The velvet box sat untouched on Julian's desk.
He had brought it home days ago, tucked inside the inner pocket of his coat like a secret he was not ready to say aloud. It was not flashy. No seven-figure diamond. Just a quiet ring of platinum and a single oval-cut sapphire. Deep blue, like the color Clara always wore when she was trying to be brave.
He had gone to three different jewelers. Asked questions he never thought he would ask. Do sapphires feel too cold? Would she prefer gold? Do people still like heirlooms?
He had memorized her hand, the curve of her fingers, the way she tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. He imagined slipping this ring onto her finger and having it stay.
And yet it remained unopened.
Julian stared at it, then out the window. The city skyline flickered in gray. He turned his head when the soft knock came.
"Julian?"
Clara's voice.
He shut the drawer before she entered.
"Hey," she said, stepping in with one arm wrapped around herself. "I didn't mean to bother you."
"You are not," he replied quickly. "I was... just thinking."
She raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous habit for a man like you."
He almost smiled. Almost.
Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her hair loose from whatever bun she had tried to pin it into earlier. The scarf she wore still had faint traces of snow on it.
"I ran into Harper this morning," she said, easing into the armchair near the fire. "She heard something from a client at her firm."
Julian stiffened. "What kind of something?"
Clara's eyes searched his. "Apparently, Vivienne's PR team has been floating a story. That our marriage is fake. That it's part of some scheme to secure your board votes. She called me your sympathy pawn."
Julian's jaw tightened. "That is a lie."
"I know," Clara said. Her voice was even. Braver than he had expected. "But that doesn't mean it won't spread."
He crossed the room and poured himself a drink, then another for her. She took it without comment.
"Do you want me to respond publicly?" she asked.
He looked over sharply.
"No," he said. "If we engage, it gives them power. Let them talk. The truth holds more weight than noise."
Clara tilted her glass thoughtfully. "You've always believed that?"
"No," he admitted. "But I want to believe it now."
She laughed softly. "You say things like that, and then expect me not to fall for you."
He froze.
So did she.
The words had slipped out too fast. Too real.
There was a beat of silence between them.
Clara set the glass down, her hands suddenly fidgety. "Sorry. I didn't mean—"
"Clara."
He was next to her before she could retreat.
But before he could say another word, the front door slammed open.
Both of them turned toward the hallway.
A voice shouted from the entrance.
"Julian Blackwell! Where the hell is my sister?"
Julian blinked.
Clara went pale.
"Lucas?" she whispered.
Her brother had arrived.
Lucas Wynter stood in the grand foyer like a storm that had already decided where to strike. His jeans were still wet from the snow, his backpack slung over one shoulder. His expression was pure outrage, and when his eyes locked onto Julian's, the air instantly turned electric.
Julian's fingers curled slightly at his sides.
Clara moved first, stepping between them. Her voice was steady but tired. "Lucas. What are you doing here?"
"I called. You didn't pick up. I messaged. Nothing. So I came," he snapped. "I thought something happened. And then I see a news article saying you're married to a billionaire. What the hell, Clara?"
Julian's brow furrowed. "Lower your voice."
Lucas ignored him. "You said you were staying with a friend. You never said anything about being pregnant. Or married. Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
Clara inhaled. "I didn't know how to tell you."
Julian stepped forward. "She doesn't owe you an explanation for every decision she makes."
Lucas turned, his glare sharp. "And you don't get to play the protector when you're the one who dragged her into this circus."
"I did not drag her anywhere."
"Really?" Lucas laughed bitterly. "This whole thing looks like a deal. A fake marriage with press coverage. Convenient timing. She's pregnant and you just happen to be the father and now the husband? Come on."
Julian's voice dropped into a quiet threat. "You are in my home. Choose your next words carefully."
Clara held up her hand. "Stop. Both of you."
The room went still.
"I didn't tell you because I was scared," she said to Lucas. "Everything happened so fast. I didn't even know Julian's last name when I found out I was pregnant. And then suddenly we were here. Married. Together. I didn't plan it this way."
Lucas's shoulders dropped. His anger gave way to confusion. "So this is real?"
She nodded. "It's complicated. But yes."
Julian watched her. No script. No rehearsed lines. Just the truth.
Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "You really love him?"
Clara opened her mouth, but no words came. Her eyes flickered to Julian.
He looked back at her, unreadable. Waiting.
Lucas noticed the pause. "You don't have to answer now. But don't shut me out again."
Clara's eyes softened. "I won't."
Lucas turned to Julian, his voice cooler this time. "I'm staying at her old apartment tonight. I'll come by tomorrow. We should talk."
Julian gave a small nod.
Once the door closed behind him, Clara let out a long breath and sat down on the stairs.
Julian stayed standing.
She looked up at him. "I'm sorry you had to deal with that."
"He is your brother. He cares about you. That much is obvious."
Clara watched him for a beat. "You handled that better than I thought you would."
"You mean I didn't punch him."
"You didn't even raise your voice."
He hesitated. "I wanted to."
Clara smiled faintly. "You are changing."
Julian looked down at his hand. The drawer with the ring remained untouched in the study.
"Maybe," he murmured.
But before Clara could say anything more, Julian's phone lit up on the table beside them.
Unknown number.
One line of text.
I know about the baby. And I have pictures. Meet me. Alone.
Julian's blood went cold.