The next morning, Savannah stood outside Thorne Enterprises again—taller, colder, sharper than it had been the night before. Maybe it was just her mood. The previous day's encounter had left something jagged under her skin.
Julian Thorne wasn't what she'd expected. She hated that he'd gotten under her defenses so quickly—and worse, that he knew it.
A message had arrived late last night: "8 AM. Wear something you don't mind ruining. - J."
Cryptic. Of course.
Savannah adjusted the leather strap of her satchel and entered the building, heels clicking a steady rhythm on the marble floor. The receptionist didn't even blink as she approached. "Mr. Thorne is expecting you. Elevator C."
The same private elevator as yesterday. A mirrored cage that hummed with barely contained tension. As it ascended, Savannah caught a glimpse of herself in the glass—chin up, eyes clear, spine straight.
She wasn't here to be dazzled.
She was here to watch a king reveal his court—and maybe his sins.
The doors opened on the rooftop again, but this time Julian wasn't alone.
He stood beside a helicopter.
"I assume you're not afraid of heights," he said without turning.
Savannah arched a brow. "Should I be?"
"That depends on how much you like control."
He handed her a pair of noise-canceling headphones, and within minutes, they were airborne, the city shrinking below them into grids of motion and light. The morning sun shimmered off glass towers. From here, even corruption looked beautiful.
"Where are we going?" she asked through the mic.
"To see what we build," he replied. "Not just what we buy."
Fifteen minutes later, the helicopter set down on the edge of a sprawling construction site. Savannah stepped out into a swirl of dust and noise. Bulldozers growled in the distance, workers shouted across scaffolding, and the scent of concrete and sweat filled the air.
Julian led her through it all like he belonged—not just as the man at the top, but someone who knew the bones of the place. He pointed out structural designs, environmental choices, local hires. It was clean. Ethical.
Too clean.
"You brought me here to impress me?" Savannah asked over the roar.
"No," he said. "I brought you here because stories are written in places like this. You just have to know what ink they're using."
She followed him to a temporary office trailer, ducking inside as the noise faded. He gestured for her to sit.
"You're skeptical," he said.
"I'm a journalist."
"You're something else," Julian said quietly. "You see everything like it's broken, like you're waiting for the cracks to appear."
"Because they always do."
He didn't argue. Just watched her with that unnervingly calm expression. She couldn't decide if it unnerved her more when he spoke… or when he didn't.
"So what are you hiding?" she asked.
Julian gave a small smile. "Everything."
And somehow, she believed him.
Back in her apartment later that evening, Savannah collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and dusty. Ava popped her head out of the kitchen, brow raised.
"You look like you fought a bulldozer and lost."
Savannah groaned. "Your billionaire crush dragged me through a construction site."
Ava flopped down beside her. "Hot."
"Annoying," Savannah corrected. "And strategic. Everything he does is calculated."
"And yet, you're still talking about him like he's a riddle you want to solve."
Savannah glared. "He's part of a story. That's all."
Ava reached for the remote. "Just don't fall for him, Sav. Guys like that… they don't just break your heart. They convince you it was your idea."
Savannah turned toward the window, watching the city pulse in the night.
She knew Ava was right.
But the question that kept gnawing at her was—what if Julian was already broken, too?
The next morning, she arrived early for the board meeting. She wore a blazer, tied her hair back, and armed herself with a fresh notepad and her recorder. Julian's assistant didn't greet her. No one did.
She found her own way into the sleek glass boardroom.
Twelve men and women were seated at the table—lawyers, advisors, and execs with cold eyes and polished smiles. When Julian entered, the room stilled.
He wore a navy suit that fit too perfectly. Power looked natural on him, like it had been stitched into his DNA.
"Let's begin," he said.
They discussed projections, risks, lawsuits—all the polished corporate jargon. Savannah scribbled notes. But nothing illegal. Nothing scandalous.
Until Damien Thorne walked in.
He was sunlight and venom wrapped in designer wool. Handsome, cocky, with Julian's bone structure but none of his composure. He dropped into a seat like he owned the room.
And when his gaze slid to Savannah, his grin widened.
"Well, well," Damien said. "The Hale heiress turned truth-seeker. I've heard the whispers."
Savannah didn't flinch. "Then maybe you should stop eavesdropping and start listening."
Laughter rippled around the table, then died as quickly as it started.
Julian didn't look amused.
Damien leaned back. "Careful, Savannah. My brother's been known to devour the things that fascinate him."
She smiled coolly. "Good thing I'm not easily swallowed."
The tension was electric. Julian's voice broke it.
"That's enough," he said.
And just like that, the temperature dropped.
When the meeting ended, Julian approached her as the others filed out.
"Damien enjoys games," he said softly. "You shouldn't play them with him."
"I don't play," Savannah replied. "I expose."
Julian studied her. "Is that what you're doing with me?"
She met his gaze, unflinching. "That depends on what I find."
There was a beat of silence.
Then he nodded toward the hallway. "Walk with me."
He led her through a quieter wing of the building. The walls here were lined with art—abstract, emotional, messy in a way nothing else in this building was.
They stopped in front of a large canvas. All black strokes and violent reds.
"My mother painted that," Julian said.
Savannah blinked. "It's… intense."
"She was," he said. "Before she disappeared."
She turned to him. "Disappeared?"
"Not literally," Julian said. "Just into herself. After my father died, she became… unreachable."
"And your father?"
Julian's jaw tightened. "Built the empire. Destroyed everything else."
Savannah sensed it then—that hollow space beneath his confidence. It wasn't emptiness. It was grief, sealed tight like a vault.
She softened her tone. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Because you're not just looking for stories, Savannah. You're looking for truths that make sense of pain."
She hated how easily he read her. Hated it more that he might be right.
"I don't trust men like you," she said.
"Good," Julian replied. "Trusting me would be a mistake."
Their eyes locked—no heat, no softness. Just raw recognition. Two damaged people trying not to drown in the same ocean.
Savannah stepped back first.
"I'll be back tomorrow," she said.
"I know."
That night, Savannah sat alone on the fire escape outside her apartment, the city stretching like a dark heartbeat below.
She didn't want to feel drawn to him. She didn't want to wonder what secrets he carried in that storm-silent mind of his.
But something inside her knew—this story wasn't just going to be about boardrooms and billionaires.
It was going to be about what people hide when they have everything.
And what they'll sacrifice to keep it.