Too late for love

JULIAN'S POV

“I told you not to come anywhere near me. Why are you here?” The words tore from my throat, a low hiss that barely made it past my clenched jaw.

Her hands moved toward me, but I didn't wait. I shoved her away, my hands caught her shoulders pushing her back with all my strength. 

She stumbled steps back, her hands batting feebly at my chest.

 I watched her, my eyes narrowed to slits, a knot of fury and disgust tightening in my gut.

“Julian, you can't keep pushing me away,” she said, her voice was soft and a stark contrast to my own rage. She reached out again, her pinky finger brushing lightly against my chin.

My hand shot up, knocking her hand away. The air between us cracked with the sudden, sharp movement.

 I took a step closer, my voice was low, like a dangerous rumble. 

“Don’t test my patience, Veronica.”

I pushed her hard enough to make her stumble, but didn’t look back to see if she fell. 

My eyes were already locked on the gilded doors of the VIP elevator. 

It was all that mattered.

"She's dead and gone, Julian! What do you see in that woman that you don't see in me? Julian! You are going to regret this!" Her voice, a shriek that I pretended not to hear, pierced the noise of the lobby.

Each word was a new arrow aimed at my back, but I just kept walking.

 The sound of my own footsteps was the only thing I cared about. 

The elevator door slid open just as I reached it, a silent invitation to a place where her voice couldn’t follow me. 

I stepped inside and pressed the button. As the doors closed, her scream was finally cut off, leaving only silence.

****

The moment I stepped through the door, Ma'am Hannah's arms spread wide in a welcoming embrace.

 "You're finally here," she said, her voice low, with a warm hum.

"I've been waiting all day for you. I thought you had a change of mind," she said, her smile mirroring my own.

She gestured toward a table and asked, "So, what can I get for you, your usual?"

I just nodded, leaning back on the chair.

A few moments later, a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne nestled inside was placed on the table before me.

She filled the glass, the liquid hissing and foaming as it hit the bottom.

 "You don't look so well, Julian," she said, her voice soft with concern as she gently rubbed my back.

"I'm okay, ma'am Han," I said, my voice barely a whisper as I moved away from her touch.

"Okay then. I'll leave you to enjoy yourself. Call me if you need anything," she said, leaning in to give me a peck on the cheek before walking away.

The silence that followed was quickly shattered by a sudden vibration.

 I looked at the screen. 

Incoming call from mom. 

The name pulsed in bright letters, feeling like a new kind of pressure.

"My hand reaches for the phone, "Hello, Mom."

"Julian, why me? Why are you treating me this way?" Her voice cracks, and I can hear the sobs on the other end.

"Mom, what's wrong? Is everything okay with you and Dad?" My voice is tight with concern, but I'm also desperate to understand.

"Julian, why have you decided not to take another wife? We need an heir!" The words are muffled, like she's been crying all day, and my heart sinks.

"Veronica is a good girl. Just give her a chance. Maria is gone, and so is the baby. Mourning this long won't bring them back. I need grandchildren, Julian, or do you want to send me to my grave?" Her voice is firm now, a threat veiled in despair.

"Mom, Mom, please. I need more time for this. And Veronica, I don't want her. You can go ahead to have her as your daughter, but she won't be my wife." My thumb finds the red button, I pressed it, ending the call, ending the argument, but not the anger.

Anger felt like a fire in my veins, I tried to drown it with champagne.

 I kept on drinking, glass after glass, even as the world began to spin. 

The bubbly liquid did nothing to cool the rage, and soon, I was swaying a bit, the room was a bit of a blur of noise and color.

That’s when I saw her. 

A woman with hips that curved like a riverbend, her dress slit high revealing her legs. 

She moved with a practiced grace that told me she belonged here. 

She walked over to me, her face was like a calm island in my stormy vision.

 She leaned in close, her scent was like a mix of flowers and something spicy.

 She took the glass from my hand.

"You're quite tipsy," she said, her voice in a low hum.

 "Come with me. I'll show you a room where you can rest your head."

I was too far gone to protest. I pushed myself to my feet, my legs wobbly and uncertain, and leaned against her. 

The world tilted, and I was dimly aware of her arm around my waist, guiding me away, but my mind was too clouded to understand where we were going.