Chapter 4 - The Unmasking
I stood in the kitchen for a full minute, leaning against the marble counter, forcing my heart to slow its frantic beating.
This is it, I told myself. No more hiding. No more fear.
I poured two glasses of scotch, placed them on a silver tray alongside the heavy crystal bottle, and walked down the hallway toward the study. The heavy mahogany door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open with my shoulder.
Grant was standing behind his mahogany desk, beaming with pride, pouring over a portfolio of sales projections. Julian was standing by the fireplace, examining a golf trophy Grant had won years ago.
"So, as you can see, Julian, my strategy for the northeast corridor will increase our profit margin by at least eighteen percent," Grant was saying, his chest puffed out.
Julian didn't look at the portfolio. He didn't look at Grant. He looked at me as I walked into the room and set the tray down on the leather ottoman.
"Close the door, Clara," Julian commanded softly.
I walked over to the heavy door and pushed it shut. The click of the lock sounded incredibly loud in the quiet room.
Grant frowned slightly, confused by the shift in atmosphere. "Is everything alright, Julian? Do we need privacy for the offer?"
Julian turned away from the fireplace. He walked slowly toward Grant's desk, his footsteps heavy and deliberate. He stopped right in front of Grant, the physical difference between the two men suddenly staggering. Grant was tall, but Julian possessed a dangerous, terrifying gravity that made the room shrink around him.
"There is no offer, Grant," Julian said, his voice dropping the polite facade entirely. It was cold, flat, and absolute.
Grant blinked, his confident smile faltering. "I... I'm sorry? I don't understand. The VP position—"
"You were never being considered for the Vice President position," Julian stated, placing his hands flat on the desk, leaning in until he was inches from Grant’s face. "I came here tonight for one reason, and one reason only. To look into the eyes of the man who has been systematically torturing my little sister."
The silence in the room was absolute. It was a heavy, suffocating vacuum.
Grant stared at Julian, his brain struggling to process the words. He looked from Julian to me, and back to Julian.
"Your... your sister?" Grant stammered, his voice cracking. "Mr. Cross... Julian... I think there's a misunderstanding. Clara's maiden name is Vance. Her brother is—"
"Her brother is Julian Vance Cross," Julian cut him off, his voice rising in volume, reverberating off the walls. "Our mother kept her name. I kept my father's. You would have known that if you had ever cared enough to ask a single question about her life before you decided to lock her in this house."
The color drained from Grant’s face so fast he looked like a corpse. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. The arrogant, powerful regional director vanished, replaced by a terrified, cornered coward.
"Julian... Mr. Cross... I swear to you, I treat her like a queen!" Grant babbled, raising his hands defensively. "I love her! We have a beautiful life together! She has anxiety, she makes things up, she's mentally unstable—"
"Clara," Julian didn't look at me, keeping his lethal gaze fixed on Grant. "Come here."
I stepped forward, moving until I was standing right beside my brother. I felt Julian’s hand wrap protectively around my shoulder. The warmth of his touch gave me a strength I hadn't felt in years.
"Take it off," Julian ordered softly.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small package of makeup wipes I had hidden there earlier.
Grant watched in mounting horror as I pulled a wipe free and pressed it to my right cheek. I scrubbed hard, wiping away the thick layers of foundation, peach, and green concealer. I wiped away the lie.
When I lowered the cloth, the angry, swollen purple-and-black bruise covering my cheekbone was fully exposed under the bright study lights. I wiped my wrists, revealing the dark, finger-shaped contusions wrapping around my skin like bracelets.
Julian stared at the bruises. A muscle in his jaw ticked furiously. The restraint it took for him not to leap across the desk and tear Grant apart was palpable.
"She forgot the salt, Grant?" Julian’s whisper was more terrifying than a scream. "She forgot the salt, so you threw her into a cabinet?"
Grant backed away, hitting the wall behind his desk. He was shaking violently. "How... how do you know that? Clara... what did you do?!"
Grant lunged toward me, his temper flaring past his fear, his hand raised to strike.
He didn't make it halfway.
Julian moved with terrifying speed. He grabbed Grant by the throat, slamming him backward against the wall with enough force to rattle the paintings. Grant gasped, his hands clawing uselessly at Julian’s iron grip.
"Touch her again," Julian snarled, his face inches from Grant’s, his blue eyes blazing with absolute murder. "Look at me, you pathetic piece of trash. Give me one excuse to break your neck right here. Do it."
Grant choked, his eyes bulging in terror, tears of panic spilling down his cheeks. He shook his head frantically.
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Julian held him there for five agonizing seconds, letting Grant feel exactly how powerless, how completely helpless he truly was. Then, in disgust, Julian threw him aside. Grant collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, clutching his throat.
"You're done, Grant," Julian said, straightening his suit jacket, his voice returning to that icy, calculating calm. "You are completely, utterly finished."
