Chapter 4 - Shadows of the PastThe engagement announcement didn't just ripple through New York society; it triggered a tidal wave.
By Tuesday afternoon, the front pages of the Wall Street Journal and the New York Post featured high-resolution photos of Julian and me leaving the corporate offices, side-by-side, with headlines blaring: TYCOON JULIAN VANCE CLAIMS MYSTERY FIANCEE AFTER ASTOR GRAND SHOWDOWN.
I sat at the kitchen island in the penthouse, scrolling through endless social media comments dissecting my entire life—where I went to school, where I worked, and how an assistant event coordinator had captured the most eligible bachelor in the country.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed with an unrecognized number.
I picked it up and answered cautiously. “Hello?”
“Ava? Thank God you picked up.”
My blood ran cold.
It wasn't Damian. It was my mother.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“Have you seen the news? Are you out of your mind, Ava?!” My mother’s voice was shrill, filled with panic. “Why didn't you tell us you were engaged to Julian Vance? Do you have any idea what kind of men are in that circle? They destroy people like us! You need to break it off immediately before he ruins you!”
I closed my eyes, a familiar, heavy ache settling in my chest. Even now, sitting in a penthouse overlooking the entire city, my family’s default reaction was fear and disbelief in my worth.
“Mom, I’m twenty-nine years old,” I said, my voice steady. “Julian isn't going to ruin me. He’s the only man who ever stood up for me.”
“You don't understand!” she cried. “People like that don't love women from our background! You’re just a trophy to him after that socialite dumped him—wait, no, Damian called your father five minutes ago, he’s desperate—he says if you talk to Julian, maybe—”
I hung up.
I didn't block her number, but I dropped the phone onto the counter and let out a long, shuddering breath.
Strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, and Julian rested his chin gently on my shoulder.
“Family?” he asked softly, reading the tension in my posture.
“They think I’m a victim waiting to happen,” I whispered, leaning back against his chest. “They think I’m in over my head.”
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Julian turned me around in his arms, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear on my cheek.
“Let them think what they want, Ava,” Julian said, his voice absolute and unshakeable. “They don't know the woman I fell in love with. They don't know the woman who worked two jobs, tutored immigrant children, and survived four years of emotional starvation without losing her soul. You aren't in over your head, Ava. You’re home.”
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