“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.”