Chapter 8
Julian stood over Marcus, towering by a full head, yet he never raised his voice above a conversational murmur. "You didn't just steal from my home, Marcus. You pointed a finger at a nineteen-year-old girl who works eighty hours a week to pay for her mother's insulin." Marcus swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the exit. "I panicked. Anyone would have. She was just the maid—" Julian's hand shot out, catching Marcus by the lapel of his blazer with a grip like a vise. The casual authority vanished, replaced by a cold, coiled steel that silenced any further excuse. "Don't ever finish that sentence," Julian said softly. "You're leaving now. Through the back. If you ever set foot in this county again, I won't call the police. I'll handle it myself." Marcus nodded frantically, his face pale as paper. He didn't wait for a second warning; he turned on his heel and hurried out through the service exit, the heavy oak door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud. Julian released his grip, adjusted his cuffs, and turned slowly to face his wife. Elena was staring at the floor, the sparkling sequins of her gown catching the firelight, her shoulders trembling beneath the weight of what had just transpired.
