I laughed in his face. “You can’t ruin what’s already splintered, Julian. Go ahead, baby. Try ruining the ruins.” I said, then paused and added “Stop having people following me. You don’t follow me either.”
I walked out before he could respond, feeling nude without my underwear. I found Alastair in the lobby, pacing. The moment he saw me, he grabbed my upper arm in a vise grip.
“What the hell was that?” he snarled. “You better not be doing anything to fuck this deal up. You smile, you nod, you be grateful. That’s it.”
My eyes went wide. The audacity was flabbergasting. Before I could wrench free, Julian and Brielle approached. Julian’s eyes went immediately to Alastair’s hand on my arm. A dark flash crossed his gaze.
“Well, this has been… enlightening,” Julian said. He reached out and removed Alastair’s hand from me, shoving it away. “I’ll be taking my leave now.”
Alastair transformed back into the sycophant, thrusting his hand out. “Thank you again. We really must—”
Julian ignored the hand. He held my eyes for a beat too long. “Goodbye, Mrs. Ashworth,” he said, the title a deliberate mockery. Then he looked at Brielle. “Goodbye, Mistress.”
Brielle gasped. Alastair looked like he’d been slapped. “She’s not my—”
“No need to lie,” Julian cut him off, turning toward the exit. “I do my research on anybody I work with. If your wife doesn’t mind being a third wheel, why should I care? But just make sure it doesn’t get… out of hand.”
He paused at the glass doors, glancing back at me with eyes like chips of frost. He sneered, and then he was gone.
I was glad I’d driven my own car to the golf course. I’d spent ten minutes arguing with Alastair in the parking lot about whether I had told Julian about his mistress, while she sat in the car sobbing. Honestly, what did they think—that everybody was stupid?
The silent sanctuary of my Audi was the only thing that got me home without screaming. I laughed out loud. Julian hadhumiliated Alastair with surgical precision, which I hated to admit was deeply satisfying. He deserved it.
I pulled into my assigned spot and took the elevator up to my condo—a place of high ceilings, soft lighting, and blessed, utter silence. Unlike the estate, there were no lavender sachets. No portraits of old white people. No impending family dinners.
I showered, scrubbing the day from my skin, and wrapped myself in a towel. I pulled on the oldest, softest pair of pajamas I owned—faded cotton shorts and a worn-out tee from a college fundraiser. It was Saturday night. The world could wait. I needed to unravel; the tension in my neck was killing me.
I went straight to the kitchen and poured a glass of Pinot Grigio, then another. I leaned against the kitchen island, the cool quartz under my palms, and tried to settle my mind.
But my traitorous thoughts kept drifting to Julian. Absurd. Arrogant. A tyrant. Was I actually considering moving in with him? He matched me in intensity and focus, but not emotionally. That was the only place he lacked maturity. He cried and whined, openly and honestly. It was unnerving because he looked so pitiful when he did. It was irritating because whenever he broke open in front of me, something in me wanted to fix it. To comfort him.
I didn’t know if I wanted to deal with that. I wanted to be selfish for once. I had spent nearly twenty years being the woman who swallowed her own needs so someone else could breathe easier. I didn’t want to do that anymore.
I exhaled slowly. I wished my momma was here. She gave the best life advice, but she was gone.
I looked at my phone, thinking of calling Julian. To hear the voice he used just for me. To say… what?Thank you for tormenting my husband?Or to fuck. I missed that. The wayhe fucked me like he was starving. Sometimes he’d have me so strung out I felt the need to crawl inside his skin. There wasn’t a single part of me he touched like he expected a tomorrow.
My stomach fluttered, heat curling low and deep. I slid the phone away too quickly. “No,” I whispered. “No, ma’am. We are not doing that tonight.”
Instead, I did what truly constituted self-care. I ordered an obscene amount of garlic butter crab legs from an overpriced seafood place and turned on Olivia Dean. I ate with my fingers, licking butter from my knuckles, not giving a single damn about etiquette.
The wine, the food, and the exhaustion hit me like a tide. I meant to just close my eyes for a second on the sofa while “Dive” played softly.
I woke to darkness. The music had stopped. The condo was silent, lit only by the ambient glow of the city through the windows. And I was warm. I was covered.
Confusion, thick and cottony from sleep, muddled my thoughts. I hadn’t grabbed a blanket. I’d fallen asleep with the lights on. I shifted, and the blanket slid down to my waist. I sat up, my heart beginning a slow, heavy thump.
A shadow moved in the armchair across from me.
“You drool in your sleep when you’re alone,” a familiar voice said, low and amused. I would have never known. I guess that’s the only time you relax.”
Julian.
He was in my home. In the dark. Watching me sleep.
Adrenaline burned through my grogginess. I fumbled for the lamp, clicking it on. The soft light revealed him lounging in my yellow boudoir chair as if he owned it. He was too big for it. Hewas in dark jeans and a grey tee, but his shoes were off, tucked neatly by the chair leg.
“What the hell?” My voice was a sleep-rasped croak. I glanced at the clock, it was8:30 PM. “How did you get in here?”
