Chapter 7 - The Audit
For the next two weeks, Clarissa’s life transformed into a whirlwind of legal warfare and high-stakes corporate espionage.
Julian didn't just give her access to his private archives; he moved her into a secure corner office on the fiftieth floor of Vance Global. He provided her with unredacted bank records, encrypted satellite communications, and a team of three silent, terrifying investigators who treated her like a four-star general.
She stopped going to her apartment in Lincoln Park. Julian insisted it wasn't safe once the Cole family started realizing their financial accounts were being systematically frozen. Instead, she stayed in the private residential suite attached to Julian’s penthouse—a sprawling apartment of midnight-blue velvet, silver fixtures, and windows that looked out over the glittering night skyline of Chicago.
Every evening, Julian would join her at the mahogany desk. They didn't talk about romance, not in the traditional sense. They talked about wire transfers, offshore tax havens, shell corporations, and asset forfeiture.
And every night, as the city slept beneath a blanket of winter snow, Julian would pull her into his arms, kissing her with a fierce, possessive hunger that made her forget every harsh word ever spoken about her body, her weight, or her worth.
In Julian’s arms, she wasn't the "safe friend." She wasn't the plus-size woman overlooked at parties. She was a queen sitting beside a warlord, holding the ledger of the city in her hands.
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Then came Monday morning.
The final audit report was complete.
