Old Flame, New Love

Lydia didn’t wake until late afternoon. She stared blankly at the ceiling before forcing herself up, every muscle aching. After washing up, she ate a light meal and drove out. At the downtown spa, Monica Hayes glanced at her distracted friend and smirked. “You and Julian seem to be doing really well lately…” Lydia blinked. “What?” Monica’s eyes darted to Lydia’s neck. “You’ve got the look of someone who had a wild night.” Lydia froze, tugged the blanket higher over her shoulders, and silently cursed Julian under her breath. Monica chuckled, adjusting her facial mask. “You know he’s got someone new again, right?” Lydia’s tone was calm. “Who?” “Rumor says she’s a college student.” “You’ve seen her?” “Ran into them at a lounge last week,” Monica said. “She told everyone she was just his friend. Sweet girl—different from his usual type.” Lydia gave a faint “Mm.” Monica hesitated. “I’ll never understand why you married him.” Their marriage had been sudden; even Monica hadn’t known until afterward. They’d never held a wedding, and the public had no idea that Julian Marks was already married. “Anyway,” Monica said, shrugging. “Not my problem.” Then, her tone brightened. “Oh—have you met Vanessa’s fiancé yet? She said they met back when she was studying in Southport.” “Southport?” Lydia’s heart skipped. “What’s his name?” “She didn’t say—super secretive. Guess we’ll find out tonight.” By the time they left the spa, the city was glowing with evening lights. At The Orchid House Restaurant, Vanessa Price was already there. “Monica!” Vanessa hugged her warmly, then turned to Lydia with a smile. “Lydia, it’s been too long.” Lydia nodded. She opened her mouth to reply—then froze when she saw the man standing behind Vanessa. Adrian Cole. Tall, composed, in a navy dress shirt. His expression was cool and unreadable. Monica’s eyes lit up as she glanced between them. “Vanessa, aren’t you going to introduce this handsome gentleman?” Vanessa smiled, looping her arm through Adrian’s. “Lydia, Monica—this is my fiancé, Adrian Cole.” She turned to Lydia. “Though, I think you two have already met.” Adrian inclined his head politely. “Mrs. Marks.” Lydia met his eyes briefly, her expression unreadable. Then Vanessa gestured toward Monica. “And this is my best friend, Monica Hayes.” Adrian nodded. “Ms. Hayes.” Monica grinned. “Vanessa, you’ve been holding out on us! Not even a photo?” “Wasn’t intentional,” Vanessa said lightly, glancing at Lydia again. “There were… circumstances.” “I’ll forgive you,” Monica said cheerfully, dragging Lydia toward the table. “Let’s eat—I’m starving.” Vanessa handed Lydia the menu. “Order anything you like. Dinner’s on Adrian.” Lydia stared at the menu, then at Vanessa. “Lydia?” “Just a couple dishes,” Lydia said quietly, passing it to Monica. Dinner went smoothly enough — laughter, small talk, the clinking of glasses. Mostly Monica and Vanessa chatting. Lydia stayed quiet. So did Adrian, except when spoken to. His focus rarely left Vanessa, even as he peeled shrimp for her or refilled her glass. Halfway through the meal, Lydia’s phone buzzed twice. Julian Marks: At The Orchid House for dinner? She locked her screen without replying. The chatter and laughter began to grate on her nerves. Each time she heard Adrian’s voice, something in her tightened. She was just about to leave when a familiar voice sounded behind her. “Mr. Cole. What a coincidence—you’re here too?”

When Adrian Cole saw who had arrived, his gaze faltered briefly. He set down his chopsticks and stood up politely. “Mr. Marks.” Julian Marks waved a hand, motioning for him not to get up, and walked straight to Lydia Moore’s side, settling casually into the empty seat next to her. His arm draped easily across the back of her chair. “I heard from Lydia that she was having dinner with some friends here,” he said, smiling with practiced ease. “I happened to be meeting a client at the same restaurant tonight, so I thought I’d stop by and say hello. Didn’t expect to find out it was you, Mr. Cole.” His tone carried an undertone of amusement. Vanessa Price, who of course knew Julian, quickly explained, “I was the one who invited Monica and Lydia. Adrian and I are getting married soon, so I wanted to have dinner together before things get hectic. If I’d known you were here too, Mr. Marks, I would’ve asked Lydia to bring you along.” Julian picked up Lydia’s teacup and took a leisurely sip. “So,” he asked, smiling faintly, “when’s the wedding, Ms. Hayes?” Vanessa laughed. “Next spring. I’m counting on both Monica and Lydia to be my bridesmaids.” Monica Hayes glanced sideways at Lydia and smirked. “No problem. As long as you don’t mind your bridesmaids outshining the bride.” Vanessa chuckled and turned to Lydia. “And you, Lydia?” Lydia looked up and met her gaze evenly, her expression unreadable. Julian’s voice came in before she could answer, warm and indulgent. “Lydia’s going to have to skip it. We’re actually planning to have a baby soon, and she might be… a little unavailable by then.” Lydia froze and turned toward him. “What?” Julian arched an eyebrow, his tone light but pointed. “Isn’t that right, Lydia?” Monica glanced between them, opening her mouth as if to say something but then thinking better of it. Vanessa blinked in surprise, then quickly smiled again. “That’s wonderful! Monica and I will be honored to become honorary aunts. With looks like yours and Julian’s, your baby’s going to be absolutely adorable.” Adrian raised his glass with a polite smile. “Congratulations in advance, Mr. and Mrs. Marks.” Julian lifted Lydia’s teacup in response, his lips curving. “Thanks — same to you.” Monica groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on, you two, have some mercy on us single people, will you?” Her interjection broke the tension around the “baby” topic, and the conversation moved on. After a while, Lydia excused herself to go to the restroom. Inside, the room was quiet except for the sound of running water. She stood under the automatic faucet, rubbing her hands over and over without realizing it, until her skin turned red. The door opened. Julian stepped inside. Lydia turned her head slightly, her tone even. “This is the ladies’ room.” Julian smiled faintly, his dark eyes glinting as he stepped closer. “I know.” He caught her wrist before she could move away. She tried to pull free, but his grip tightened. Looking down at her reddened hands, his lips curved in a half-smile. “Lydia, mourning an old lover right in front of your husband — don’t you think that’s a bit inappropriate?” Her brow furrowed. “You’ve been checking up on me?” “Why shouldn’t I?” His tone turned sharp. “Don’t forget who you are, Lydia.” “I haven’t,” she said quietly. “Good.” He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face and tilted her chin upward, lowering his head to kiss her. She flinched and stepped back instinctively, startled by her own reaction. Julian’s expression didn’t change — not the faintest flicker of emotion disturbed his smooth, handsome face. But a second later, his hand clamped around her jaw, and his mouth crushed down on hers. Lydia struggled to push him away, but he held her fast, backing her against the cold wall. “Mm—” She gasped in pain. His teeth caught her lip hard enough to break the skin, the metallic tang of blood blooming between them. The kiss was deep, forceful — almost punishing. Her knees went weak. She kicked at him, and only then did he finally release her, giving her a chance to breathe. Julian’s half-lidded eyes studied her swollen, blood-tinged lips, unreadable. He brushed his thumb across them, his voice low and teasing. “You know, Lydia — your lips are softer than I remembered.” She pushed him away and walked to the mirror. Her lower lip was visibly red and swollen — impossible to hide. She cupped some water and carefully rinsed the cut. Julian came up behind her, leaning one arm on the counter, trapping her reflection between his arms. “What’s wrong?” he murmured lazily. “Afraid your old flame will notice what we’ve been doing?” She met his gaze in the mirror. “Not everyone is as shameless as you.” He laughed — a real laugh, head tilted against her shoulder, shaking with amusement. Lydia didn’t see what was funny. Her chest ached with frustration, and yet… the man’s face was infuriatingly handsome, especially when he smiled. “You should try it sometime,” Julian said with a grin. “A thicker skin can work wonders. If we’re not embarrassed, everyone else will be.” Lydia had no words for that. She pushed past him and walked out of the restroom. Julian followed. As they were approaching the dining area, his phone rang. Lydia didn’t look back, but she heard his voice behind her — suddenly soft, patient, almost gentle. “Hey, sweetheart. Don’t worry. Take your time.”

Lydia and Julian returned to the table a few minutes later. Vanessa Price immediately noticed the mark on Lydia’s lip and smiled knowingly. “Lydia, what happened to your mouth?” At that, the others glanced her way. Lydia looked calmly back at Vanessa, saying nothing. Julian reached out, tilting Lydia’s chin toward him as if to inspect. His thumb brushed across her lip in a touch that was far too familiar. “It’s true,” he said lightly. “Honey, your lips are cracked. The air’s been so dry lately — remember to drink more water.” Lydia frowned and pushed his hand away, shooting him a warning look. Julian just smiled, as if it were harmless teasing between husband and wife, and then turned his gaze toward Adrian Cole, who met it evenly. Lifting his glass, Julian said, “Mr. Cole, Ms. Price — I’m terribly sorry, but Lydia and I just got called away on something urgent. Let’s have dinner again soon; this one’s on me.” He downed his drink in one swallow. The word “urgent” carried more weight than it should have. — An hour later, outside the University District Police Department. Lydia sat in the car, lost in thought, until she saw Julian emerging from the building with two young women. One of them was wearing his jacket over her shoulders, head bowed. The other followed close behind. Two uniformed officers walked them out, speaking briefly with Julian before shaking his hand. As the group approached, Lydia got a better look at the girl in the jacket — delicate features, pale skin, and a face almost too pretty for her age. So this must be the “new girl” Monica had mentioned. Definitely not Julian’s usual type. This one was far too young, too innocent. Was he changing tastes — or actually getting serious this time? While Lydia pondered, they reached the car. Julian tapped on the passenger-side window. As the locks clicked open, he opened the back door for the girl. “Thank you,” the girl murmured softly — Sophie Reed, as Lydia recalled the name — before slipping into the back seat. Her roommate, Emily Ward, started toward the front passenger door, but Julian stopped her with a hand on the handle. “You can sit in the back with Ms. Reed,” he said mildly. Emily blinked, confused for a second, but then nodded and got into the back. Once seated, she realized that the driver wasn’t Julian’s chauffeur, but a young woman — Lydia. Julian got into the front seat beside her. Lydia turned to him briefly. “Where to?” “Riverside University,” he replied. She started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. A few minutes into the drive, Emily couldn’t help asking, in her bright, naive tone, “Mr. Marks, is this lady your new driver?” The question hung in the air. Lydia’s expression didn’t change; her eyes stayed fixed on the road. Julian’s lips curved faintly. “My cousin,” he said smoothly. “Your cousin?” Emily’s eyes widened. “Oh — I’m so sorry, ma’am! I didn’t know. I thought you were—” Lydia finished for her, voice even. “The driver?” She paused. “Don’t worry about it. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

When Emily Ward heard that name, her expression stiffened slightly. She glanced toward Sophie Reed, whose face had gone pale. Sophie said nothing. Her lips pressed together lightly as her gaze dropped. From the driver’s seat, Julian Marks glanced at them through the rearview mirror before shifting his eyes toward Lydia Moore. His tone carried a lazy smile, though there was a warning in his look. “Focus on driving, cousin. Less talking.” A few minutes later, the car stopped in front of Riverside University. Sophie got out, slipped off the man’s jacket she had been wearing, and handed it back to Julian. Her tone was cool and polite. “Mr. Marks, thank you for tonight.” Julian glanced at the jacket but didn’t take it. His eyes, however, hooked onto hers with deliberate intent. “That’s all the thanks I get, Ms. Reed?” Sophie met his gaze for a fleeting moment before lowering her eyes again. After a brief hesitation, she spoke softly. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Marks, perhaps I could take you to dinner sometime to thank you properly. But—” “I don’t mind at all,” he interrupted with a faint grin. “Having dinner with you would be my honor. Keep the jacket for now—give it back to me then.” Lydia sat quietly in the car, unable to hear their words. But judging from their body language in the mirror, the air between them was unmistakably charged. Julian was clearly interested this time—far more than with the women before. After a few more words, Julian watched Sophie and Emily walk toward the university gate before he turned back, opened the door, and slid into the car again—this time, not the passenger seat, but the back. He gave Lydia an address, leaned back, and closed his eyes, resting in silence. Neither of them spoke the entire way. That was how it usually was between them. Outside of bed, they might as well have been strangers. When they returned to Crescent Residence, Lydia noticed a message from Monica Hayes. She hesitated for a moment, then replied: [Let’s talk in person. It’s not something I can explain over text.] After sending it, Lydia went upstairs. She showered, checked her work email, and went to bed. But her sleep was uneasy—light and restless. She didn’t know how long she had been asleep when the suffocating feeling hit. Something heavy pressed down on her, forcing the air from her lungs. Her lips were pried open—an intrusion followed. In the haze between dream and waking, an image flickered through her mind. Her body responded instinctively, breath catching as she whispered a name. “Adrian…” The intruder paused briefly—then the assault grew fiercer, cutting off what little oxygen remained. Lydia jolted awake, gasping. In the dark, a strong hand gripped her jaw, forcing her head up. A low, dangerous chuckle drifted through the shadows. “Awake now?” Her breath came in ragged pulls as her eyes adjusted, and she finally made out his face—Julian Marks. His long, narrow eyes gleamed with danger, even as his lips curved in a lazy smile. They stared at each other for a long moment before Lydia’s mind cleared enough to separate dream from reality. She said nothing. Her breathing gradually steadied. Julian’s fingers traced her cheek lightly, almost tenderly—as though he were caressing someone he loved. He was good at making women believe that. But Lydia knew she wasn’t one of them. And she didn’t love him. “Nothing to say?” His voice was low and almost soothing, as if he were whispering an intimate secret. “What should I say?” Lydia’s tone was flat, weary. Julian lowered his head until their noses nearly brushed. His voice was quiet but sharp as a blade. “You were in my bed… calling another man’s name. Don’t you think you owe me something for that?”

Lydia froze for a heartbeat, then quietly corrected him. “This is my bed.” Julian pressed down harder, his palm firm at her waist, even through the thin fabric of her nightdress. “Fine. Your bed,” he murmured. “Then let me rephrase—while you’re under me, calling someone else’s name… doesn’t that deserve an explanation?” Lydia didn’t answer. Instead, she moved—her slender arms sliding around his neck. She leaned up and licked the hollow of his throat. His entire body tensed instantly. Her soft breath brushed against his skin as her fingertips traced the back of his neck. Her voice came out light and sleepy. “Are we doing this or not? Because if not, I’d really like to sleep…” They knew each other’s bodies too well. It didn’t take much to strike a nerve. Julian understood she was changing the subject—but the subject hardly mattered, did it? His arm tightened sharply around her waist. Lydia frowned at the sudden pressure, but before she could speak, his mouth captured hers. The force of it was sudden, consuming. Lydia was never used to kissing him. Their encounters were usually silent, physical—never intimate. But tonight, Julian was different. He kissed her like a man starved—rough, deep, unrelenting. Lydia pushed at him twice, to no effect. He caught her wrists, pinning them above her head against the pillow, giving her no room to resist. The kiss deepened until her lungs burned. Her mind went white from the lack of air. Then, just as suddenly, he pulled back. She gasped, lips parted, chest heaving. In the dim light, her half-open eyes shimmered. Julian studied her for a long moment, then leaned in again, brushing her lips with a gentler kiss—slow, almost reverent. Lydia blinked, dazed by the abrupt change. Before she could recover, her hands moved instinctively, slipping down to his waist and tugging loose the tie of his robe. … Two days later, Lydia finally finished processing her experimental data and submitted everything before Friday. Her workload lightened—at least until the clinical trials began. On Saturday night, she met Monica Hayes at a downtown lounge. She wore a fitted black knit top and loose black pants, her hair casually tied back. Under the warm bar lights, her pale skin seemed to glow, smooth as polished ivory. She held a cocktail in one hand, head slightly bowed as she spoke softly to someone beside her. “Wait, you know her?” Sophie Reed stood in a shadowed corner of the bar, watching Lydia with quiet curiosity until someone bumped her shoulder. She turned—it was a coworker, another waitress. Sophie shook her head. “No.” Her coworker chuckled. “Didn’t think so. A woman like that? Way out of our league. Did you see her watch? My friend and I saw one like that in the store window—the cheapest model costs more than most of us make in a year. And that woman next to her, the one in the green dress? That bag—limited edition. You can’t even buy it unless you’re on a waiting list. We could work our whole lives and never afford what they wear for a night out.” Her words dripped with envy, but they weren’t wrong. Sophie didn’t respond. When a customer waved her over, she quickly turned away to work. — “Damn it,” Monica swore, slamming her glass down. “Adrian Cole is such a two-faced bastard! He knew you and Vanessa were close, and he still went after her? What the hell—does he want the two of you to tear each other apart?”

“You’re overthinking it.” Lydia Moore swirled the wine in her glass and paused for a couple of seconds before continuing. “Adrian’s not that kind of person. It was… me who wanted to break up back then.” Monica Hayes blinked in surprise. “Why? The way you reacted last time you saw him—it didn’t look like you were over him. And that was, what, three or four years ago?” Lydia lifted one slender shoulder in a shrug. “Adrian was going through something at the time. I knew we had no future, so I ended it. Which means I dumped him when he was at his lowest. Besides, Vanessa liked him long before that. When Adrian ran into trouble, I’m sure she helped him out a lot. It’s natural they ended up together.” Monica frowned. “Are you being serious right now? Because it sounds like you’re making that up to make yourself feel better.” Lydia looked at her and smiled faintly. “Why would I lie? Do I get paid for it?” Monica pressed her lips together, eyeing her for a moment. “Who knows? You’re not exactly known for being straightforward. You hid your whole relationship with Adrian from me for years. Makes me wonder if you ever saw me as a real friend.” Just as Monica finished her complaint, a loud clatter came from not far away. “I—I’m sorry!” Sophie Reed stood there, one hand holding a tray, the other frantically trying to wipe spilled wine off the woman’s dress. The woman looked down at the large, blue stain soaking into her white silk gown and immediately exploded. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you blind? You can’t even carry a drink without screwing it up—useless!” Sophie’s hand hovered awkwardly in the air as she tried to help, but that only enraged the woman more. With a sharp crack, the woman slapped Sophie across the face. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands! You couldn’t afford this dress if you sold your kidneys!” Monica froze. “Wait, that’s her?” Lydia followed her gaze toward Sophie. “You’ve met?” Monica asked. Lydia nodded. “At dinner the other night.” Monica put two and two together. “So that ‘urgent matter’ Julian mentioned… was going to see her?” Lydia took a slow sip of her drink. “She ran into some trouble and ended up at the University District Police Department. Julian went to get her out.” Monica let out a sharp laugh but said nothing more. Across the room, Sophie bowed repeatedly, her eyes glistening though she tried not to cry. “I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to—” But the woman’s anger only grew, her insults sharper, crueler. Lydia’s brow furrowed. She turned toward the bartender and said calmly, “Call your manager. Now.” The bartender startled, then nodded quickly and reached for his phone. Monica crossed her arms. “You do realize she’s the woman who supposedly ruined your marriage, right?” Lydia gave a soft, ironic laugh. “My marriage doesn’t need her to ruin it.” Monica: “…” Before Monica could retort, the manager arrived—along with someone else. Monica took one look at the man walking in behind him and whistled. “Well, isn’t this a coincidence?” Lydia said nothing. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to!” Sophie clutched the side of her face, her voice trembling as she tried to calm the furious woman down. “I don’t believe that for a second!” the woman snapped, her voice rising again. “I’ve met women like you before—pretending to be all innocent, when really, you’re just trying to seduce men! Fake little saint on the outside, but filthy to the core!” “Caroline, what’s going on here?” The manager’s voice cut through the noise. The woman turned sharply, her expression still twisted with anger—until she noticed the man behind him. For a brief moment, her face froze, and then she forced tears into her eyes, lips quivering as she looked up at him pitifully. The manager glanced from her to Sophie. “Sophie?” Sophie kept her gaze down, not once looking toward Julian Marks standing behind the manager. “I accidentally spilled some wine on this lady’s dress,” she said quietly, her voice taut as a wire. “‘Accidentally?’” Caroline West shot back, her voice shrill. “You did it on purpose, you little—” Her words cut off as her eyes flicked once more toward Julian.

Sophie’s fingers curled into fists. When she finally raised her head, her eyes were red but clear, cold defiance glinting through the tears. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” The manager hurried to smooth things over. “Caroline, maybe this is all a misunderstanding. Let’s just—how about I apologize on Sophie’s behalf—” “And who the hell are you?” Caroline cut him off icily. “Do you even have the right to speak to me?” The manager froze, his face tightening in embarrassment. He forced a smile, but before he could say anything more, Julian stepped forward. “What would it take for you to calm down, Ms. West?” His tone was light, almost teasing, the corners of his mouth curled in a faint smile as his dark eyes rested on her. The lazy baritone carried a dangerous charm, like a man flirting without even trying. Caroline’s breath caught. For a few seconds, she forgot to speak. When she did, her gaze darted toward Sophie again, brimming with jealousy. “I want her to kneel and apologize. And she doesn’t get up until I say so.” Sophie trembled—whether from fear or anger, even she didn’t know. She took a step forward, but a firm hand caught her wrist. Julian stepped in front of her, shielding her half behind him, his grip unyielding. “You’re sure that’s what you want, Ms. West?” he asked, his tone still low and even. “Because you’ll only get one chance.” The sharp edge beneath his calm voice made the air between them heavy. Caroline’s defiance melted into nervous affection, her glare softening into watery eyes. She bit her lip, held his gaze for a few seconds—and gave up. At the bar, Monica let out a sigh. “I thought we were watching some classic ‘hero saves damsel’ moment. Turns out it’s just a jealous lover’s spat. So cliché.” Lydia chuckled, sipping her drink. “You didn’t seem to mind watching.” Monica shot her a side look. “Yeah, but me enjoying it makes sense. You enjoying it? That’s weird.” Lydia arched a brow. “What, should I join them and make it a full-blown soap opera?” Monica laughed. “Please don’t. I’d die of secondhand embarrassment.” Lydia: “…” They’d barely finished their banter when another glass of wine suddenly flew across the room. Caroline had grabbed it and flung it straight toward Sophie’s face. Julian moved before anyone else could react—his arm shot up, taking the hit for her. Wine splashed across his shoulder and jawline, running down his neck in dark streaks. For a moment, Caroline just stared, stunned that he’d protect Sophie so openly. Her confidence shattered; she dropped the empty glass, tears spilling as she turned and fled the lounge. Monica shook her head. “Men like Julian Marks are a curse. Especially the ones who think they’re God’s gift to women.” As Caroline stormed out, the crowd’s attention quickly faded. The manager escorted Julian and Sophie out of the main lounge, leaving things to settle back to normal. Monica turned back to Lydia. “So, I was right all along,” she said, resting her chin on her hand. “You and Vanessa really do have problems. Because of Adrian? After all these years, is it worth it?” Lydia didn’t answer right away. The truth was complicated. Adrian was part of it—but not the core of it. People always saw things from their own angle. And she didn’t want to risk saying something that would hurt Monica’s friendship with Vanessa. “It’s over,” she said at last. “No point bringing it up again.” The two sat in silence for a while. “Ms. Moore.” Lydia turned. Standing beside her was Julian’s assistant, Miles Grant, holding a shopping bag with a luxury brand’s logo on it.

“Mr. Grant.” Lydia paused slightly. “Is there something you need?” Miles Grant replied evenly, “Mr. Marks asked me to bring over his clothes. He wants you to deliver them.” Lydia frowned. “You can’t give them to him yourself?” “Mr. Marks’s instructions,” Miles said simply. Monica Hayes chuckled beside Lydia, her tone edged with mockery. “Is Julian Marks out of his mind? If so, he should really get that checked out.” Miles coughed lightly, pretending not to hear. Lydia’s voice stayed calm. “Why don’t you deliver them, then? It’s… inconvenient for me to go.” No one knew Julian Marks better than his assistant. Miles caught the implication in her words immediately, his expression awkward. “Since Mr. Marks made it clear, I’m afraid it has to be you.” Lydia hesitated. “You mean he insisted?” Miles nodded. Lydia didn’t want to make things difficult for him. Over the past few years, whenever she couldn’t reach Julian, Miles had been the one helping her. “Fine,” she said quietly, extending her hand. “I’ll take them. But I don’t know where he is. Did he tell you?” Miles gave her a hotel name and room number before leaving. Lydia checked the time, then turned to Monica. “You should probably head home first.” Monica sighed. “You’re actually going to deliver them to him?” Lydia smiled faintly. “Miles has helped me more than once. I’ll consider this returning the favor.” Monica grabbed her purse. “All right, your call. But if you ever decide to divorce Julian Marks, call me first—I’ll get you a top-tier attorney.” Lydia blinked. “…” She stopped outside Room 1889 and pressed the doorbell. After half a minute, the door finally opened. Julian Marks stood there, hair still damp from a shower, his face glistening faintly with moisture. He was wearing the hotel’s white bathrobe, loosely tied at the waist, collar open just enough to reveal the defined lines of his chest. “Your clothes,” Lydia said simply. She had no intention of stepping inside. She held out the bag toward him. Julian glanced at it, then reached out—not for the bag, but for her wrist, pulling her closer. Caught off guard, Lydia stumbled forward, colliding with his chest. Her forehead brushed the corner of his mouth. Before she could react, Julian bent his head, his voice a low murmur by her ear. “Did you enjoy the show?” His breath was warm and damp against her skin, making her pulse quicken uncomfortably. Lydia tilted her head away, meeting his gaze. “Could’ve been better.” She tugged twice at her wrist. “Julian, you’re hurting me.” Julian’s eyes flicked down to her slender wrist, caught so easily in his palm. It looked fragile—like something that could break with just a little pressure. “I’m not even squeezing,” he said mildly, but made no move to release her. “You’re upset?” “No,” Lydia replied curtly. “Why not?” he asked, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Unless… you’re jealous?” Lydia gave him a puzzled look. “Do you really think the word ‘jealous’ applies to you and me?” Julian arched an eyebrow, his dark eyes narrowing. “Then who does it apply to? You and Adrian Cole?” Lydia’s expression cooled. She tried to pull away. “Let go.” Instead, Julian’s fingers tightened slightly, drawing her closer until their bodies nearly touched. His voice dropped to a lazy murmur. “Why won’t you answer me?” “I’m not playing this game,” Lydia said flatly. “If that’s what you want to believe, then fine. Now—let go.”

Julian still didn’t let go. Lydia couldn’t tell if he was angry or amused—his expression never changed. He always wore that faint, careless smile, the kind that masked everything behind it. And with a face like his, it was easy to forget how dangerous he could be. She’d made that mistake once, years ago—right after their wedding. Back then, she’d thought the same calm smile meant tenderness. Until she saw him holding a black gun, smiling exactly like that, and pulling the trigger without blinking. The image came back to her suddenly—the man’s body collapsing, the burst of crimson, the trembling limbs. Her throat tightened, breath catching painfully. Footsteps sounded outside the door. Voices murmured, slowing as they passed. Someone lingered for a moment—curious eyes glancing toward Room 1889. Julian’s arm slipped around her waist, pulling her into his chest. His tone was suddenly loud enough for those outside to hear: “My wife, there’s no other woman in here. If you don’t believe me, come check.” Before Lydia could protest, he half-guided, half-forced her into the room, closing the door behind them. “Julian!” she snapped. He stopped, looking down at her. The space between them shrank; she could see the faint curve of amusement in his eyes. Interesting, he thought. For so long, her eyes—always hidden behind those glasses—had been calm, detached, impossible to read. Now they burned with restrained anger. He leaned closer, voice low and rough. “What is it?” Lydia felt the change in his gaze—the heat, the pressure of his body closing in. Her brain buzzed; thoughts tangled into chaos. “You—” she began, then stopped. Because his lips were suddenly inches from hers. If she spoke, she would touch him. It would look like she was asking for a kiss. And a kiss between them… felt wrong. “What about me?” he murmured. His hand tightened around her waist, sliding slightly upward. Their bodies pressed together fully now—her softness against his solid warmth. The contact sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. It was chemistry, she realized dimly—something she couldn’t control. Her pulse raced. Every nerve in her body buzzed with confused awareness. Julian’s gaze dropped to her parted lips. Slowly, deliberately, he kissed her. Lydia froze, her thoughts catching up a second too late. His mouth was already on hers—deep, possessive. Her instincts screamed to pull away, but her body betrayed her. The kiss deepened. The sound of it—soft, wet, intimate—filled the quiet room. The bag of clothes slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. Then— The doorbell rang. Lydia jerked, her body going rigid. Julian brushed one last lingering kiss over her lips before releasing her. He lifted his arm, pressed a button on the wall panel. A small screen lit up, showing the visitor outside. Lydia glanced over—and froze. It was Sophie Reed.