Ch17 - Look like his brother

Julian stepped into the brand-new hookah lounge, let his eyes adjust, and scanned the crowd. Spotting Felix across the room, he pushed through a couple of tables. “Not bad, kid. Place looks solid.”

Felix clasped his hand and bumped his shoulder. “Thanks. But aren’t you forgetting something?”

Julian waved him off. “If you mean that thing you wanted—next time, I’ll get it for you.”

“Not that. I meant… where’s your wife?”

Julian blinked, caught off guard for half a second—then he saw Lydia’s head pop up from behind the bar. “Told him, what’s the big deal? Felix’s practically family.”

Julian arched a brow. “Well, guess it’s out now.”

Felix jabbed him lightly in the shoulder. “The hell, man? What’s with the secrecy? Too pretty to share, is that it? Even with me?”

Lydia’s eyes lingered on Julian, waiting for what he’d say.

Julian shook his head slowly. “Nah. She’s just been tied up. We agreed we’d go public a little later.”

Felix frowned. Something didn’t sit right. “So what’s with rushing the paperwork? When I first heard, I thought Lydia was screwing with me.”

Lydia’s lips pressed tight before she muttered, barely audible, “Wish it was a joke.” Her gaze flicked back to Julian, reluctant to leave his face.

Felix had never met Violet, but Lydia had. Sure, Violet was gorgeous—but too plain, too quiet. Totally unlike any of Julian’s past girlfriends. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. 

Julian had even bragged once that Violet got jealous easy, like he was crazy about her. If he was that into her, how had his two closest friends been left in the dark? And why hadn’t he brought her around? That excuse about her being “busy”? Lydia wasn’t buying it.

Julian didn’t answer. He just wandered over to the shelves, pulled down a bottle, poured three glasses. “Cut the crap. Drink first, talk later.”

They knocked them back. Felix had been swamped since flying back and launching the bar; it had been ages since the three of them sat together. Between laughs and stray comments, Felix kept darting off to greet new customers.

When he came back, he gave Lydia a sideways glance. “You still single?”

She shot him a look, propping her chin on her hand. “Why, got someone lined up for me?”

Felix chuckled, shaking his head as he took another sip. “Please. None of my guys could hit your bar.” He leaned closer, liquid courage pushing him on. “Wait—don’t tell me… you’re still hung up on him?”

Lydia froze for half a second, eyes cutting to Julian—who was fiddling with the hookah, head down, looking a million miles away. She snapped her gaze back, tossed her drink back in one shot.

Felix’s jaw dropped. “No way. You are. Jesus Christ, ten years? Lydia, I should give you a lifetime-achievement award for loyalty.”

“Fuck off,” she shoved his face away. “That’s not what it is.”

Felix wouldn’t let it go. “Then what is it? All these years and you’ve never once introduced us to a guy you’re dating. What—are they all that bad?”

Lydia arched a brow. “Yeah, pretty much. None of them measure up. None of them look half as good as Victor. They say if you meet someone too stunning too young, everyone else just looks… average.”

Felix snorted, pointing at his temple. “Please. If I hadn’t met him myself, I’d almost buy that excuse. Victor wasn’t just a pretty face—he had the brains to match.”

Lydia curled her lips. “Doesn’t matter. No one’s in his league…”

Felix didn’t argue. Victor had been calm, sharp, charismatic—it was hard to find someone who could compare.

The lounge was thick with shisha smoke and alcohol, hazy without making you drunk.

Felix was about to grab a glass of water to clear his head when Julian’s profile caught his eye. He let out a surprised laugh and pointed. “Holy shit—look at him. Julian looks just like Victor now.”

Julian was seven years younger than his brother. When Victor died at twenty-five, Lydia was only twenty-two—they’d basically grown up together, already promised to one another.

Now Julian was a man, grown into his features, and Lydia couldn’t deny it: in his quiet moments, she saw Victor in him. The light caught his straight nose, the deep-set eyes that carried a hint of melancholy. The smoke curled around his face like mist, softening his edges, making him feel almost… unreal.

It was too easy to blur the lines, too easy for her mind to wander.

“Bullshit,” Julian finally lifted his head, a lazy grin tugging his lips. The dimple on his right cheek appeared. “I’m way better looking than he ever was.”

The smoke thinned, his features sharpened again—but Lydia still couldn’t tear her gaze away.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re the hottest, happy?” Felix chuckled, rolling his eyes.

Just then one of Felix’s staff came over to whisper something. Felix threw Julian a quick look, mouthing “don’t move” before heading to the back.

Lydia slid into the seat beside Julian. “I’m still curious. Your wife’s just normal. What could she possibly give you? At least with me, there was a point. Our families had ties, it made sense.”

Her family ran a big insurance company. Not directly tied to the Ashfords’ pharma empire, but through hospitals and partnerships, there was overlap—plenty of mutual benefit.

Julian chuckled low. “You know me. I don’t like things complicated.”

“Lame excuse.” Lydia pouted.

Her hand drifted across the hookah. When Julian passed the hose back, she leaned in and deliberately pressed her lips to the same mouthpiece, taking a long drag.

Mint, melon, a bite of lemon—it was fresh, sharp, intoxicating.

She exhaled, eyes locked shamelessly on his mouth. “Every time I ask, you never give me a straight answer. Do you actually see me as a friend, or not?”

Her gaze clung to him, heavy, sticky. But Julian acted like he didn’t notice.

He leaned back, lifted a brow, a crooked smile on his lips. “Of course.”

He said it lightly, almost teasing, but the brevity made Lydia’s chest twist. He wasn’t ignoring her, exactly, but his half-answer left her burning with frustration.

Just as Lydia was about to press him again, the sound of hurried footsteps broke in behind them. A server came running, scanning the room nervously. “Shit, where’s the boss?”

The kid sounded panicked.

Julian lifted his eyes lazily. “What’s up?”

The server hesitated, but seeing it was just the owner’s close friends at this table, he rushed over. “Two customers started fighting.”

Julian stood up instantly. “Take me there.”

He hadn’t even reached the table when the shouting hit him—two guys shoving each other, their friends trying to pull them apart, booze spilled all over the floor, the whole scene a mess.

Julian folded his arms, standing back to watch until the crowd finally managed to drag the two apart. That’s when he noticed one of them—Liam. The same Liam who’d mouthed off to Violet outside the hotel.

Turned out it all started over some dumb interruption, then escalated into jabs below the belt. Liam sneered that the guy was a loser; the other shot back that Liam was talentless, only good at leeching off women.

Now both were red-faced, panting, clothes rumpled.

Perfect. Opening night at Felix’s lounge, and it already looked like a damn brawl house. A few customers had even slipped out.

Then came a cool, cutting voice: “This isn’t a boxing ring. If you two want to fight, do it outside.”

Every head turned. The sharp-jawed man giving orders didn’t raise his tone, but the authority was enough.

Liam was the first to snap back. “Why the hell should I leave? I wasn’t the one who started it!” He jabbed a finger at the other guy. “It was him—he threw the first punch. Look at my face!”

The other man snarled. “You mouthed off first. Don’t play victim—”

“Say that again!”

They were ready to lunge again, but Julian just flicked his hand. Security stepped in, grabbing both by the arms. “Get them out. Don’t let me see them here again.”

The guards—huge men—dragged them toward the doors.

Liam kicked against their grip, but it was useless. He spat out bitterly, “Like I give a damn! Who’d want to come back to this dump anyway?”

Julian followed, hands in his pockets, making sure they were tossed outside before turning back.

As he was about to walk in, Liam’s voice carried over.

His buddy wrinkled his nose. “Man, you’re soaked, you reek. You want your girl to bring you some clean clothes?”

Liam growled. “We broke up.”

“Broke up? Then what about your ex-ex? Wasn’t she the one who’d drop everything to come running? What was her name again…” The friend scratched his head, then snapped his fingers. “Oh right. Violet, yeah?”