Page 42 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“Mr. Blackwell asked me to show you through the main floor before he joins you,” Dr. Park says.

“We’ll keep the proprietary areas restricted, but you’ll still get a useful sense of the work.”

She leads me past security and through a long corridor lined with glass panels. Beyond them, engineers move between workstations, testing rigs, and suspended displays filled with diagrams I only partially understand. The space is quieter than I expected. There is no corporate theater, no polished showroom designed for reporters. The equipment is functional, the conversations low and focused, and several worktables are crowded with components, tools, and marked-up schematics.

Dr. Park explains the purpose of each section as we walk. I ask questions where I can, making notes while trying not to let the scale of the place distract me. By the time she brings me to a conference room overlooking the main lab, my breathing has steadied.

“Mr. Blackwell will be with you shortly,” Dr. Park says.

“Would you like coffee or water?”

“Water would be perfect,” I tell her.

She nods and leaves me alone.

I arrange my recorder and notebook on the table, then glance through the glass wall at the lab below. Ten minutes pass before the door opens behind me.

“Good morning, Sophie.”

I turn, and every prepared thought shifts slightly out of place. Julian is dressed in black trousers and a pale button-down shirt beneath a dark sport coat. Without the formal suit, he looks less contained, though no less commanding. His salt-and-pepper hair is swept back neatly, and his eyes catch mine with the same steady intensity I remember from New York.

“Good morning,” I say, standing.

He crosses the room and offers his hand.

“Did you sleep well?” Julian asks.

“Eventually,” I reply.

His mouth curves faintly.

“The hotel can be too quiet.”

“I didn’t expect that to be the problem.”

When I take his hand, he steps close enough that I catch the clean scent of aftershave beneath something warmer and more subtle. The fragrance is fresh, masculine, and far more distracting than it has any right to be.

“How was the flight?” he asks as he releases my hand.

“Short,” I tell him.

“The drive from the airport took longer than the flight felt.”

“That sounds about right,” Julian says.

“Boston likes to make arrivals feel earned.”

I smile despite myself. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He takes the chair across from me rather than at the head of the table. The choice is small, but I notice it.

“We can start whenever you’re ready,” Julian says.

I turn on the recorder and begin with the anniversary campaign, then move quickly toward the Boston division. His first answers are measured, but they change when I ask about the lab’s current work. He leans forward, resting one forearm against the table as he explains the engineering rather than the company.

“The central problem isn’t whether the system can perform under controlled conditions,” Julian says.

“It can. The real challenge is maintaining reliability when the variables stop behaving. Heat, latency, inconsistent inputs, human error. A design can look elegant in a lab and fail the moment it meets the world.”