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.