My fiancé cheated with my sister at our engagement party, so I flipped the table and married his uncle

The Mercer estate in Pacific Heights did not resemble a home so much as a fortress of black granite and floor-to-ceiling glass perched high above the bay.

When Julian walked me through the bronze double doors, four house staff stood in a neat, rigid line in the cavernous foyer. An enormous arrangement of white lilies and dark greenery sat on the central marble table, their fragrance sharp and clean.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Mercer," the head housekeeper, a severe woman named Mrs. Gable, said with a crisp, respectful curtsy.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gable," I said, feeling the weight of the name settle over my shoulders like heavy armor.

"Your things are being brought over from the townhouse as we speak," Julian told me, shedding his jacket and handing it to the butler. He turned to me, unbuttoning his vest. Without the armor of his three-piece suit, he seemed larger, more dangerous, the breadth of his shoulders emphasizing the quiet physical dominance he held over every room he entered.

"I assume we will have separate rooms?" I asked, keeping my chin level, though my stomach fluttered traitorously.

Julian paused, his sharp gray eyes raking over me with an unhurried, speculative intensity.

"If we sleep in separate wings, the staff will talk. If the staff talks, Leo’s father will hear of it. And if the Mercer board suspects this is an unconsummated paper arrangement, the voting proxy for the Whitaker rail spur will be challenged before the SEC," he said calmly.

He walked toward me until the tips of his polished Italian shoes brushed the toes of my heels. He was nearly a foot taller than me, casting a shadow that swallowed the afternoon sunlight pouring through the atrium.

"You have the master suite," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rasp. "I have the adjoining study. The door between them remains unlocked. Whether you choose to turn the handle is entirely up to you, June. I don't take what isn't given. But to everyone outside these walls... you belong to me."

My breath hitched. "And what do you expect from me in return, Julian?"

"I expect you to stand by my side tomorrow night," he said, reaching out to gently graze the bruise on my jaw with the pad of his thumb. His touch was warm, shockingly tender against the ache. "The Whitaker Foundation annual gala is tomorrow. Your mother is hosting. Leo will be there, clinging to Chloe’s hand to save face."

A cold, vicious smile curved my lips. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."