Chapter 71

Anya’s face grew even gloomier. After a long silence, she suddenly shot up from the couch, her voice low but seething. “If that bastard is divorcing Rosalie because of Roseanne, then he has to go through with it. Rosalie is perfect. Why the hell should she be some second-rate substitute for that woman? Even if they did split up, Anya would never let Roseanne step foot into the Galloway family.”

Julian took Rosalie back to Rosalian Manor. Clara immediately came up to greet them. “Sir, you’re back. Madam… wait, sir, what happened to her?”

Clara was stunned when she saw Julian carrying Rosalie. His face was dark, and his whole presence felt heavy. But what truly chilled her was the stark white bandage wrapped around Rosalie’s foot, completely soaked with blood.

“She’s drunk,” Julian said, his tone clipped. “Make her something for the hangover.”

Without another word, he carried Rosalie upstairs. The moment Julian placed Rosalie on the bed, she suddenly shot up and grabbed his arm with surprising force. Her eyes were glazed over from the alcohol, but they shone with excitement.

She blurted out, “Anya, I just came up with the best idea ever! It’s gonna piss Jerkian off so badly!”

The nickname made Julian’s eyes narrow dangerously, but he said nothing. He simply stared at the woman before him, whose face brimmed with smug delight, completely oblivious to whom she was addressing.

Then, without warning, Rosalie leaned in close. Her warm breath, laced with the scent of wine, brushed against his ear. Her voice was soft, teasing, like the delicate stroke of a feather, setting every nerve in his body on edge.

“You know, I have a lot of money. Like, a lot a lot,” she whispered. “I can totally start collecting hot young celebrities. Sleeping with a different one every night sounds nice, right? Jerkian will definitely be pissed off.”

She giggled, covering her mouth like a mischievous child. “Anya, isn’t it the most brilliant idea ever?”

She looked at Julian expectantly, her eyes gleaming, waiting for praise. Julian and Anya had similar features, though his were sharper and more defined. But Rosalie was far too drunk to tell them apart. In her mind, she was still in the lounge, chatting with Anya.

Julian’s expression remained impassive. He simply stared at her smirk, having forgotten the new nickname she’d given him.

“Sleep with a different one every night, huh?” he murmured, his voice dangerously low. “Piss me off, right?”

His long fingers curled under her chin, tilting her face up. His deep eyes locked onto hers, trapping her dazed gaze.

“I had no idea you had such… interesting plans,” he said through gritted teeth.

Rosalie’s eyes were beautiful—normally clear and bright, but now hazy from the alcohol. Her flushed cheeks and the slight redness at the corners of her eyes gave her an unintentionally seductive look.

Julian stared at Rosalie, his eyes darkening, his pupils swallowing the little light that remained. A heat started creeping up his spine, unexpected. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, and tried to suppress the sudden warmth pooling in his chest. But his grip on her chin gradually tightened.

“Tell me, Anya,” Rosalie urged, clearly frustrated by Anya’s silence. With a pout, she stared at Julian and said again, “Say my idea is brilliant.”

Still getting no reaction, she reached out and hooked her arms around his neck. With a sharp tug, she pulled him closer, until their faces were nearly touching. Julian never expected this to happen, and he completely froze. Even after a year of marriage, they had never been this close.