiled down at her. "I'm glad you like it. It's been in my family for generations." They wandered through the house, Julian pointing out various rooms and pieces of furniture with stories attached to them. It was all very grand and impressive, but Emma couldn't help feeling a twinge of unease beneath her admiration.

Finally, they arrived at the master suite. The bed was enormous, with pillows piled high against plum-colored silk sheets.

"It's meant to be," he replied, his voice a smooth rumble. "This is where we'll sleep tonight." He gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed, and she obeyed, feeling a flutter of nervous anticipation in her stomach.

He sat down beside her, their legs brushing against each other as he leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear. "You know," he murmured, "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

"Our future together," he continued, running a finger along the smooth skin of her arm. She could feel herself tensing up, but she forced herself to stay still, to listen. "I want us to be happy, Emma. I want us to have everything we've ever dreamed of." His hand moved higher, cupping her breast through her shirt, his thumb circling her nipple. "And I think that can only happen if we...come together as one."