Ch52 - Not alcohol

Every second dragged like an eternity.

Since that woman had stumbled in earlier, no one else had shown up—not a guest, not even a single staff member. The silence felt unnatural, heavy, wrong.

Violet lowered her eyes, trying to gauge where Liam’s feet were from the corner of her vision.

Then—another sound.

This time the door didn’t just rattle. It slammed open.

Everything happened in a blur.

A figure shot through the doorway like a bullet, closing the distance before either of them could react. In the next instant, the grip on Violet vanished. Liam let out a strangled groan, stumbling forward as the knife clattered across the floor.

By the time Violet spun around, Liam was already pinned to the ground—his arms twisted painfully behind his back, Jay’s knee pressing between his shoulder blades.

“YOU’ve got some fucking nerve,” Jay growled, his voice like steel. “Touching her? You just signed your own death warrant.”

Liam’s face twisted, confused and terrified. “WH—WHAT the hell are you talking about?!”

Jay shoved him harder, pressing the cold muzzle of his gun to Liam’s temple. “You’ll find out soon enough. But first, shut the hell up.”

Liam’s cheek was mashed against the floor, his voice cracking. “W–WAIT! You’ve got the wrong person! This is all a misunderstanding, I swear—”

“SHUT. UP.” Jay’s tone was flat, deadly calm, as he pushed harder, earning a sharp cry from Liam. “You try to hurt a woman like that, you don’t get to talk. Ashford’s gonna make sure you rot for this.”

Liam froze, eyes widening. “Ashford?” His voice trembled. “You— you’re bluffing.”

Jay snorted. “Yeah? Keep telling yourself that. You picked the worst man on earth to piss off.”

The name hit him like ice water. Liam’s pupils shrank, his body jerking like a fish on a line as he tried to twist his neck to see Violet.

Craig arrived just then, breath slightly uneven but face composed. “Don’t bother talking to that scum,” he told Jay.

Liam tried to shout something, but with Jay’s weight pressing him down, it came out as a garbled mix of pain and panic. Every time he tried to move, Jay pushed down harder until his words dissolved into groans.

While Violet stood frozen, Craig gently draped a wool blanket around her shoulders, then handed her a tissue from his pocket to press against the cut on her neck.

She still processing what had just happened. “How did you even find me?” she asked hoarsely. “Did… did my call go through to you?”

Craig shook his head. “No. The boss told us to check on you. Said something felt off. He noticed your phone wasn’t reachable, so we came up right away.”

Julian usually never let his assistants hover when he met friends like Lydia or Felix — they’d wait in the car until he called. But tonight, of all nights, something had to go wrong.

Too much of a coincidence.

Violet’s thoughts spun. No one but Julian had known she’d be here tonight. Even Lydia’s shock when she’d shown up had been real — she hadn’t expected her.

So how did Liam know she’d be here?

Was it really just a coincidence — that he happened to be dining in the same restaurant, saw her alone, and decided to follow her?

Her gut told her otherwise.

Jay added, “When we came up, we saw a woman rushing out of the hallway. She told a waiter there was a couple fighting and she was scared something bad might happen — so we came to check it out.”

He shot a glance at Liam, who still pinned on the floor, face pale as chalk. “When we looked through the crack and saw a knife at your throat, we damn near stopped breathing. We nudged the door to distract him, then went in before he even realized what was happening.”

Violet clutched the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Where’s your boss?”

Craig glanced up from his phone. “Driver just called. Said the boss is back in the car, but… something’s off. Said his face was all red. You guys drink that much tonight?”

Violet frowned. “No. He barely drank at all.”

She thought back to when Julian had left the table with Lydia — nothing had seemed strange. No sign of dizziness, no slurred speech, nothing. A chill crept up her spine. Something wasn’t right.

Craig noticed her silence. “We’ll hand this bastard over to the cops and have the staff check your neck. That cut might need disinfecting.”

Violet shook her head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m going to check on Julian first — you deal with things here.”

As she turned to go, Liam suddenly jerked, trying to grab her ankle, but Jay was faster. He yanked Liam’s arm back with brutal precision.

Crack.

The sound was sickening — a mix of dislocation and bone giving way. Liam screamed through his teeth, completely subdued this time.

Violet shot him one last cold look before walking off, escorted by another guard waiting at the end of the hall.

When she opened the car door, a heavy, strange scent hit her — not alcohol, not cologne, but something off. 

Julian was slumped back in the seat, his head tilted slightly, eyes closed. His skin was flushed an unhealthy shade of red; sweat gleamed along his hairline. His brows were drawn tight, breathing uneven and shallow.

The driver caught sight of her in the rearview mirror, then quickly raised the divider, giving them privacy as he pulled the car away from the curb.

Violet grabbed a clean towel from the compartment, twisted open a bottle of mineral water, and poured it over the fabric until it was soaked. She pressed it against Julian’s face — the heat of his skin was so intense it warmed the towel almost instantly.

Violet lifted the towel off Julian’s face and pressed her palm lightly to his forehead. Before she could even gauge his temperature, his hand shot up and grabbed her wrist. His eyes snapped open—sharp, predatory, the look in them enough to make her breath hitch.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” she asked softly.

He squinted, trying to focus, the tension in his body slowly melting when he recognized her. The edge in his gaze faded; his eyes drifted shut again. But he didn’t let go of her. Instead, he turned his face and brushed his skin against her cool hand like he was chasing her touch.

The small, absentminded motion sent a shiver up Violet’s spine. It was intimate in a way that felt too familiar—like that night in the hotel—but not quite the same. He didn’t smell of alcohol this time.

“Let go first,” she murmured, coaxing him like a child. “I’ll wipe you down with the towel, okay?”

Julian cracked one eye open, his gaze dropping to her lips. His hand came up to her face, fingers tracing her jaw before his thumb pressed lightly against her mouth. Her lips were soft, flushed pink, and his gaze darkened.

He leaned in, close enough for her to feel his breath.

Violet braced a hand on his shoulder and turned her head away, stopping him before he could close the distance. “You’re not well,” she said gently, voice steady. “I’m calling a doctor.”

He froze, the fog in his eyes clearing for just a heartbeat. His voice came out low and rough. “No. Don’t. I just need to rest.”

She hesitated, watching as he slowly released her wrist. His fingers curled into a fist, trembling slightly, as if even that small motion took effort. Sinking back into the seat, he spoke hoarsely, “Have the driver help me upstairs later. Don’t come in. Don’t let anyone else in my room.”

Then his eyes closed again.

His breathing grew heavier, uneven—like he was fighting against something unseen.

Violet sat there, unsure what to do. She’d never seen him like this and had no idea how to help. But he’d told her not to call a doctor, and for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to disobey.

She grabbed another clean towel, gently wiping the sweat from his neck. Even tense and flushed, his profile was absurdly handsome—the kind of man who still looked composed while half-conscious.

The car sped through the streets faster than usual, the driver clearly pushing it. Within minutes, they were home. Instead of heading down to the garage, he stopped at the curb closest to the main entrance.

Violet leaned toward Julian and patted his shoulder. “We’re here.”

He opened his eyes slowly and tried to push himself upright, but his arm faltered halfway. She instinctively reached to steady him—her fingers brushing the bare skin of his forearm where his sleeves were rolled up.

The reaction was instant.

He jerked back like he’d been shocked, pulling his arm away. “Sorry,” he said curtly, his voice rough and cold.

Her hand froze midair before she quietly drew it back.

The driver opened the door, stepping forward to help. Julian let him take his weight, his movements sluggish but obedient. Violet followed close behind, hovering until they reached the bedroom door.

Once the driver came out, she asked in a low voice, “How is he? Anything unusual?”

The driver straightened. “I helped him to the bed, ma’am. As soon as he lay down, he seemed to fall asleep.”

“Thank you. You can head back—and let Craig know we’re home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When he left, Violet turned toward her own room, only to see one of the maids approaching from the front door, looking uneasy. “Mrs. Ashford… Miss Lydia’s here. She’s at the gate and says it’s urgent—she needs to see Mr. Ashford right away.”

Violet stopped in her tracks. Lydia?

Hadn’t she just talked to Julian a moment ago? Why was she here now, following so closely behind?

“I’ll go take a look,” Violet said quietly, following the maid toward the entrance, a bad feeling tightening in her chest.