Julian's London home wasn't a penthouse; it was a converted townhome in Belgravia that felt like a museum dedicated to the color gray. It was all cold stone, minimalist art, and a silence so thick it felt like it was trying to choke me.
He didn't take me to the bedroom. He took me to the kitchen, a sprawling expanse of marble and stainless steel, and poured me a glass of amber liquid. He hadn't let go of me since the sidewalk. Even now, he stood close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his suit.
"Talk," he commanded. The clinical "shark" was back, but his eyes were still burning with that dark, frantic hunger. "Why are you here, Alina? Why aren't you on your mountain, playing house with the man who was supposed to be your 'peace'?"
I took a gulp of the scotch. It burned all the way down, but it didn't touch the ice in my chest. I tried to think of a witty comeback, something about how the mountain air was bad for my complexion or how Silas's cooking was a war crime.
But the words wouldn't come.
"He's having a baby," I said. My voice was small, cracked, and utterly devoid of its usual bite.
Julian went perfectly still. "What?"
"Elena. The blonde from the ridge. The 'distraction' he found while I was with you." I let out a jagged, ugly laugh. "Turns out the mountain man is a fast learner. Seven weeks along. He's doing the 'noble' thing, Julian. He's settling down. He's building a legacy that doesn't include a girl who works for tips."
Julian watched me, his expression unreadable. "And you? What did he say to you?"
"He told me he loved me," I whispered, the first tear finally spilling over. "He told me we could work through it. Like a baby is just a leaky faucet you can fix with a wrench. He wanted me to stay and watch him be a father to someone else's child."
The dam didn't just leak. It burst.
I dropped the glass. It shattered against the marble floor, the scotch pooling like blood among the shards. I slumped against the counter, my head falling into my hands as the first real sob ripped out of my throat. It wasn't a pretty cry. It was a violent, snotty, body-wracking breakdown, the sound of every lie I'd told myself for months finally being crushed.
"I have nothing!" I shrieked into my palms. "I lost the diner, I lost the ridge, I lost the only man who was supposed to be good! I'm just a joke, Julian! A big joke that everyone is done laughing at!"
I felt his hands on me. He didn't pull me into a gentle embrace. He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, forcing me to look at him through my blurred, tear-soaked vision.
"Look at me," he hissed.
I looked. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying intensity.
"You are not a joke," he said, his voice dropping into that low, sociopathic register that used to make me want to run. "You are the only thing in this world that isn't a lie. Silas Mercer didn't want you. He wanted to see if he could tame the fire without getting burned. But I? I want the burn, Alina. I've always wanted the burn."
He reached out, his thumb catching a tear and smearing it across my cheek.
"He left you because he's a coward who needs a 'legacy' to feel like a man," Julian whispered. "I don't need a legacy. I don't need a child. I just need you to be exactly what you are. Childish. Broken. Mine."
I leaned into his touch, my forehead resting against his chest. I hated him. I hated that he was the only one left. I hated that his hands felt like the only solid thing in a world that had turned to water.
"I'm so tired, Julian," I choked out. "I'm so tired of fighting."
"Then stop," he murmured, his mouth grazing the top of my head. "Stay here with me. Let the world have its peace and its legacies. We'll have the this."
I didn't answer. I just stood there in the center of his cold, gray kitchen, surrounded by broken glass and the scent of expensive scotch, finally letting the shark take what the mountain wasn't strong enough to hold.