Julien watched Carla press herself against the passenger side of her car. His eyebrows pulled together. He hit the glass again, harder this time.
Carla shook her head frantically. She fumbled with her keys, shoving them into the ignition. She twisted it, praying the engine would start so she could throw it in reverse.
The old engine sputtered, coughed weakly, and died.
Julien watched her useless struggle through the glass. The mockery in his eyes vanished, replaced by a dark, volatile impatience.
"Open the door, Carla," his voice was muffled by the glass, but the cold command sliced right through it.
Carla pretended she couldn't hear him. She gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her knuckles white, her breathing shallow and fast.
Julien lost the last thread of his patience. He reached out and wrapped his large hand around the cheap plastic exterior door handle of the Honda.
The muscles in his forearm bunched beneath his suit jacket. He planted his feet and yanked backward with brutal force. The cheap plastic groaned under the pressure, stark white stress lines spider-webbing across the surface. He didn't stop. He adjusted his grip, his muscles locking, and yanked a second time. A loud, sickening crack echoed in the garage as the handle completely snapped off the door.
Julien looked at the broken piece of cheap plastic in his hand. He tossed it onto the concrete floor like a piece of garbage.
Carla let out a short scream as the sound echoed. Her body jerked in her seat.
Julien calmly reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number, his eyes never leaving Carla's terrified face.
"Security," Julien said into the phone, his voice flat and authoritative. "Level B3. A silver Honda just scraped the bumper of my Aston Martin. The driver is locking herself inside and refusing to cooperate. Send a team down here immediately, and notify my legal department."
Carla's eyes widened in absolute horror. She stared at the man abusing his power, twisting the truth without a second thought.
She couldn't afford a smashed window. She couldn't afford the police.
She bit her lip so hard it bled. Defeated, she reached over and pressed the unlock button.
The lock clicked. Julien instantly grabbed the edge of the door frame and pulled the heavy door open.
His large frame immediately filled the open space, blocking any chance of escape. He leaned in, placing one hand on the roof of the car and the other on the back of her seat.
He trapped her completely in his shadow.
The familiar scent of cold mint and dark tobacco invaded Carla's lungs. It made her stomach twist into painful knots.
Carla pressed herself flat against the seat. "What do you want from me, Mr. Wagner?" her voice shook.
The formal title ignited a dangerous fire in Julien's eyes.
He reached out. His long fingers clamped around her narrow jaw, forcing her face up to look at him.
"Five years," Julien sneered, his voice dripping with toxic satisfaction. "Five years, and this pathetic life is all you have to show for it?"
Carla was forced to look up at him. Her eyes were red, but she glared back. "My life is none of your business."
Julien let out a harsh, humorless laugh. His eyes scanned her faded collar and the dusty, cheap interior of the car.
"When you took my grandmother's ten million dollar trust fund, I assumed you'd be living in a mansion in Beverly Hills by now," he said.
At the mention of the ten million dollars, Carla's entire body violently flinched. The words ripped open the deepest, most infected wound in her chest.
Julien felt the flinch. His fingers tightened slightly on her jaw.
"Did you blow through all the cash?" he whispered, his words designed to kill. "Is that why you scurried back to Manhattan? Looking for your next wealthy target?"
A wave of intense nausea hit Carla. The dam broke. Hot tears spilled over her eyelashes and dropped directly onto Julien's hand.
The scalding heat of her tears made Julien's fingers twitch, but he didn't let go. He kept her pinned, refusing to give her an inch of mercy.
