Chapter 3
Julian walked out of the bathroom.
My face betrayed me, heating up again. He was shirtless, a loose white towel hanging low around his hips. His damp hair clung to his forehead, and droplets of water trickled down his sharply defined jawline, sliding over his chest before disappearing into the chiseled lines of his abs.
I stared, mesmerized, until his derisive chuckle snapped me out of it.
Embarrassed, I turned my head away.
A wave of warmth brushed against my back as he leaned in close, his breath grazing my ear. “Now that you’re back, stop making a fuss. Be good.”
His tone was almost patronizing, like soothing a child.
My chest tightened painfully. Despite everything, this body had the nerve to react, fluttering with that unmistakable feeling of attraction.
I stepped away from him, determined to keep my voice steady and cold. “Julian, I’ve lost my memory.”
He smirked, wrapping his arms lazily around my waist, his fingers tracing my slender frame.
“Lost your memory?” His voice was low, a mix of boredom and disdain. “Evelyn, can you stop? I said, quit the act.”
Anger flared in my chest, and I didn’t know where I found the strength, but I shoved him off me.
“An act? I fell from the second floor, ended up in the hospital for three days, and you didn’t visit me once!”
His dark eyes locked on mine, calm and unwavering. “Hmm. And?”
I let out a bitter laugh, trembling with rage.
Even if the old me had been as insufferable as they claimed, the fact that I saved Julian’s company should have been reason enough for him to check on my well-being.
Yet here he was, standing calmly as if I were just a deranged, emotional wreck.
For the first time, staring at his ridiculously handsome face, I felt an overwhelming sense of disgust churning in my stomach.
I waved him off dismissively.
“Forget it, let’s get a divorce.”
Julian laughed instead. “Still not giving up, huh? I’ve told you before—we’re not getting a divorce. And there’s no need to be jealous of Chloe. She’s a goddess, someone you’ll never measure up to.”
I felt sick to my stomach.
I frowned in disgust. “Julian, are you deaf? I said I’ve lost my memory. I don’t love you anymore, and I want a divorce.”
Pausing for a moment, I added, “And for the record, I don’t even remember Chloe Clarke, so this divorce isn’t about her.”
His expression darkened, his face turning ashen.
Without warning, Julian grabbed my wrist and pinned me against the wall.
Pain shot through my arm, and tears stung my eyes.
He leaned in, his breath hot against my face, far too close for comfort.
My traitorous face flushed again, my body was all too aware of his firm chest pressing against me, his towering, muscular frame trapping me completely.
I caught the faint scent of cedarwood lingering in his damp hair and the intoxicating warmth of his breath, undeniably masculine.
My body betrayed me once more. I began to tremble, my knees going weak. For a fleeting moment, an irrational thought flitted through my mind—what it might feel like to kiss those perfectly sculpted lips.
Julian chuckled softly, his tone low and maddeningly confident. This time, he leaned closer, grazing my earlobe with his teeth. The sensation sent an electric current coursing through me, leaving me trembling uncontrollably.
“Evelyn, don’t think saying this will make me angry. You don’t remember Chloe? Funny, considering you spent the past two years spewing venom about her every chance you got. Isn’t that proof of just how much she matters to you?”
I clenched my teeth, glaring at him. “Julian, let me go! You’re shameless!”
In response, he nipped my earlobe lightly, a punishment that made my entire body stiffen.
“Why are you wearing this dull outfit? Where’s that little collection of uniforms you keep hidden? I seem to recall you enjoyed putting on a new one after I showered—ones I’d never seen before—and reenacting scenes from those TV shows to seduce me.”
His breath grew heavier, the heat of it brushing against my neck. “It’s been three days, Eve…”
My scalp tingled, my mouth went dry, and an icy dread washed over me as I tried to process his words.
Wearing the body of a twenty-six-year-old, my mind still felt like it was stuck at eighteen.
I couldn’t fathom how “I” and Julian had such a rocky relationship, yet somehow things in that department were so open.
Wait… was I the one initiating it all?
I was going to lose my mind.
With all the strength I could muster, I shoved Julian away. Caught off guard, he stumbled, nearly losing his balance.
His eyes darkened instantly. “Evelyn, did you just push me? What’s gotten into you?”
I couldn’t bear another word with him.
Flinging the door open, I snapped, “I’m going downstairs to eat. Do whatever you want.”
…
Downstairs, the dining table was laden with a feast, and Julian’s meal had been prepared all the same, despite his late arrival.
I glanced over the spread. Not a single dish I liked.
Of course. They were probably all Julian’s favorites.
How fitting. Just… enough already.
Sitting down, I started eating. After the exhausting day I’d had, I was starving.
I ate quietly, minding my own business, until Julian finally came downstairs.
He was still visibly upset about earlier.
Julian sat at the far end of the table, helping himself to bread and ladling stew without sparing me so much as a glance.
I had no intention of looking at him either.
The air between us was heavy with tension, and the silence at the table was suffocating.
Then, out of nowhere, Julian asked, “Mrs. Warren, why isn’t there any tomato bisque today?”
Jane Warren, the middle-aged housekeeper from earlier, glanced at me with a hint of reproach in her tone. “Miss White didn’t make it today, so there’s no tomato bisque. You can’t blame me for that, Mr. Moore.”
I frowned, turning to Jane. “What do you mean by that? Making bisque is my responsibility now? So, this is my fault?”
Julian’s fork hit the table with a sharp clack as he coldly said, “Wasn’t it always you who made it? Mrs. Warren doesn’t know how.”
I let out a sarcastic laugh, setting my plate down and dabbing my mouth with a napkin as gracefully as possible.
“Mr. Moore, let’s get something straight. I’m your wife, not your servant. Isn’t it enough that this entire table is filled with dishes you like? Now I’m supposed to make bisque for you too?
“What? Do I owe you something?”
Julian didn’t seem to expect my sudden outburst. A mix of surprise and annoyance flickered in his eyes.
“Evelyn, don’t think you can annoy me just because you know I like tomato bisque. You’re the one who insisted on learning to cook it from a professional chef to make it for me. Now you suddenly don’t want to? What are you playing at?
“If you’re still upset, deal with it on your own. Stop making a scene at the dinner table.”
I smirked coldly. “You still don’t get it, do you? Julian, I’m telling you—I am done serving you!”
Throwing my napkin onto the table, I turned and marched toward the stairs.
I’d had enough of this arrogant, selfish man.
How blind had I been to fall for him in the first place?
Julian seemed stunned that I would just walk away, leaving him frozen at the dining table.
Meanwhile, Jane continued to mutter, “Miss White used to prepare an entire spread of Mr. Moore’s favorite dishes, even making the tomato bisque herself. And now she’s just refusing? Honestly…”
I clenched my fists, swallowing down the anger rising in my chest.
Just then, the doorbell rang.
I instinctively turned to look.
Jane was already at the door, opening it for the guest.
A graceful silhouette stepped inside.
The visitor was stunning, her delicate features exuding elegance. She wore a perfectly tailored light blue dress that flowed softly around her figure, and a string of pearls rested delicately against her fair neck.
Her demeanor was refined, and the way she moved was like a watercolor painting brought to life.
I had to admit, even as a woman, I felt a pang of jealousy just looking at her.
She walked toward Julian, her voice gentle and sweet. “Julian, I hope I’m not intruding?”
Julian’s previously stormy expression softened instantly.
He naturally took the items from her hands and even bent down to fetch her a pair of clean slippers with the care of a perfect gentleman.
I watched the scene with cold detachment, the corners of my mouth curling into a faint sneer.
How ironic. My husband, who had just been fuming over my failure to make his favorite tomato bisque, was now bending down to help another woman put on slippers.
