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Chapter 80 – Julian’s Desperate Gambit and Dark Demand
The morning after arranging lunch with Damien, I felt lighter than I had in years. The burden of owing him money had weighed on me far more than I’d admitted to myself. Now, with seventy million repaid and Damien’s imminent visit to my studio, I hummed while I worked, fingers flying over fine silk as I made final adjustments to his custom
suit:
“You’re in an unusually good mood, Cherry remarked, organizing fabric swatches nearby. “Does this have anything to do with a certain Mr. Sterling coming here today?”
I felt heat rise to my cheeks. “I’m just glad to have repaid most of my debt.”
“Right,” she drawled, unconvinced. “That’s definitely why we spent three hours cleaning this place yesterday.”
I threw a scrap of fabric at her, which she dodged with practiced ease.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I asked, trying to sound stern despite my smile.
The morning passed quickly. By eleven–thirty, everything was perfect–both Damien’s suit and the studio. I’d just finished pressing the jacket when my phone rang. Julian’s name flashed on the screen.
My good mood evaporated instantly.
For a moment, I considered ignoring it. But he’d been calling persistently for days, and maybe answering would finally shut him up.
“What do you want, Julian?” I snapped after accepting the call.
“Hazel, we need to talk.” His voice had that wheedling quality I’d come to despise. “Can we meet for dinner tonight? There are some details about the divorce we should
discuss.”
“Details?” I echoed. “What details? The divorce papers are straightforward.”
“It’s just he hesitated, “your company has become quite successful lately. I’ve contributed to that success over the years with my connections and suppor
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My blood ran cold. The audacity.
“You want a share of my company?” I asked incredulously. “The company I built while you were playing house with my dying stepsister?”
“That’s not fair, Hazel,” he protested. “I’ve always supported your work. I introduced you to half your clients.”
“And I’ve meticulously documented every client interaction from the beginning, including how they came to me,” I responded icily. “Not that it matters, because there was no prenup, and you cheated. You have no legal claim to anything of mine.”
“I just think we should talk-
“If you have concerns, have your lawyer contact mine,” I cut him off. “I’m busy.”
I hung up, hands shaking with anger. The nerve of him, trying to claim part of my success when he’d been nothing but an obstacle to it for years.
Cherry approached cautiously. “Bad news?”
“Just Julian being Julian,” I muttered, forcing myself to breathe deeply. “He’s trying to delay the divorce, looking for any excuse.”
“Forget him,” she advised. “Mr. Sterling will be here in twenty minutes.”
Right. Damien. Focus on that instead.
I pushed thoughts of Julian away and returned to my work, determined not to let him ruin my day.
Lunch with Damien had been perfect. He’d admired the suit and insisted on treating me to an impromptu meal at a hidden gem of a restaurant I hadn’t even known existed. We’d talked for hours about everything and nothing–design philosophy, childhood memories (carefully edited on both sides), and dreams for the future.
By the time I returned home that evening, I was floating on air again.
Until I saw Julian slumped against my apartment door.
He looked terrible–hair disheveled, expensive suit rumpled, and eyes bloodshot. The smell of alcohol rolled off him in waves.
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“Finally,” he slurred, struggling to stand upright. “Been waiting for hours:
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, keeping my distance. “We have nothing to discuss.
“That’s where you’re wrong, he insisted, swaying slightly. “We have everything to discuss. Six years, Hazel. Six years.”
“Which you threw away for Ivy,” I reminded him coldly. “Now move so I can get into my
apartment.”
He didn’t budge. “I made a mistake. I’ve been trying to tell you that.”
“Your mistake, your consequence,” I replied, trying to step around him. “Now please leave before I call security.”
“I saw you with him today,” Julian blurted, face darkening. “Sterling. Having lunch, laughing. I barely recognize you anymore.”
I froze. “You’re following me now?”
“Had to see what was so important you couldn’t meet with me,” he muttered. “So it’s true? You’re with him now?”
“My personal life is none of your business,” I said firmly. “Now move.”
Instead of stepping aside, he inched closer. “He can’t love you like I do, Hazel. He doesn’t know you like I do.”
“Love?” I laughed bitterly. “You don’t know the meaning of the word. And I thank God every day that Ivy showed me who you really are before we got married.
His expression hardened. “This isn’t about Ivy. It’s about us. About what we had.” “There is no ‘us‘ anymore,” I insisted. “Now please, get out of my way.”
“I can’t sign the papers,” he whispered, suddenly looking broken. “I just can’t. Do you know what people are saying? That I left you for a dying woman, then crawled back when she died. My reputation is in tatters.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” I pointed out. “And it’s not my problem.”
“It became your problem when you started parading around with Sterling!” he snapped, voice rising. “Do you have any idea what kind of man he is? What his family does?”
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“I know he would never betray someone he claimed to love,” I shot back. “Which already makes him twice the man you are.”
Julian’s face contorted with anger. “You think you’re so clever with your divorce strategy. Civil registration and court proceedings both. Trying to box me in completely.”
So he’d finally figured out my plan. I’d filed for divorce through both avenues–civil registration, which was faster but could be contested, and court proceedings, which were slower but more binding. If he contested the civil registration as I expected, the court proceedings would still move forward. He couldn’t stall indefinitely.
“I’m not trying to ‘box you in,” I said calmly. “I’m simply ensuring you can’t drag this out any longer than necessary.”
I tried again to reach my door, but this time Julian moved quickly, grabbing my wrist and pushing me against the wall. His body pressed against mine, reeking of alcohol and desperation.
“Let go of me,” I demanded, keeping my voice steady despite the fear rising within me.
But Julian didn’t release me. Instead, his eyes narrowed, something dark and unfamiliar crossing his face.
“You want a divorce so badly?” he whispered, his breath hot against my cheek. “Fine. But I want something in return.”
“There’s nothing you have that I want,” I hissed, trying to break free.
His grip tightened painfully. “It’s not about what you want. It’s about what I want.”
My heart hammered in my chest as his expression changed to something I’d never seen before–something predatory and cruel.
“You want a divorce?” he asked, voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “Fine… at least let me sleep with you once.”
