Chapter 497

Adrian's piercing gaze darted toward Julian before locking back onto Kristopher. "And Mr. Montclair?"

"I'll see him home and return afterward," Adrian replied tersely.

"Very well," Ethan said with a slight nod before turning to Vivian. "Mrs. Blackwood, right this way." Vivian bid a hasty farewell to Julian and followed Ethan to the waiting limousine.

Through the hospital corridor windows, Adrian waited until he saw Vivian safely enter the vehicle and watched it disappear down the tree-lined boulevard. Only then did he turn back to Julian, his entire demeanor shifting like quicksilver. "What game are you playing now?"

Adrian's voice cut through the sterile hospital air like a blade, every trace of warmth evaporating from his chiseled features.

"Accusing me again?" Julian lifted his bandaged hand slightly, offering a crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm injured. Wallet's empty. Can't a man ask an old friend for help?"

"Spare me the act," Adrian snapped. His voice dripped with venom as his obsidian eyes narrowed to slits. "Vivian might buy your charming facade, but I know better. With you, not making situations worse is practically a humanitarian effort."

Julian let his hand drop, his posture deceptively relaxed. "Your lack of faith is your problem, not mine."

Adrian's control snapped. Without warning, his fist connected with Julian's jaw in a brutal arc. The impact sent Julian crashing against the hospital wall before sliding to the floor.

Wiping blood from his split lip with the back of his hand, Julian looked up with eerie calm. His pale face remained impassive, but something dangerous glittered in his dark eyes. "Still quick to violence, I see. What would Vivian think of her perfect husband now?"

Adrian closed the distance in two strides, hauling Julian up by his designer shirt collar. He delivered another punishing blow, this time sending Julian's head snapping sideways. "What's your endgame?" Adrian growled, his voice a lethal whisper. "Do you actually care about her, or are you just determined to drag her into your personal hell?"

For a heartbeat, their gazes locked—two predators sizing each other up—before identical, humorless smiles curved their lips.

Julian spat a mouthful of blood onto the pristine hospital tiles.

Then chaos erupted.

Julian's fist shot toward Adrian's temple with deadly precision, every movement calculated to incapacitate. But Adrian anticipated the attack, releasing Julian's collar and pivoting with fluid grace. Julian's knuckles barely grazed Adrian's forearm—where they connected, the impact would have shattered bone in a lesser man.

Adrian straightened his tailored jacket with deliberate calm, brushing imaginary lint from the sleeves. His movements were controlled, predatory.

Julian wasn't surprised. He'd heard the whispered legends—how mercenaries across three continents spoke Adrian Blackwood's name with reverence and fear. Now he understood why.

Rising smoothly, Julian adjusted his rumpled shirt as if their violent exchange had been nothing more than a casual conversation. His smirk returned, though blood still trickled from his lip. "Pot calling the kettle black, aren't we? They say you're the devil himself in Savile Row tailoring. Your world must be fascinating."

Adrian's glacial stare could have frozen lava. "Don't equate us. I have lines I won't cross."

The unspoken words hung between them like drawn swords: And you never did.