Page 40 of Candy Cane Chains

The elevator dings open at 3:17 AM. I bolt up from the leather couch where I'd been curled up after deserting the bedroom, my heart hammering against my ribs.

His footsteps are uneven—wrong. Julian always moves like a predator, each step calculated and precise. But now they drag, heavy and uncertain.

"Julian?" I round the corner into the foyer.

He stands in the doorway, one hand braced against the wall. His perfectly tailored suit jacket is torn at the shoulder, dark stains marring the expensive fabric. A cut splits his bottom lip, dried blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. His usually pristine hair falls across his forehead, and there's a darkness blooming beneath his left eye that will definitely bruise.

"Are you hurt?" The words slip out soft, gentle. My fingers reach toward him before I can stop myself, hovering near the cut on his lip.

Julian goes still. Those ice-blue eyes lock onto mine, something shifting in their depths. We both hear it - the worry threading through my voice, the care I can't disguise.

I'm sure. he didn't expect this. Maybe he thought I'd be furious, demanding to know where he'd been, why he hadn't sent a message. But with Julian…if he isn't home I don't feel angry and jealous. I feel worried.

"Come on." I slide my hand down his arm, careful to avoid the torn fabric. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Julian follows me up the stairs, his usual fluid grace replaced by something more hesitant. In our master bathroom, I flick on the lights, wincing at the harsh fluorescents that reveal every cut and bruise marking his skin.

"You don't have to do this." His voice comes out rough, gravelly.

I ignore him, focusing on easing the ruined jacket from his shoulders. The white dress shirt underneath is stained too—not all of it blood. Motor oil, maybe. My fingers work at his tie, the silk sliding free.

"Ivy." He catches my wrist as I start on his shirt buttons.

"Let me." I meet his gaze in the mirror. "Please."

Each button reveals more damage. A purple bruise spreads across his ribs. Shallow cuts pepper his abdomen. I trace the edge of an old scar near his collarbone - one I've memorized with my lips on better nights.

"Why?" The question rumbles through his chest under my palm.

"Because you take care of everything else." My voice catches as I help him out of the shirt. I reach for a washcloth, running it under warm water. "Let me take care of you for once."

His eyes follow me as I dab at the cut on his lip. "I was supposed to be home hours ago."

"I know." The washcloth comes away pink. I clean a scrape along his jaw. "But I know you don't ever make me wait for no reason. I know that. And seeing you hurt... I just missed you. Still miss you, even with you right here."

Julian's hand settles on my hip, thumb brushing over the lace visible beneath his robe. "You were waiting up."

"Of course I was." I press a gentle kiss to his uninjured cheek. "I always will."

I turn the shower on as I help him finish undressing. I'm not sure I even want to know what happened. Julian is a fixer - and I'm sure some of the problems he fixes fight back. It just makes my heart hammer knowing that that's the case.

Steam curls around us as I help Julian into the shower, his muscles tense under my fingertips. The water runs pink at first, washing away dried blood and grime. I grab his expensive body wash, working it into a lather between my palms.

"Turn around." I guide his shoulders, letting my hands glide over the map of scars across his back.

Sixteen days ago, I stumbled into his world running from Travis's betrayal. I never thought I'd meet him when I went to that bar, but I was so glad I had. Julian had been my escape—the dangerous man in the perfectly cut suit who made me feel like Travis and his apologies didn't matter. I'd gone home with him that night because I needed to feel powerful, needed to know someone wanted me after Travis spent months making me feel worthless.

But now...

My fingers trace a new bruise blooming along Julian's spine. He inhales sharply but doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans into my touch, trusting me with his vulnerability in a way that makes my chest ache.

This isn't about power anymore. It's about the way he makes me coffee every morning just the way I like it. How he listenswhen I ramble about event planning or Christmas decorating or anything at all. The quiet moments when he reads reports in his study and I curl up on the leather couch nearby, neither of us speaking but both of us present.

"You're thinking too loud." Julian's voice echoes off the tile.

"Just..." I press my forehead between his shoulder blades, water cascading over us both. "You scared me tonight."

His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. The gesture is so gentle, so unlike his usual calculated movements, that my throat tightens. This man who fixes problems with cold efficiency, who makes hardened criminals flinch with just a look, treats me like something precious.

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