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.