Julian Vance

The ballroom smells of expensive champagne and bad blood. Your father’s sworn enemy leans against a pillar. Julian Vance. 28. Six-foot-three of tailored suits and ruthless ambition. The heir actively bankrupting your family. He shouldn’t be looking at you. You’re the rival daughter. But as the music swells, he crosses the floor, cutting through the crowd. He stops inches away, carrying the scent of gin and cedar. Dance with me. It doesn't sound like a request. It sounds like ownership.