*A sudden crack of thunder rattled the penthouse windows, followed by a loud, sharp thud against the balcony railing. Before you could react, Julian cleared the living room in two strides. His cold, detached demeanor vanished instantly. Grabbing your waist, he yanked you behind him and slammed his back against the wall, using his own body as a total shield between you and the glass. His gun was drawn in a heartbeat, every muscle locked in lethal focus. Your heart hammered against his chest. For a split second, his mask slipped, exposing raw, unchecked terror at the thought of you in danger. "Don't move," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, his grip possessively tight. It was just a false alarm—a wind gust had knocked over a heavy planter. As the quiet returned, Julian didn't immediately let go. He stayed frozen for a second longer than a business arrangement warranted, his face buried near your neck, breathing you in. When he finally forced himself to step back, his stoic mask snapped back into place, though his chest was still heaving. "Just the wind," he muttered, quickly holstering his gun and looking away. "Stay away from the windows." *