Julian ging an ihm vorbei und ignorierte Ethan völlig, als wäre er nichts weiter als eine Garderobe im Flur. Er ging direkt auf Grace zu, seine riesige Gestalt schützte sie vor dem Rest des Raumes. Er streckte eine Hand aus, die Milliarden-Dollar-Akquisitionen unterschrieben hatte, und berührte sanft, fast ehrfürchtig, die blaue Haut ihrer Wange.
Der kalte, rücksichtslose Titan der Finanzen verschwand, für einen einzigen, flüchtigen Moment ersetzt durch einen älteren Bruder, dessen Herz brach.
“Hat er das getan?” fragte Julian mit gefährlich sanfter Stimme.
Grace nickte einmal. “Ja.”
Julian atmete langsam und kontrolliert durch die Nase aus. Dann drehte er sich um.
Marcus und Christian hatten die Distanz bereits überwunden. Marcus bewegte sich mit erschreckender Geschwindigkeit, stellte sich direkt hinter Ethan, packte ihn am teuren Stoff seines Kragens, hob ihn mit einer Hand einen halben Zoll vom Marmorboden und schleuderte ihn mit einem dumpfen Aufprall gegen die Holzvertäfelung der Flurwand.
“Gah!” Ethan choked out, his hands clawing uselessly at Marcus’s massive forearm as the air was forced violently from his lungs.
“Marcus, wait!” Lauren shrieked, taking a panicked step forward, her high heels clicking frantically. “You can’t do this! You can’t just assault people! I’m calling the police! I am a senior consultant at Walker Development, and I will personally—”
Christian turned his head slowly, fixing Lauren with a cold, dead-eyed stare that made her freeze mid-sentence.
“Sweetheart,” Christian said, his voice dripping with venomous amusement, “if you pull out a phone right now, the only thing the police will be doing is scraping what’s left of your career off the sidewalk and putting it in a biohazard bag. Do you have any idea whose house you’re standing in?”
Lauren swallowed hard, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I—I know who owns it. Ethan Walker. Walker Development—”
“Walker Development,” Christian interrupted with a dry, humorless chuckle, “is a glorified real estate brokerage that currently owes eight point two million dollars in bridge loans to a subsidiary of Vance Holdings. My family owns the debt on this very house. We own the commercial park where your office is located. We even own the mortgage on the little townhouse in Dilworth where you keep your spare clothes.”
Lauren’s face turned the color of curdled milk. She staggered backward, her heel catching on the edge of the Persian rug, sending her sprawling inelegantly onto the floor.
Marcus kept Ethan pinned against the wall, his grip unyielding. Ethan’s face was turning a dangerous shade of purple, his eyes bulging as he stared at Julian, who stood calmly before him, hands tucked neatly into his trouser pockets.
“Ethan,” Julian said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Five years ago, you sat in my office in Atlanta. You sweated through your cheap off-the-rack suit. You looked me in the eye and you swore—swore on your life, your soul, everything you held sacred—that if I allowed my sister to marry you, you would protect her, cherish her, and honor her for as long as you both should live.”
Ethan let out a strangled wheeze, struggling against Marcus’s iron grip. “I… I did… please…”
“And how did you honor her tonight, Ethan?” Julian asked, stepping closer until his face was inches from Ethan’s nose. “By bringing some cheap, corporate side-piece into her home on your anniversary? By mocking her? By raising your hand and striking her?”
Julian’s hand shot out, grabbing Ethan by the throat, cutting off his air supply entirely.
“You miserable, ungrateful little parasite,” Julian hissed, his eyes burning with a cold, lethal fury. “You were nothing when my sister found you. You were a bankrupt nobody with a broken laptop. Grace built you. Grace funded you. Grace bled for you in silence while you played CEO. And you thought you could treat her like garbage?”
“Julian,” Grace’s voice cut through the chaos, soft but absolute.
Julian paused, his hand still clamped around Ethan’s throat. He turned his head slightly to look at his sister.
Grace walked slowly toward them, her expression serene, untouched by panic. She stopped two feet away from her husband, looking down at the crumpled, terrified man who had once promised her the stars.
Mit bedachter Langsamkeit griff Grace nach unten, hob das Ultraschallfoto vom Boden auf, wo es gefallen war, und hielt es direkt vor Ethans tränengefüllte Augen.
“Du hast mich gefragt, ob ich mich wie eine hysterische Hausfrau verhalte”, sagte Grace leise. “Schau dir die Serviette an, Ethan.”
Ethans blutunterlaufene Augen wanderten zu dem kleinen, körnigen Bild, das sie in den Fingern hielt. Die markante Umrisse einer sich entwickelnden Wirbelsäule, ein schlagendes Herz, ein winziger Kopf.
Ein ersticktes, hysterisches Schluchzen brach aus Ethans Kehle aus.
“Grace… Nein… bitte…”
“Das Versprechen ist vorbei, Ethan”, flüsterte Julian, seine Stimme wie die sich schließende Tür eines Grabes.
Und dann warf Marcus ihn quer durch den Raum.
