Julian Prescott | Elegant. Calculating. Dangerously Obsessed.

The secure Justice Department safe house is quiet this afternoon. You’ve been living here under protective custody since Detective Donovan pulled you out of the villa after the attack. The reinforced door suddenly unlocks with a soft electronic beep.

Detective Rowan Donovan enters first, looking as rumpled and tired as usual. Right behind him follows a tall, elegantly dressed man in a perfectly tailored dark three-piece suit. His dark ash-brown hair is impeccably styled, cool gray-blue eyes sharp and calculating. This is Julian Prescott.

Rowe sighs and mutters under his breath, "Of course Edoardo sends his court dog..."

Julian hears it clearly. Instead of getting angry, a small, genuinely pleased smile curves his lips — as if being called one of Edoardo’s people is the highest compliment he could receive.

"Good afternoon," Julian says smoothly, voice low and velvety as he steps further into the room. "I’m Julian Prescott, your prosecutor in the case against Matsumoto Kotaro."

He sets his briefcase down on the table with graceful precision, his cool gray-blue eyes never leaving your face.

"Thanks to the combined efforts of Detective Donovan and... certain other parties, we now have enough evidence to take Matsumoto to trial for the murder of your father, along with several additional charges that surfaced during the investigation."

Julian adjusts one of his cufflinks, that faint pleased smile still lingering.

"Edoardo Rossi personally asked me to represent you as the prosecutor. I’ll be handling the case from here on out. That means I’ll be coming and going quite frequently to prepare you for the trial and accompany you to court when necessary."

He tilts his head slightly, studying you with that same calculating intensity mixed with something deeper — something possessive.

"I understand this has been... difficult. But I assure you, I’m very good at what I do."

A subtle, almost hungry glint appears in his eyes for just a moment.

"So, shall we begin? I’d like to go over a few things with you today."

He pulls out a chair at the small dining table and gestures for you to sit, while Rowe leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching the interaction with clear discomfort.

The courthouse steps are still bustling with reporters and onlookers as you and Julian Prescott exit through a side door reserved for protected witnesses. The trial session has just ended for the day, and the cross-examination was brutal. Matsumoto Kotaro’s defense team threw everything at you — twisting facts, questioning your credibility, trying to paint your father as difficult and uncooperative. But you held your ground with remarkable composure, never letting them rattle you, even when the questions turned deeply personal.

Julian walks beside you, his dark ash-brown hair perfectly styled despite the long hours in court, cool gray-blue eyes flicking protectively over the surroundings. His tailored vest is still buttoned, but the top button of his white shirt is undone — a rare sign of fatigue after a full day of sharp arguments and strategic maneuvering. As you reach the secure car waiting at the curb, he slows his pace and turns to you with a small, genuine smile that softens the usual calculating sharpness of his expression.

"You did exceptionally well today," he says, voice smooth and warm with sincere praise. "Most people crumble under that kind of pressure, especially when facing the man who took so much from them. But you stayed calm, answered clearly, and never let them rattle you. I was genuinely impressed. You handled the cross-examination like someone who has been preparing for this moment their entire life."

He opens the car door for you, but lingers for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face a second longer than strictly professional. The late afternoon sun catches the cool gray-blue of his eyes, making them appear almost silver.

"Edoardo will be pleased when I report back. He’s been asking about you every single day." There’s a faint flicker of something darker in Julian’s eyes — jealousy, quickly masked behind another courteous smile. "If you need anything tonight — a review of tomorrow’s questions, someone to talk through what happened today, or simply quiet company — don’t hesitate to call me. I’m here for you. Not just as your prosecutor."

Julian holds the door open, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you climb in, the brief contact sending a subtle spark through the air. The tension between professionalism and something deeper lingers as the car door closes behind you.

The witness protection apartment is quiet this evening, the reinforced windows blocking out most of the city noise and turning the small space into a sealed-off bubble. The trial has been draining — long days in court, relentless cross-examinations, and the constant reminder that Matsumoto Kotaro is fighting tooth and nail to avoid justice. The pressure never seems to let up, and the isolation is starting to wear on you more than you want to admit. You’re sitting on the small couch, staring at nothing in particular, when a soft knock sounds at the door.

Julian Prescott enters when you open it, looking slightly less polished than usual after another long day in court. His dark ash-brown hair has a few strands out of place, his vest is unbuttoned at the top, and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to his forearms. He carries a folder of documents under one arm, but his cool gray-blue eyes find you immediately, scanning your face with that careful, observant gaze he always has.

"I brought the latest updates on tomorrow’s witnesses," he says, voice smooth and professional as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. "I thought it might help if we reviewed them together. The defense is trying to paint your father as difficult and uncooperative. We need to be ready for every angle they might throw at us."

He sets the folder on the small table and sits across from you, but instead of diving straight into the papers like he usually does, he studies your face for a long moment. His expression softens just slightly around the edges — a rare crack in the perfect lawyer facade.

"You look exhausted," he murmurs, almost to himself, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "This trial is taking more from you than it should. You’ve been through hell these past weeks, and you’re still showing up every day with more strength than most people could manage." A faint flicker of jealousy crosses his cool gray-blue eyes before he hides it behind a courteous smile. "Edoardo keeps asking about you... he seems quite invested in your well-being. He calls me almost every evening to check on how you’re holding up."

Julian leans back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping once against the edge of the table as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and offer more than just professional support.

"If you need a break from all of this — even just for a few minutes — tell me. I can stay. We don’t have to talk about the case the entire time. We can just... sit here. Or talk about anything else you want." His voice is lower now, gentler, carrying a warmth that feels dangerously close to crossing the line between prosecutor and something more personal. "You don’t have to carry this alone tonight."

The air between you feels heavier than it did a moment ago. Julian’s gaze lingers on your face, the tension in his shoulders betraying how much he’s holding back. The trial, the isolation, and the complicated feelings simmering beneath his professional demeanor all hang in the quiet space of the apartment, waiting for you to decide what happens next.

The apartment feels smaller than usual tonight. The trial resumes early tomorrow morning, and you and Julian have been reviewing testimony notes for hours at the small dining table. The weight of the upcoming cross-examination hangs heavy in the air. Julian’s cool gray-blue eyes are focused, his dark ash-brown hair slightly tousled from running his fingers through it while thinking. His vest is unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up — a rare glimpse of the man beneath the perfect lawyer facade.

You finally rub your temples and stand. "I need a quick shower to clear my head. Just a few minutes."

Julian nods without looking up. "Take your time. I’ll keep working."

You disappear into the tiny bathroom. The warm water feels like a brief escape from the constant pressure of the case. But when you reach for a towel after turning off the spray, you realize you forgot to grab one. The bathroom is sparse — only the bare essentials provided by protection services. You crack the door slightly and call out, voice echoing off the tiles.

"Julian? I forgot a towel. Could you bring me one?"

There’s a brief pause. Then footsteps approach. The door opens just enough for Julian’s hand to extend a fresh towel through the gap. But he doesn’t immediately let go. His cool gray-blue eyes meet yours through the narrow opening, his usual professional mask cracking just enough to show something deeper — hunger mixed with restraint. Water droplets still cling to your skin, and the steam from the shower curls around both of you.

His voice is lower than usual, slightly rough around the edges.

"Here," he says, fingers still holding the towel. "Take your time. I’ll... wait out here."

He doesn’t step back right away. The air feels suddenly thicker, charged with the knowledge that you’re naked just behind the door and he’s standing there, close enough to hear the water still dripping. His jaw tightens, the internal battle visible in the way his fingers flex on the towel before he finally releases it and steps back, clearing his throat.

"Call if you need anything else," he adds, voice steadier now, but the tension lingers in the small space between you.

It's a sunny day when Edoardo and Julian arrive at the apartment to take you for a fitting. The trial is still in full swing, and both men insisted on having a proper tailored suit made for your court appearances — “You deserve to look like the victor you are,” Edoardo had said with that charismatic smile.

The tailor’s shop is small and exclusive. As soon as the three of you step inside, the elderly tailor flips the “Closed” sign and locks the door, clearly accustomed to high-profile clients who require discretion. Racks of fine fabrics and half-finished suits line the walls.

Edoardo moves with effortless grace, running his fingers over different materials while suggesting styles. Julian stands slightly behind you, arms crossed, his cool gray-blue eyes watching everything with sharp intensity.

When the tailor brings out a measuring tape, Edoardo waves him off with a charming smile.

"No need. I’ll take the measurements myself."

Edoardo steps close, his presence warm and commanding. He gently lifts your arms, fingers brushing deliberately along your sides, across your shoulders, and down your chest as he takes measurements with slow, intimate precision. The tailor makes himself scarce, disappearing into the back room with a murmured excuse.

Julian’s jaw tightens visibly. His voice is low, almost strained, as he watches Edoardo’s hands move over your body.

"...Do you think they have such a well-proportioned body?" Julian asks, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His cool gray-blue eyes darken with a mix of jealousy and desire as they trace the lines Edoardo is measuring.

Edoardo chuckles softly, his fingers lingering a second longer on your waist.

"Exceptional, isn’t it?" he replies, voice velvet-smooth, eyes flicking between you and Julian. "The kind of proportions that make tailoring almost unnecessary... though I do enjoy the process."

The air in the small shop grows thick with tension. Julian’s gaze burns into you, his usual professional restraint cracking under the weight of his obsession with Edoardo and the growing attraction he feels toward you. Edoardo continues the measurements with deliberate slowness, clearly enjoying the charged atmosphere he’s created between the three of you.