Chapter 2

There were forty-five days left until the wedding of the century.

The moment I pushed open my penthouse door, my foot hit something hard.

It was a black velvet gift box, sitting quietly on the pristine white cashmere rug in the foyer.

My heart skipped a beat. This penthouse used a state-of-the-art biometric lock that scanned both irises and veins. Aside from Julian and me, even the cleaning staff could only enter during specific hours, escorted by our private concierge.

Who could have slipped this inside without a sound?

With trembling hands, I opened the box. There was no bomb, no written threat. Inside was just an old, outdated black cell phone, and a printout of my wedding portrait—slashed and smeared with red paint.

Suddenly, the phone screen lit up. A text message popped up:

"Ten million dollars to leave Julian Vance. Reply before midnight, or I will make sure you drag the Vance name through the mud on your wedding day."

Cold sweat instantly soaked through my back.

I stumbled toward the kitchen island, grabbed my personal phone, and dialed Julian.

It rang three times before he picked up. In the background, I could hear the rustle of papers from a board meeting. Julian kept his voice low, sounding slightly annoyed but still gentle. "Chloe, I'm in a meeting. What's wrong?"

"Someone was inside..." My teeth chattered as I stared at the old phone like it was a venomous snake. "Someone got into our home. They left something. They're offering me ten million dollars to leave you!"

There was a silence on the other end for about five seconds.

The background noise suddenly vanished. Julian's voice turned dead serious. "Stay exactly where you are. Don't touch anything. I'll be there in ten minutes."

He meant it. Ten minutes later, he burst out of the elevator with two bodyguards.

The moment he walked in, he pulled my shaking body tightly into his arms. His large hand cupped the back of my head, feeling my frantic, racing heartbeat.

"You're safe, Chloe. I've got you."

He glanced at the box on the floor, his eyes instantly turning cold. He ordered his guard, "Check the security footage, call the police, and get this box dusted for prints."

I clutched his bespoke designer suit, my knuckles turning white. "Julian, the lock wasn't forced. How did they get in?"

Julian knelt down. Using a gloved hand, he flipped the ruined photo over. Written on the back in messy ink was: [Your fiancé is much dirtier than you think.]

He let out a cold scoff and tossed the photo into a plastic evidence bag. "Ten million to buy my future wife? What a cheap threat. It's probably a desperate move by a business competitor or some bankrupt enemy. Chloe, have you been showing off your wealth on social media lately?"

I froze.

His question was casual, but it felt like a sharp needle piercing my nerves.

"No," I said quickly. "I barely post anything on Instagram. You know that. Ever since we got engaged, I cut off almost everyone."

"I was just asking. Don't be nervous." He immediately softened his tone, carrying me over to the sofa and pressing a glass of warm water into my hands. "With the wedding coming up, people will try dirty tricks. I'm just worried you'll let this scare you to death."

The police arrived that afternoon.

After taking our statements, the detective delivered some frustrating news. The hallway and elevator cameras had undergone a system upgrade just half an hour prior, leaving a ten-minute blind spot. There was no footage. And since the sender had only sent a single text without making physical threats, they could only file a report.

Julian put immense pressure on the building management right in front of the police. Once they left, he turned back to comfort me.

That evening, Victoria, his childhood best friend and our wedding planner, dropped by.

She walked in on high heels, looking around the heavily guarded penthouse with a mocking smirk. "Chloe, aren't you overreacting a bit? A piece of spam mail and you drag Julian away from a multi-billion-dollar merger?"

I clutched a throw pillow, my stomach churning in pain. "Someone was inside our home."

"Maybe you just didn't close the door properly?" Victoria sat down next to Julian and poured herself a glass of red wine. "Stalkers and obsessed fans do crazy things these days. But honestly, ten million? If you actually took the money, Julian would be the laughingstock of high society."

"Shut up, Victoria," Julian said coldly. "Chloe is sensitive. Stop with the sarcastic remarks."

Victoria shrugged. "I'm just joking. I'm just saying, if she wants to be the wife of the CEO of the Vance Group, she needs a stronger spine. What if someone offers her a hundred million next time? Or threatens her life? Is she going to call the cops every single day?"

Julian didn't argue with Victoria's logic.

He only held me tighter, resting his chin on my head. "My woman doesn't need to be strong. I will protect her."

That night, the penthouse security was upgraded to military-grade.

Julian stayed with me, holding me tight in the master bedroom.

But I woke up gasping at two in the morning.

I had suddenly remembered something. The black velvet box in the foyer had been tied with an incredibly complex double-loop sailor's knot.

I had only ever seen one person tie a knot that way.

Julian.