The s.l.a.p was meant for Vivian Calder’s fragile face, but I stepped between them before I even had time to think. Seconds later, I was on the marble floor with blood running down my cheek, while the billionaire crime boss hosting his own engagement party walked in and asked the one question that made the entire room go silent.

The tenth floor of Calder House was Julian’s private domain.

While the lower floors were grand, opulent, and meant to intimidate visiting politicians and corporate rivals, his personal quarters were surprisingly quiet, dominated by dark wood, floor-to-ceiling windows, and the subtle scent of sandalwood and old books.

Julian carried me straight into a massive, spa-like bathroom lined with slate-grey tiles. He placed me gently on a soft, leather-upholstered bench near the vanity.

"Stay here," he instructed before walking out.

I sat there, feeling completely out of place in my dirty uniform, holding the ruined silk square against my cheek. A few moments later, Julian returned, followed closely by a sharp-eyed woman in her late fifties carrying a black medical bag.

"Dr. Aris," Julian said, stepping aside. "It's a laceration on her right cheekbone. Caused by a diamond ring."

Dr. Aris nodded efficiently, setting her bag on the marble vanity. "Let me see, child."

I slowly pulled the cloth away. Dr. Aris leaned in, examining the cut with gentle, practiced fingers. She clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"Nasty edge," Dr. Aris remarked. "It missed her eye by less than an inch. It's deep, Julian. It will require three or four stitches if you don't want a permanent scar."

"Do whatever is necessary to ensure there is no scar," Julian said, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes never left my face.

"This is going to sting, dear," Dr. Aris told me smoothly as she prepared a local anesthetic.

I braced myself, gripping the edge of the leather bench as the needle went in. I didn't make a sound, though a few involuntary tears leaked from my eyes due to the pressure.

"She's tough," Dr. Aris noted with a small smile as she began cleaning the wound. "Most girls brought up to this floor are crying over broken fingernails."

"Emma isn't like most girls," Julian replied quietly.

My heart gave a strange, unexpected thump against my ribs. I looked at him through my lashes. He was still standing by the door, his tuxedo jacket discarded, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms covered in faint, light scars that certainly didn't come from corporate boardrooms.

"There," Dr. Aris said twenty minutes later, applying a small, sterile bandage over the tiny black stitches. "Keep it dry for forty-eight hours. I'll come back on Thursday to remove the sutures."

"Thank you, Doctor," I said politely.

Dr. Aris packed her bag, gave Julian a knowing look, and exited the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her.

I sat on the bench, suddenly hyper-aware that I was entirely alone with Julian Calder in his private quarters. The silence between us grew heavy, charged with an intensity I didn't quite know how to handle.

"Why did you do it, Emma?" Julian asked, taking a step toward me.

"I told you, sir. She was going to hit your mother."

"You could have been blinded," he said, stopping directly in front of me. He looked down at me with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe. "Celeste was wearing a five-carat marquise cut. If that ring had hit your eye..."

"I didn't think about the ring," I admitted, looking down at my hands. "I just saw an elderly woman about to be hurt by someone who was supposed to care for her family. I lost my parents when I was nineteen, Mr. Calder. If someone had tried to hurt my mother like that... I would have wanted someone to stand in the way."

Julian was silent for a long time.

When I finally looked back up, his expression had softened into something complex and unfamiliar. He reached out, his thumb gently catching a stray tear that had dried on my left cheek.

"My mother lost her husband eighteen months ago," Julian said softly. "Since then, people have treated her like a burden. A political liability. Celeste saw her as a nuisance to be managed. But you saw her as a person worth protecting."

"She is a person worth protecting," I said firmly. "She brings me tea when my shift runs late. She asks about my life."

Julian let out a low, breathy laugh—a sound I had never heard him make in the nine months I'd worked here.