The elevator ride to the fortieth floor felt like ascending to the gallows, only the gallows was made of brushed steel and smelled like Julian's overpriced citrus cologne. When the doors slid open, I stepped directly into his living room. It was all white marble, black leather, and enough glass to make me feel like I was floating in the middle of a cold, indifferent sky.
Julian was standing by the window, a bottle of wine chilling in a silver bucket. He had changed into a silk robe that probably cost more than my car, and his face still bore the faint, purple-yellow ghost of the bruise I'd given him.
"You're late," he said, turning to face me. He looked eerily calm, like a spider that had finally seen a fly land in the center of its web.
"I had to help Martha pack up her life into cardboard boxes, you sociopathic prick," I snapped, tossing my damp jacket onto a chair that looked too expensive to sit on. "Nice place. A bit 'bond villain' for my taste, but it fits the vibe of a guy who closes diners for fun."
Julian smiled, that oily, practiced expression sliding into place. "I didn't close it, Alina. I merely accelerated the inevitable. That building was a fire trap. I'm doing the town a favor."
"Save the 'savior' bullshit for someone who doesn't know you get a hard-on for property deeds," I said, walking toward him. I felt the 'vicious' energy he wanted, but it wasn't for him, it was for survival. "You think you're so fucking slick, Julian. Bringing me up here, showing off your view, acting like you didn't just ruin a woman who never did anything but serve you eggs."
"I brought you here because you belong in a place like this," Julian whispered, stepping into my space. He didn't touch me, but I could feel the heat radiating off him. "Look at you. You're wearing a uniform from a diner that doesn't exist anymore, and you still look like you own the room. Silas wanted to keep you in the dirt. I want to put you on a pedestal."
"On a pedestal so you can look up my skirt?" I barked a laugh, my voice echoing off the glass. "You're obsessed, Julian. You're so bored with your own polished life that you've turned me into some kind of project. You don't want to build me. You want to break me until I'm just as empty as you are."
Julian's breathing hitched. I saw his gaze drop to my mouth, then to the bruise on his own cheek. "You have such a beautiful way of being foul, Alina. Every crude word that comes out of that mouth makes me want to hear you scream them for a completely different reason."
"In your dreams, you creep," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to get to his desk. I needed to find the zoning files, the leverage, something to stop the demolition. "Now, are we gonna talk about the diner, or are you just gonna keep jerking off to your own reflection in the window?"
Julian chuckled, a low, jagged sound. "Always the fighter. I admire that. But fighting is thirsty work."
He walked over to the bar, his movements fluid and eerily graceful. He picked up a crystal glass, pouring a deep, dark red wine. I watched him from across the room, my skin crawling. I saw his hand move, a quick, practiced flick of the wrist over the glass. It was so fast I almost missed it, a tiny white tablet disappearing into the red liquid.
He turned back to me, his face a mask of perfect, polite composure. "A peace offering, Alina. Let's drink to the future. To your new job in the city. To the end of the 'nightmare' and the beginning of... us."
He walked toward me, holding out the glass. His eyes were dark, dilated, and full of a manic, terrifying hope. He wasn't just falling; he was diving headfirst into the abyss, and he wanted to take me with him.
"Drink," he urged, his voice soft and persuasive. "Then we'll talk about Martha. We'll talk about the deed. Anything you want, Alina. I'm a very generous man when I get what I desire."
I looked at the glass, then at Julian's bruised face. I saw the thrill in his eyes, the way he was vibrating with the expectation of my surrender.
"Fine," I said, my voice steady despite the roar of fear in my ears. I reached out and took the glass from his hand. "To the future."
I raised the glass to my lips, the scent of the wine masking the bitter chemical tang. Julian watched me, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, his hand reaching out to steady me as I took the first, long swallow.
"That's it," he whispered, his grip on my arm tightening. "Just let go, Alina."
As the first wave of dizziness hit me, I realized with a cold, sharp dread that I'd played my hand too late. The room began to tilt, the city lights outside the window turning into long, jittery streaks of white. Julian's face was the last thing I saw, a mask of triumph and twisted love, looming over me as the darkness rushed in to claim the rest of the world.
"I've got you," he breathed into my ear. "I've finally got you."