Julian POV
The moment I walked into Velluto Noire and saw her... Rose—sitting there in that dim glow, laughing, talking, smiling—I felt something sharp twist deep inside me. My eyes traced the lines of her expression until they landed on him. Him.
The moment I recognized that face across from her, my entire being recoiled. It was like a sour taste that refused to leave my mouth. I didn't want to remember him, didn't even want the memory of him tainting my thoughts. But there he was, too close to her, too comfortable, and it infuriated me. Something primal in me flared and I knew I couldn't let her sit there one more minute. I didn't ask—I took her. Because no matter how much she protested or fought it, she was mine. Every inch of her. Mine.
She fought back, of course. Arguing. Yapping. Stubborn and sweet in the most annoying way. But I couldn't hold it in anymore—I told her what my soul had been screaming since the first moment she crossed my path. Mine, mine, mine. And just when I thought her silence would mean something... she went and kissed my bodyguard.
I've seen betrayal, tasted it in every form—but that? That churned my gut. And still, I carried her out like the storm she is—clenched jaw, iron grip, heart pounding.
Back at my penthouse, I dropped her onto the bed and marched straight to the shower. I needed the cold water. Needed something to dull the heat under my skin. Not just the anger. Something else too—something I couldn't name. She'd gotten under my skin like no one ever had. My whole life, I'd been untouchable, unreadable. So cold people thought I preferred my own gender—because how else could they explain how no woman ever moved me? But this one? This wild, stubborn, fiery woman? She'd lit something inside me I didn't know existed.
When I stepped out of the shower, wrapped in nothing but a towel, she was gone. Or so she thought. I found her in the living room, curled on the couch like a storm had passed through her. She was staring at a single flower in its vase like it held all the answers. She didn't even notice me until I stood in front of her—and I realized I was still half-naked. I should've cared. I didn't.
I told her to shower. Not just shower—wash her lips. I still didn't understand why that kiss had bothered me so much. But I couldn't stomach the thought of his touch still lingering on her.
I offered her my soap—mine—because for now, everything about her felt like it should be mine too. While she was in there, I changed into pants and planned to leave for work. But something rooted me in place. I couldn't leave her. Not tonight.
So, I cooked.
The smells in the kitchen brought back memories of my mother—always insisting we learn more than just boardroom skills. Cooking was a skill. A discipline. A way to show care without words. And tonight, I wanted Rose to feel that—me, without the chaos.
She came in quietly, no sass, no loud voice. Just... her. Soft. Observing. I served the food. She ate. I watched. The silence between us was surprisingly comforting. After the meal, she tried to do the dishes, but I stopped her. I'd interrupted her dinner—I'd clean it.
Then, the storm returned. She yelled. About the locked door. About going home. I could've let her go. Should've. But I didn't. I couldn't. I needed her presence like a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. She talked all the way to the room. I let her. Normally, I'd shut the noise out, but hers... I could endure.
When she started crying, it broke something in me. Her father. Her past. Her pain. She told me I didn't know her, and maybe she believed that. But I did. I knew more than she thought. I had her file. I knew about her leaving home with her brother. And then... she mentioned her kidnapper.
I couldn't explain the emotion that ran through me in that moment. It was foreign, uncomfortable, raw. I hated emotions. Hated vulnerability. But with her, I was drowning in it.
I offered her water—because what else could I offer when my words would only fail? Then, I walked her to the shower. When she came out, fresh-faced and calm, I realized something inside me eased too.
She hesitated with the bed. I saw it in her eyes. She didn't want to share the space with me. But I needed her there. I don't know what made me pull her back in—but I did. Watching her wear my shirt... my scent clinging to her soft skin... God. That image is carved into my mind like art. The way her bare legs peeked from beneath the hem, the way the fabric clung to her in all the right places—she looked sinful, divine. Like a dream I wasn't allowed to touch.
And I wanted to tease her, to see that flush on her cheeks again. But she turned away—shy. Said she'd sleep in the sitting room. I didn't fight her.
Then I followed. Slept on the couch, where her scent still lingered. That night, I got a call from Alex, furious about how I abandoned the meeting. His anger didn't move me. Not even a flicker. My thoughts were somewhere else—upstairs.
When I returned to the room, I found her asleep. Moonlight painted her face with silver, made her look like something celestial. Her hair fanned around her like silk. Her lips—God, those lips. Full, tempting, slightly parted. I stood there, just... watching. Memorizing. Her lashes kissed her cheeks, and the faint rise and fall of her chest brought a calm to my own chaos. It took every ounce of will not to lean down and taste her again.
The next morning, I left early to get her things myself. She deserved more than what she had on. I remembered the arch of her waist, the slope of her shoulders, the exact heel of her shoe. Shopping for her felt... natural. Intimate. I even tried to get her the right skin care—described her skin tone until they gave me something that looked close.
When I returned, there she was—half-dressed, holding her panties and bra like she'd been caught doing something criminal. She ran off like a startled kitten. What a naive girl. My naive girl.
She had breakfast, and the way she ate—God, it pleased me more than it should've. She enjoyed my cooking. That... did something to me.
I drove her home. I watched her get to the door. Only when I saw her inside, only when I was sure she was safe, did I drive off. But even then, a part of me stayed behind.
A part that still burns with the memory of her in my shirt. Her in my bed. Her in my life.
And for the first time in my carefully controlled world, I wasn't sure if I wanted her to leave it.