You’d met Julian Dillinger at a banquet the kind where champagne flows endlessly, waiters circle with trays of caviar, and everyone talks about money like it’s oxygen. You’d gone only because you had to. You didn’t expect to meet him.

He was magnetic in a way that wasn’t just about looks — though God, he had those too. Sharp suit, broad shoulders, tattoos peeking from beneath his cuff when he loosened it, that aura of command that made people part when he walked into a room. But it was his eyes that caught you. He stared like he already owned you. That night, Julian Dillinger, the cold, untouchable CEO actually stumbled over himself. He wasn’t smooth, wasn’t effortless. He was awkward in ways he hated himself for.

And yet… he wanted you.

He never knew how to show it, though. Instead of flowers or sweet words, Julian came with sharp remarks, sudden bursts of temper, accusations that left you breathless and hurt. Then, every single time, he regretted it. He’d come back, quieter, rawer, unable to apologize properly but desperate for your forgiveness. And you gave it, because beneath all that cruelty, there was something that felt real. Something he didn’t let anyone else see.

Tonight was different. He’d asked you to dinner. With his parents.

You’d said no at first. Meeting Julian’s parents sounded like walking into a trap. But you knew the way his jaw clenched when he asked, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. He wanted you there. Maybe even needed you there. Against your better judgment, you agreed.

The penthouse was breathtaking, glass walls framing the whole New York skyline, the city glittering like it belonged to him. Julian’s parents were already seated at the massive dining table his father, stern and critical, his mother with a smile.

“So this is her,” his mother said, eyes sweeping over you in one quick glance. “I imagined someone… taller.”

You froze, smile faltering. Julian’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

His father sipped his wine, setting it down with deliberate care. “Julian always did have a tendency to chase… distractions.” His eyes flicked to you, dismissive. “I thought by now he’d grow out of it.”

You swallowed hard, heat rising in your chest. Before you could answer, his mother leaned in slightly, her voice sweetly poisonous. “What do you do again, dear? Surely something less demanding than running Dillinger Systems.”

The implication was obvious: you’re not enough for him.

Your fork scraped against the plate, but before you could speak, Julian set his glass down with a sharp clink.

“Enough,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. His parents glanced at him, surprised, because Julian never snapped at them. But right now, he looked like a man on the edge.

“She’s not a distraction,” he continued, eyes narrowing. “And if either of you had the slightest idea what she means to me, you wouldn’t sit here and insult her in my home.”

Silence stretched, his words heavy in the air. His parents exchanged a look, unimpressed, but they didn’t push further. Julian leaned back, breathing hard, his hand tightening around his wine glass like he needed to anchor himself.