Ch24 - You’re my loser

Harper stopped as soon as they stepped out of the elevator and pointed ahead. “That one on the right.”

Violet glanced up. Sure enough, the number matched the one Olie had given her. She looked at Harper, her voice calm but edged with meaning. “Thanks.”

Something flickered in Harper’s eyes—surprise, maybe—but she said nothing. She just stood there watching Violet walk toward the room, then turned back, hit the elevator button, and left.

Violet didn’t hesitate. She swiped the keycard, twisted the handle, and pushed the door open.

The suite was quiet. The lights were dimmed low, the air thick with perfume—the same sharp scent she remembered from Tiffany.

Her stomach turned. She didn’t think twice and went straight for the bedroom. The door was half-closed. She pushed it open gently.

Julian was sprawled across the center of the bed, limp as a rag doll, eyes shut, cheeks flushed, shirt unbuttoned down to his abs.

The smell of alcohol and smoke hit her like a wall. She forced herself closer, and that’s when she saw it—a faint mark on his cheek. And also on his collar… a bright red lipstick stain.

Crimson. Loud.

Violet sucked in a sharp breath and glanced around. No one else in sight.

She turned back to him, lowering her eyes, reaching out to shake him awake—

But before she could even touch him, heavy footsteps pounded up behind her, and a hard shove sent her crashing to the floor beside the bed.

Her palms hit the carpet, hair falling in her face. She swept it back and looked up—straight into a pair of furious eyes.

Tiffany.

Her face was pale, jaw tight, rage burning through her glare. “YOU again!”

Violet bit back a bitter laugh. That should’ve been my line.

She’d guessed Tiffany might still be around, but she hadn’t expected to see her like this—draped in a hotel bathrobe, droplets of water running down her neck and disappearing into the loose collar, damp hair clinging to her chest.

The only thing that hadn’t smudged was her makeup. Her lipstick was still perfect—bright red, taunting.

“WHAT are you staring at?” Tiffany snapped. “Why the hell are you here? Julian’s done with you. You’re really that desperate you had to chase him all the way here?”

Violet’s brows drew together. She finally saw what kind of setup this was. “You’ve got it backwards. The one who shouldn’t be here… is you.”

“Oh, please.” Tiffany cut her off with a laugh. “Don’t think that kiss meant anything. You really thought you were special?”

She point her finger at Violet’s forehead, eyes full of smug triumph. “He’s into me now. You showing up here won’t change a damn thing.”

A dull heaviness pressed on Violet’s chest. She looked over at Julian, still dead asleep, and sighed softly. “I don’t want to make a scene. You should leave—before this gets ugly.”

She wasn’t sure how public Julian wanted their relationship to be. Better to say less… and stay out of trouble.

Tiffany froze for half a second, then exploded. “THE fuck did you just say? You really are shameless, huh? You think just ’cause he fell for you once, he’ll do it again? Jesus, take a look at yourself!”

Her words came out like bullets, sharp and fast. “And what exactly are you talking to me as right now? Don’t act like you’re doing me a favor, all calm and saintly. What, you think you’re his wife or something?”

Violet’s eyes snapped up, lips parting. “You… already knew?”

“KNEW what? What the hell are you babbling about now?” Tiffany frowned, clearly thinking Violet had lost her mind.

The longer she looked at Violet, the more pissed off she got. That face—those soft eyes—everything about Violet’s screamed effortlessly. Like she didn’t even have to try, and men would still line up to worship the ground she walked on.

Jealousy burned through Tiffany’s chest. She’d finally gotten a shot at being alone with Julian tonight, and all it took was one damn trip to the bathroom for this bitch to sneak in and steal the moment.

Her rage boiled over. She grabbed the glass of water by the bed, twisted off the cap, and dumped the entire thing over Violet’s head.

Water splashed hard, soaking through her hair, her face, her clothes. The thin fabric clung to her skin, transparent under the dim light. The air conditioning hit her straight on, and she shivered from the sudden cold.

Violet’s mind went blank. Her fists clenched tight at her sides.

Tiffany leaned in, snarling right in her face. “Get the fuck out of here. NOW.”

Violet gritted her teeth, her jaw trembling more from cold than fear. “If anyone’s leaving, it’s you.” She wasn’t about to back down—not now. Something about this whole setup reeked, and there was no way in hell she’d leave Julian alone in this room with Tiffany.

“Oh, still got some fight in you, huh?” Tiffany sneered. “You’re the same useless coward as before. Don’t even know how to hit back. You’ll always be beneath me.”

Her temper spiked. If Julian woke up now, her whole scheme’s shot. 

Hell, she didn’t even get one photo — how’s she gonna explain that to Matt? She’d planned to sleep next to Julian, fake that they’d done the deed so he’d have to give her a name—a title. And if not, whatever, at least she could still squeeze some cash out of him.

Fine. If water didn’t work, maybe a slap would. Tiffany lifted her hand, thrilled by the thought of leaving a mark across that perfect face—something ugly.

But before she could bring it down, a loud, heavy pounding rattled the door. The sound cut through the room like a gunshot.

“WHO the hell—?” Tiffany snapped, freezing mid-swing.

The knocking came again, louder, followed by a few deep male voices calling for Julian. “Mr. Ashford? Apologies, sir.”

Tiffany blinked, confused, taking a few unsteady steps toward the living room—

BANG!

The suite door burst open. Several broad-shouldered men in black suits filled the doorway, faces set in stone.

“We’re Mr. Ashford’s assistants and security detail,” the one in front said coldly. “Where is he?”

The sheer authority in his voice made Tiffany’s knees go weak. She couldn’t even move.

The man leading the group—Craig—took one look around and instantly understood. He gestured for the others to stay put, then walked past her straight to the bedroom.

The door swung open.

Craig froze.

Violet was there, dripping wet, kneeling by the bed, hair plastered to her cheeks—completely soaked and shaking. He just stood there, mouth slightly open in shock.

Tiffany instantly pointed at Violet, throwing the blame without hesitation. “That woman—GOD knows how she got in here. She broke into Julian’s room!”

Violet tightened the shawl around her shoulders and lifted her gaze toward Craig.

He caught the signal immediately. “GET her out of here,” he ordered.

A smug grin spread across Tiffany’s face. “Told you. You should’ve taken the chance when I gave it to you, but now—”

Her voice cut off mid-sentence. The men from the living room were suddenly surrounding her.

“Miss, this way, please,” one of them said flatly.

“WHAT the hell—why are you coming after me?” Tiffany’s eyes went wide. “She’s the one who broke in, not me!”

She snapped toward Craig, shouting, “Hey, you—open your damn eyes and look properly!”

Craig turned, his tone calm but cutting. “We know exactly what we’re doing, ma’am. This suite isn’t somewhere you’re allowed to be. I suggest you walk out on your own before we have to get… unpleasant. We’d rather not use force on a lady.”

Tiffany’s face went red, then green, her voice rising with disbelief. “Who the hell are you to decide that? If I can’t be here, then why is she allowed to stay?”

Craig’s brow arched slightly. “We’re not required to explain anything to you. Now, please.”

“YOU’ve gotta be kidding me!” she shouted. “I’m not leaving—I still have my stuff in here!”

“Your belongings will be collected and returned to you shortly,” Craig replied smoothly, every word precise. “For now, please don’t disturb Mr. Ashford’s rest.”

He didn’t give her another second to argue. With a flick of his hand, the guards stepped forward.

“DON’T touch me! Get your filthy hands off!” Tiffany screamed, thrashing, but it was useless.

Her furious, bewildered glare lingered on Violet for a moment longer before she was dragged out of the room, her voice fading down the hall.

Silence settled again.

Craig glanced at Violet, wanting to ask what had just happened, but seeing her soaked from head to toe, he knew this wasn’t the time. “Miss Violet, are you alright? I’ll have someone bring you new clothes.”

Violet nodded lightly. “Thank you.”

Craig bowed his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Now, it was just her and Julian.

Violet pressed her fingers against her temples. The whole night felt unreal. Thank God she’d told Olie earlier—if she didn’t call him within five minutes, he was to bring help.

She exhaled slowly, steadied herself, then picked up a towel and patted away the water dripping from her hair and neck.

After that, she wet a smaller towel, knelt back down beside the bed, and gently wiped the lipstick off Julian’s cheek. The stain on his shirt was worse—probably not coming out. She hesitated, reaching to unbutton it—

A hand suddenly shot up and caught her wrist.

She froze.

Julian, still reeking of whiskey, had his eyes half-open now, gaze fixed right on her.