Chapter 10 - The Dawn of Healing
Silence returned to the Sterling manor.
The crystal chandeliers hummed softly in the cool night breeze, their golden light reflecting off the abandoned champagne flutes and the dark, soapy water still pooling around the outdoor sink.
Julian turned his full attention back to Emma. He slid his hands beneath her knees and shoulders, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. She weighed almost nothing; the realization sent a fresh wave of grief through his chest, but he held her tightly against his heart, carrying her past the shattered remnants of the party, through the French doors, and into the quiet sanctuary of the grand house.
He did not take her to the master bedroom on the second floor; that room was tainted by the memories of the years she had been exiled from it. Instead, he carried her into the private garden library—the room they had loved most during their first year of marriage, with its high mahogany shelves, crackling stone fireplace, and deep velvet sofas.
He laid her down gently on the plush cushions, then knelt beside her on the Persian rug.
From the adjoining bath, Julian retrieved a silver basin filled with warm, clean water, a bottle of organic almond oil, and several soft, white cotton towels. He sat on the floor beside the sofa, pulled her bruised, red hands into his lap, and began the slow, tender work of restoration.
He washed away the remaining soap scum with warm water, using a sponge as soft as silk. Every time Emma winced, Julian paused, pressing a gentle kiss to her wrist before continuing. He massaged the soothing almond oil into her split cuticles, his thumbs working out the knots of tension that had locked her fingers into claws for months.
Emma watched him in the firelight. The fourteen-carat diamond at her throat rose and fell with her steadying breath, reflecting the amber flames.
“They told me you were never coming back,” she whispered, her voice still hoarse from weeping. “Every single day, Jennifer showed me articles… pictures of parties… she told me you were ashamed of me.”
Julian paused, holding her right hand between both of his palms, feeling the fragile pulse beneath her skin. He looked up into her gray eyes, his own eyes dark with an unshakeable, eternal vow.
“I was fighting my way back to you every single second, Em,” he said, his voice deep and steady as the earth. “Every contract I signed, every restaurant I opened, every enemy I crushed—it was all for this house. It was all for you. There is no woman on this planet who could ever replace the girl who believed in me when I had nothing in my pockets but a kitchen knife and a dream.”
He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers, breathing in the scent of her skin as she finally relaxed into the sofa cushions.
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“Tomorrow, the lawyers will be here,” Julian murmured against her lips. “The estate, the restaurants, the holding companies—every single asset will be transferred into your sole name. You will never answer to anyone again, Emma. You will never hold a scrub brush again. You are the queen of everything I built, and as long as I draw breath, no one will ever make you lower your eyes again.”
Emma closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering sigh that released the last lingering ghost of her five-year torment. For the first time in half a decade, her hands did not hurt. Wrapped in soft linen, warmed by the fire, and held in the unbreakable grip of the man who had conquered the world for her, she finally let the darkness fade into the dawn.
