The sickening crack of bone echoed in the concrete silence of the parking garage, a sound that would haunt my nightmares. But it was drowned out by the thunder of my own heart, which was beating not with fear anymore, but with a wild, soaring relief. Julian was here. His arms were a steel cage around me, pulling me back against his chest, shielding me from the sight of Ethan writhing on the ground, cradling his shattered wrist. I buried my face in Julian's suit jacket, inhaling the familiar, clean scent of him—sandalwood and power and safety. My whole body trembled uncontrollably, a storm of delayed shock breaking over me. “Shhh, I’ve got you,” Julian murmured, his voice a low, rumbling vibration against my ear. It was the gentlest sound I had ever heard. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his hand stroking my hair. “You’re safe. No one will ever hurt you again.” His security team descended like silent wraiths, efficiently and impersonally hauling a screaming Ethan away. I didn’t watch them go. I couldn’t look away from Julian’s chest, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a collapsing world. He scooped me into his arms as if I weighed nothing. I let out a small, startled cry, my arms instinctively winding around his neck. He carried me out of the oppressive gloom of the garage and into the evening air, straight to his waiting car. He didn’t put me down, simply settled into the plush leather seat with me still cradled in his lap. “Home,” he told the driver, his voice once again hard as granite. The partition slid up, cocooning us in our own private world. The drive back to the villa was a blur. The city lights smeared past the windows, but all I could focus on was the steady, strong beat of Julian’s heart beneath my ear. He held me the entire way, one hand splayed protectively across my back, the other gently stroking my arm, his touch chasing away the phantom chill of Ethan’s grasp. For the next three days, Julian did not leave my side. It was as if his entire billion-dollar empire, the world he commanded with a single word, had ceased to exist. There was only me. He personally dismissed the household staff from my wing of the villa, insisting on caring for me himself. The first morning, I woke from a fitful sleep, the ghost of a knife blade flashing behind my eyelids. Julian was there, sitting in a chair beside the bed, his eyes dark with a sleepless intensity. He hadn't changed out of his suit from the night before; it was now rumpled, a testament to his vigil. “You need to eat,” he said softly, his voice a little hoarse. He left for a moment and returned with a tray bearing a bowl of warm, fragrant porridge. I sat up, but my hands were still unsteady. I reached for the spoon, and my fingers trembled. Without a word, Julian took the bowl and sat on the edge of the bed. He scooped up a small amount of porridge and blew on it gently before lifting it to my lips. My cheeks flushed. “Julian, I can do it myself.” His eyes, deep and serious, met mine. “Let me,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It wasn't a command; it was a plea. A need. He needed to do this, to erase the horror of what had happened with his own tenderness. My heart swelled, and I parted my lips, allowing him to feed me. Each spoonful was a quiet promise, an act of devotion more intimate than any kiss. His large, powerful hand, a hand that could crush his enemies, was so impossibly gentle. That evening, he drew a bath for me, filling the enormous tub with steaming water and fragrant oils. He led me into the bathroom, his presence a warm, protective shield. I hesitated, suddenly shy, but he simply knelt by the tub, his gaze fixed on my face. “I’ll wash your hair,” he said, his voice low and steady, dispelling any awkwardness. I slipped into the water, and he began to lather shampoo into my scalp, his fingers firm but careful. He worked in a focused silence, rinsing away not just the soap, but the lingering feeling of violation, the memory of Ethan’s malevolence. He washed my back with a soft cloth, his touch reverent and respectful, a silent apology for a world that could contain such ugliness. In that moment, I felt cherished, purified, and utterly safe. At night, the nightmares came. I would cry out, thrashing against unseen threats, and Julian would be there instantly, gathering me into his arms, whispering soothing words until the frantic beating of my heart slowed to match his. “I’m here, Natalie. It’s over. You’re safe with me.” He held me through the long, dark hours, a steadfast guardian against the shadows. I would drift back to sleep curled against his chest, his chin resting on my head, his scent enveloping me. I knew he wasn’t sleeping. He was watching over me, his body a living wall between me and any harm. On the morning of the fourth day, I woke up feeling a sense of clarity I hadn't felt since the attack. The terror had finally receded, replaced by a deep, profound love that filled every part of me. I looked at Julian, who had finally fallen into a light, exhausted sleep in the chair beside my bed. His proud, handsome face was etched with fatigue. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked thinner, as if he hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. My heart ached. He had been suffering right alongside me, taking my fear and trauma onto himself. He had faced down my attacker, shielded me, fed me, bathed me, and held me through my darkest moments. He had poured all of his formidable strength and focus into healing me. This cold, ruthless billionaire, feared by all, had shown me a vulnerability and tenderness no one else would ever witness. He was my husband. Not just in name, not just by a contract signed in a moment of desperation, but in his heart and soul. I slid out of bed quietly and knelt before his chair. I gently brushed a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open instantly, sharp and alert, softening the moment they focused on me. “Natalie? Are you alright?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep. I saw the worry that lived perpetually in his gaze now, a constant companion born from his fear for me. I wanted to erase it forever. I wanted to give him the same peace and security he had given me. In that instant, I knew what I had to do. I had to claim this man, this love, with everything I had. Seeing how gaunt and worried he had become, I reached up and wrapped my arms around his neck. “Julian, I love you. Let's have a real wedding.”

Chapter 16: Healing the Wounds