Page 98 of He Knows When You're Awake

Julian snatches up his phone again, stabbing at the screen. Hiscomposure cracks further with each unanswered ring. Finally, he hurls the device across the room. It hits the wall with a crack that makes me flinch.

“This isn’t—” He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath. “Get her designs loaded. All of them. If he won’t answer...” He turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes my blood run cold. “Then maybe we need to give him a better reason to call back.”

The Russians move toward the stack of my prototype cases. My stomach lurches as they start handling my work, my art, like it’s nothing more than cargo to be shipped.

Boris—or maybe it’s Vladimir—drops one of the cases. The sound of metal hitting marble makes me jerk against the silk tie. “Careful with those,” I snap before I can stop myself.

Julian’s head whips around. A smile spreads across his face that does nothing to warm his eyes. “Ah. So you do care about something besides making me believe you and Cole are finished.”

He walks over to where the case fell, picking up one of my designs. My newest one. The one I hadn’t even shown Cole yet.

“Beautiful work.” He turns it over in his hands. His fingers trace the edge of the metal with an intimacy that makes my skin crawl. “Perfect, really. Claire’s final collection, discovered after all these years.”

I force myself to stay still, to keep my voice steady. “What exactly do you think you’re going to do with my designs?”

“These?” He lifts the piece to catch the light. “These areClaire’sdesigns. Found in her private studio after her tragic accident. Her final collection, never shown to the world.” He sets the piece down with exaggerated care. “The art world will be captivated. Her legacy, living on. The press will eat it up.”

Ice slides down my spine as I realize what he’s planning. Not just theft—complete erasure. He’s going to wipe away my name, my work, everything I’ve created.

“You’ll never get away with—”

“Won’t I?” His smile is cold. “By the time this hits the press, these pieces will have all the proper documentation. Every sketch, every note, every prototype—all in Claire’s hand. It’s amazing what money can buy these days. And the best part?” He checks his watch again. “It won’t matter that I couldn’t access Claire’s real work. All this effort to keep them from me won’t matter. Cole will have to watch as everything you’ve created becomes part of her legacy instead.”

The calm I’ve been clinging to starts to crack. These designs aren’t just pieces of metal and stone—they’re pieces of me. My vision. My soul. Each one represents countless hours of work, of failing and trying again, of finally getting it exactly right. And he’s going to erase all of that with a stack of forged papers.

A loud thud from somewhere in the mansion makes everyone freeze. Julian’s head snaps toward the door.

“Go check,” he orders one of the Russians, who immediately draws his weapon and slips out.

The second Russian looks nervous now, his hand hovering near his holster. “Boss, maybe we should—”

“Keep loading,” Julian snaps. “We’re not leaving without those designs.”

The remaining Russian returns to packing my work, but his movements are hurried now, careless. Another piece clatters against the side of the case.

“If that’s Cole,” I say quietly, “you should know he won’t come alone.”

Julian’s smile is cold as he turns back to me. “I’m counting on it.” He draws the knife again, moving behind me. “In fact, I think it’s time we prepared a proper welcome.”

His fingers twist into my hair, yanking my head back as theknife comes to rest against my throat. My pulse throbs against the cold metal.

“This is the oldest story in the world, Sloane,” he whispers against my ear. “The hero comes to rescue the damsel, only to walk right into the trap.”

Another crash echoes from deeper in the house, followed by what sounds unmistakably like a gunshot.

“Tick tock,” Julian murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “Your knight approaches.”

One of the Russians drops another case with a clang. Julian doesn’t even flinch at the sound this time, too busy staring at his phone. Seven calls now. All ignored.

“Load them in the van,” he snaps suddenly. “All of them. And carefully this time, you idiots. These are priceless pieces of art now.” He barks out a laugh. “Worth far more with Claire’s name on them than they ever would have been with yours.”

I bite my tongue until I taste blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me react. But inside, my mind is racing. There has to be something, some detail that would prove these are mine. My signature elements, my techniques...

“What about the girl?” one of the Russians asks, his accent thick.

Julian’s eyes sweep over me, cold and calculating. “Leave her with me. Mr. Asher and I have some unfinished business to discuss.” His lip curls. “When he finally decides to show up.”

Something in his tone makes my skin prickle. As the Russians begin hauling out the cases, I watch the last traces of Julian’s polished veneer crack away. The man underneath is something else entirely. Something darker.