Chapter 4 - The Ex's Final Mistake
Three months passed. The arranged, paper marriage had slowly, passionately blossomed into something wildly real. I wasn't just Julian Mercer's protected asset; I was his equal. He funded a massive, beautiful commercial space in downtown San Francisco, encouraging me to reopen my art gallery. I was finally reclaiming the life Tyler had tried to destroy.
But monsters rarely stay buried without a fight.
It was a Tuesday afternoon. I was at the new gallery, finalizing the lighting for our grand opening exhibition. Julian’s security detail was stationed outside, maintaining a discreet perimeter.
I walked into the back storage room to check inventory when the heavy metal door suddenly slammed shut behind me.
I spun around. Standing there, holding a stolen security badge and looking like a feral, desperate animal, was Tyler. He had lost weight, his clothes were stained, and his eyes were wide with drug-fueled panic.
"Tyler," I gasped, backing away until I hit a stack of canvases.
"You ruined me!" Tyler hissed, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. His hands were shaking violently. "Mercer’s men froze my accounts. They destroyed my life! You’re going to empty that register, and you’re going to walk me out the back door, or I’ll gut you right here!"
The old Emma would have frozen. The old Emma would have cried, pleaded, and handed over everything to survive. But I was no longer that terrified girl. I was Emma Mercer.
"You aren't walking out of here, Tyler," I said, my voice eerily calm. I didn't reach for my purse; I reached for the heavy, cast-iron sculpture resting on the drafting table beside me. "You made a mistake coming here."
Tyler lunged.
I didn't scream. I swung the iron sculpture with everything I had, catching him hard across the jaw. He stumbled backward, dropping the knife with a clatter. Before he could recover, the back door of the gallery was violently kicked off its hinges.
Julian stood in the doorway, a custom firearm gripped in his hand, his eyes burning with a rage so absolute it seemed to lower the temperature in the room. His security team flooded the space in seconds, pinning a bleeding, sobbing Tyler to the concrete floor.
Julian didn't look at Tyler. He crossed the room in two massive strides, dropping his weapon and pulling me into his chest. He buried his face in my hair, his massive frame shaking slightly. "Are you hurt? Emma, talk to me."
"I'm fine," I whispered, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck. "I fought back."
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Julian pulled back, looking at my face, a fierce, profound pride warring with his terror. Then, he turned to look at the pathetic man pinned to the floor. Julian’s expression went completely dead.
"I warned you, Bennett," Julian said, his voice a lethal, quiet promise. "You don't get a third chance."
