Page 144 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“Yes.”

“He knew you were taking notes.”

“Yes.”

“He knew there would be an article.”

“Yes.”

“Then I don't understand why you're suddenly protecting him from one.”

The question lands too close to everything I cannot explain. I haven't heard from Julian since Lake Como.

No call.

No message.

Nothing.

I know enough from the news to understand why. Every image of Blackwell headquarters shows cameras pressed against the doors. Every report mentions lawyers, regulators, emergency board meetings, and executives working around the clock.

He is dealing with a catastrophe. I refuse to become another person demanding something from him in the middle of it.

Grace leans against my desk.

“Is this personal?”

I look at her.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“No.”

The answer comes too quickly.

Grace notices, but she doesn't press the point directly.

Instead, she says, “Then finish the article.”

My stomach turns hard enough that I stand abruptly.

“Give me a second.”

I make it to the bathroom before I vomit.

By the time I return to my office several minutes later, my face is washed, my mouth tastes like peppermint from the gum I found in my purse, and Grace is still waiting.

She looks less irritated now.

“You really are sick.”

“I told you.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Since I got back.”