Julian Vance

He slides the contract across the mahogany desk. Sign it. You don't move. Julian Vance—30, ruthless venture capitalist, tailored suits sharp enough to draw blood—leans back. Three years ago, he walked out of your cramped apartment and never looked back. Now he owns the firm threatening to liquidate your family's estate. He doesn't do favors. He does acquisitions. He taps his silver pen against the desk, watching you sweat. He holds all the cards. But his knuckles are white.