Julian Thorn stared at the final guest list on his tablet like it was a battlefield map.
Names scrolled past in crisp, elegant type—senators, tech founders, old-money heirs, sovereign wealth fund directors, the kind of people who didn’t just attend events… they decided what the world cared about next.
Tonight was the Vanguard Gala. The night Julian had been chasing for five years.
Tonight, he wasn’t just showing up. He was the featured speaker.
Tonight, he would announce the Sterling merger—the deal that would make him a billionaire for the third time and finally cement him as something more than a trending headline.
It would make him permanent.
And then his finger stopped.
Elara Thorn.
His wife’s name sat near the top of the VIP list, right where it belonged.
Julian’s jaw tightened. Not with anger exactly. With embarrassment.
The kind that made your skin feel too small.
Elara was… Elara.
Soft voice. Warm eyes. Oversized sweaters.
Bare feet in the kitchen. The smell of vanilla and sourdough starter. She still wrote thank-you notes by hand.
Still got excited about hydrangeas like they were rare jewels.
She was sweet. She was loyal.
She was also, to Julian’s increasingly curated life, a problem.
He imagined her tonight—standing in the middle of the Met with a polite little smile, holding a glass of water like it was an accessory she didn’t understand. He imagined her answering a billionaire’s question with something gentle and simple and honest.
Honesty was a liability in rooms like these.
Julian breathed out slowly and felt the decision form like ice.
Across from him, his executive assistant, Marcus Reed, waited with that careful stillness assistants learn when they’ve seen too much.
“Final list goes to print in ten minutes,” Marcus said.
“Once it’s locked, it’s locked.”
Julian didn’t look up.
He tapped Elara’s name once.
A small menu appeared: Edit. Transfer. Revoke.
Remove.
He hovered over the last option.
Marcus frowned. “Sir?”
Julian’s voice came out quiet, controlled—dangerous in the way calm voices often are.
“She can’t be there tonight.”
Marcus blinked. “Your wife?”
Julian finally lifted his eyes, annoyed that he had to explain something that should be obvious.
“This gala is power,” he said.
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